Archie Has Perfect Answer: Mauch Just What Angels Need

The guy on the next stool at the lunch counter, an Archie Bunker look-alike, was studying the American League standings. He shook his head and muttered, “The Angels gotta fire Mauch.”

“They can’t do that,” I said, butting into the man’s conversation with himself.

Archie’s right arm stopped, freezing his coffee cup at the halfway point of its journey to the mouth. A look of dismay crossed his face.

“Great,” he said to himself. “First day back in the country after months wandering in the Alaskan wilderness and I wind up sitting next to the Gene Mauch Fan Club. Of all the hash joints in the world, he had to walk into mine.”

He turned to me and said, “Look, pal, I realize Mauch’s a genius. So why can’t he get a job at Caltech and leave the Angels alone so they can play some baseball? It’s obvious this team can’t win with Mauch as manager. He’s got the players wound tighter than a fishing reel. Whattaya mean the Angels can’t fire Mauch? They have to. It’s Mike Port’s duty as an American.”

“Mauch fired himself,” I said. “Back in spring training. He had some health concerns. While he was out of the dugout for a couple of weeks, observing from a distance, he thought he sensed a new spirit on the team. So he retired right then, at least partly because he was starting to think guys like you might have a point.”

Archie’s cup was still suspended in mid-delivery.

“You mean Mauch quit before the season started, and the Angels are still 17 1/2 games out of first place? Who’s the new manager? Ed Meese?”

Smiling at his own punch line, Archie finally raised his cup and slurped his coffee.

“Cookie Rojas,” I said.

Archie spit out his coffee.

“Cookie Rojas? Who are his coaches? Bert and Ernie? No wonder the Angels are struggling. They go from a Little General to a Cookie, that’s a large culture shock. Isn’t Rojas the nice-guy scout? Does he require the players to show up for games? Still, he should be the perfect guy. The Angels should be loose now.”

I told Archie he was right. When Mauch retired, several Angels expressed relief, saying how the atmosphere would be less intense under Rojas, more conducive to relaxation and efficient baseball.

“And they are more relaxed,” I said. “Right after Mauch left, George Hendrick instituted a kangaroo court, one of those things where everyone jokes around and has fun. The players seem to be enjoying themselves. The clubhouse is definitely looser this season. Being an Angel is now the world’s most perfect job. Except for the games.”

Archie covered his eggs with a layer of ketchup, spattering hardly any on me, and asked: “Then what’s wrong with the team? Is it Cookie’s fault?”

“Rojas at first made some second-guessable moves,” I said. “But he’s learning, feeling more comfortable, and now it’s hard to criticize his lineups and substitutions. Cookie isn’t making anyone forget John McGraw yet, but he’s settling into the job. His only real mistake so far was sanctioning the release of Bill Buckner to make room for Junior Noboa.

“Rojas’ main problem is that the Angels aren’t a great team. You know how Branch Rickey said, ‘Luck is the residue of design’? Well maybe bad luck is the residue of residue. You can’t make chicken salad out of chicken beaks. There are some good players, but the Angels are no all-star club.

“Besides, half the players are in slumps and the other half are injured. Some crazy things. Mark McLemore is out of the lineup with phlebitis.”

Archie shook his head.

“Geez, in my day, no player would sit out a game because of insect bites. Are the Angels playing hard?”

“Hardly playing,” I said. “I guess the effort is there, but they don’t always seem as focused, as intense, as they did under Mauch. With Mauch, you knew if you threw to the wrong base or blew a sign, you would have to answer to a harsher judge than George Hendrick.”

Archie dipped his doughnut in his ketchup, then in my coffee cup--what are friends for?--and pondered the startling news.

“In other words, maybe it wasn’t Mauch’s fault, after all, that the Angels finished so lousy last year, and have never won a league championship,” he said. “In fact, maybe Mauch really is a brilliant manager whose career has been plagued by questionable talent and bad luck. Right now, the Angels are playing Gene Mauch into the Hall of Fame.”

Archie asked me for a quarter. He threw down his napkin and said he was going to phone Mauch, to apologize on behalf of all the critics, and to beg the Little General to come back, because he’s just the kind of guy the Angels need.

“Hey,” the waitress behind the counter called to Archie. “How about a tip?”

Archie turned and said, “Don’t ever buy a map of Alaska gold mines at a swap meet.”