Mellowing of Jazz Guitarist Should Give Padres Quite a Combo

An enduring and not so endearing myth was born in the 1988-89 baseball off-season and has continued to thrive through the first few weeks of spring training.

This myth was the notion that the free-agent acquisition of Bruce Hurst finally gave the Padres an ace around whom they could build their pitching rotation.

Hogwash.

Let me present statistical lines for an average season for two pitchers in their early 30s who have each worked for seven years and change in the major leagues . . .

W L ERA GS CG ShO IP H BB SO Pitcher A 12 10 3.37 28 5 2 198 169 71 115 Pitcher B 11 9 4.23 28 7 2 188 202 62 135

One of these pitchers is Bruce Hurst.

Which one? What difference does it make? Statistically, these pitchers are amazingly alike.

For the record, Hurst is Pitcher B.

And Eric Show is Pitcher A.

I will linger here momentarily to debunk anyone who might argue that Hurst’s record (and higher earned-run average) are skewed by pitching in Fenway Park. The statistical detail available today says that San Diego Jack Murphy Stadium is more conducive to hitting than Fenway is.

That established, we will return to the subject of Eric Show and the fact that he had his best year in 1988, when he was 16-11 with a 3.26 ERA. His 10-3 record through the last half of the season was a big reason why the Padres made their remarkable stretch drive to third place.

Of more significance, however, was the reason Show enjoyed such success. What happened was that he established an external peace with himself. An offshoot of that was that his teammates came to understand and appreciate him. What emerged was a guy who quietly did the job.

Indeed, Eric Show had not been an easy fellow for his teammates to understand. To begin with, he was a physics major who spoke what at times seemed an extraterrestrial language. He was (and is) addicted to jazz, a musical form alien to clubhouse boom boxes. What’s more, he was temperamental on the mound, causing his teammates to be uncomfortable behind him.

Eric Show changed in 1988.

“He’s going to say he didn’t,” teammate Tim Flannery said, “but he did. I’ve been with him the whole time. We talked about it, and he said his outside emotions weren’t his inside emotions, and that he had to do something about his body language.”

The body language occasionally suggested quite strongly to his teammates that he was upset with them. Fans also picked up on it.

“People thought I got upset over errors,” Show said, “but I didn’t. If I was upset, it was by other things--missed calls, bad breaks, mistakes by myself. I put an incredible amount of pressure on myself. I thought this game could be perfected.”

The idea that baseball could not be perfected had much to do with an uplifting change in attitude.

“He had a whole different outlook last year,” said Pat Dobson, the pitching coach. “He wasn’t affected by things that happened behind him because I think he realized luck is involved in this game.”

Luck, in baseball, can be so nasty. After all, luck comes in two basic forms, and only one of them is good.

“I thought baseball was a lot less dependent on luck than it is,” Show said. “I thought it could be perfected to the extent that I could have a lot more control than I could really have. I don’t know if anyone other than maybe Nolan Ryan on a real good night or Sandy Koufax can control a game, not even Orel Hershiser or Roger Clemens. It took me awhile to see that and believe that.”

The message was that the next hitter can more likely be handled if the last one is forgotten. The future may not be easily controlled, but the past could not be changed.

Others have noticed.

“He’s more relaxed at what he’s doing,” said Tony Gwynn. “He’s not putting so much pressure on himself every pitch. Before, he’d make a mistake and let it affect him. It’s a lot easier playing behind him now because he has a different attitude.”

“Actually,” Flannery said, “it’s become a pleasure to play behind him. And I could never say this before, but we’ve become good friends off the field as well. We took some time last year to soul search and get to know each other.”

That had never been Show’s style in the past. He had been the intellectual one, aloof and marching to whatever beat he could find with his jazz guitar.

This was a new Eric Show, comfortable with his teammates and tolerant of Lady Misfortune. It produced a very nice year that could well be the harbinger of better things to come.

But all that jazz can still be a little befuddling.

“Eric’s a fantastic guitar player,” Flannery said, “a phenomenal talent. But I can’t listen to it. He’s all over the place with that jazz.”

However, jazz is certainly an excellent arena for individualism, innovation and, yes, even seemingly eccentric meanderings.

On the baseball field, Eric Show has become the antithesis of jazz, which is to say understandable and focused. Consequently, Bruce Hurst’s acquisition didn’t finally give the Padres an ace in the starting rotation.

It gave them two.