For Robinson, It Was a Summer of Love

Frank Robinson fell in love with the ’89 Baltimore Orioles, as many of us did. But he took that affection a step further than most. He wedded himself to the team. He took vows. All that was missing was a ring (Can you still see that Gregg Olson curveball, and maybe a ring, too, bouncing away and away and away, past Jamie Quirk and into the September mist?).

When the season ended and it came time to determine what to do with the rest of his life, Robinson let his heart get in the way.

What he thought he should be doing was pursuing a career in the front office, a grown-up job suitable for a man of his years and station. Instead, he recommitted to a life of airports and double-knits.

He did it because managing the Orioles last year was so much fun that he couldn’t imagine doing anything else. And he did it because, let’s face it, Roland Hemond was coming back as general manager, and what job other than manager was of sufficient stature to suit Robinson? Can you picture Robinson running somebody’s errands?

In any case, it was great news for the Orioles. No one could manage them better. That’s why he was named Manager of the Year in the American League. If the Orioles were a miracle, then Robinson must get at least part credit as miracle worker.

But the Orioles weren’t simply a miracle of bat and ball. This was a team to warm a manager’s heart (no easy task, that). This was a team happy to be here, composed of youngsters who didn’t know any better and a few veterans who did. Though I’m a believer that biology is more important than chemistry in sports, the Orioles certainly came together in a way that made this season possible.

What may be harder is to replicate that spirit.

“I don’t think it will be a problem next year,” Robinson said by phone from his home in Los Angeles. “We know some of the players won’t be back next year, and every player we bring in, we’re going to look long and hard to make sure he fits in. We really don’t want to ruin the chemistry we had. We don’t want to disturb that. I think it played a very big part in our success last year.”

Sure, it did. But next year is bound to be different. First, there is money. Many of the young Orioles were paid comparatively little. Next season, most will want to be paid much more. Some may get their feelings hurt. You wouldn’t want to be club president Larry Lucchino or Roland Hemond this winter having to negotiate with, say, Jeff Ballard or Mickey Tettleton.

How about Gregg Olson or Craig Worthington or Bob Milacki? Entitle this chapter: In which the Kiddie Korps Goes to the Bank. It could be a long, hot winter, and, come spring, everyone will be busy comparing--and not just their California tans.

Other problems loom. Last year, in the rebuilding process, Robinson was determined to play everyone. This was from the look-see school of managing. The idea was you either played your way on the team or played you way off (the look, see-you-later school). Next season, some of those positions may harden. Next year, some of the people who started last season could lose their jobs.

In many ways, the Orioles enjoyed a free ride last season. At the start of the season, no one expected anything beyond the team showing up as scheduled. As the season progressed, fans could hope for a division title but couldn’t reasonably expect one. The Orioles’ second-place finish was the stuff of fancy and, for Baltimore, a summer of love.

There’s another problem. Next year, the Orioles will be expected, fairly or not, to contend. Although the Orioles could well slip next season--they’re still young and they still have more than a few holes to fill--there will be no free ride. What there will be is heightened scrutiny and attendant pressure. What the Orioles are being asked to do, in effect, is repeat, as if they won something last season, which, I guess, they did. They won back their self-respect, if nothing else.

For Robinson, who is spending his off-season at what must sometimes seem like a 3,000-mile-long banquet table, next season is the real challenge, and Wednesday he was already trying to downplay the expectations.

“I’m going to tell the players that we are still in the building years,” Robinson said. “We are still in the situation where we’re trying to rebuild the organization. I’ll tell them not to put any more pressure on themselves than necessary.”

But then, just when Robinson was saying all the right things, he got caught up in the summer of ’89 and dropped this little bombshell for the summer of ‘90:

“We’re just looking to improve maybe 10 ball games.”

That would be 97 wins, of course. And another miracle. And another Manager of the Year award--at the very least.