A Few Tales From Game’s Dark Side

Next time you feel like skipping work or school or anything else, do what baseball players do. Don’t just call in sick. Call in with a really scary story:

“I won’t be in today.”

“Why not?”

“Spiders.”

Or:

“I won’t be in today.”

“Why not?”

“Sleepwalking.”

Or:

“I won’t be in today.”

“Why not?”

“Vertigo.”

Each of those excuses is one actually used by major league ballplayers during the last calendar year to get out of playing ball.

OK, maybe “excuses” is unfair. “Explanations,” let’s say.

Long ago we gave up on the notion that the work force was occupied by a bunch of Lou Gehrigs who played in pain, with broken noses, busted fingers and swollen joints.

Nevertheless, occasionally a Steve Garvey or a Billy Williams or a Cal Ripken Jr. came along to remind us that there were still individuals out there who not only came to work, but came to play. Garvey would have played with his arm in a cast if he could have. Williams went years without missing a game, same as Ripken is doing at present.

But then there are the Toronto Blue Jays, the first team in baseball that ought to be managed by Stephen King.

Hey, this guy writes about killer Plymouths and St. Bernards. He should do something on a haunted ballpark.

About a week ago, a Toronto player named Glenallen Hill came to the ballpark on crutches and said he couldn’t work that day. Naturally, the boss asked him why not.

Spiders, he said.

Not slipping on a bar of soap in the shower. Not tripping over his kid’s toy truck. Not getting rear-ended by a little old lady from Quebec.

Spiders.

Glenallen Hill got hurt because spiders attacked him in his sleep. Glenallen hates spiders. Glenallen hates spiders the way Winston Smith hated rats in George Orwell’s “1984.” Glenallen hates spiders so much, he can’t even dream about spiders without freaking out.

In mid-nightmare, the 25-year-old outfielder jumped out of bed and started slamming against the bedroom walls, going bing-bong-bing like a pinball. Finally he got down on his hands and knees and crawled up a stairway.

“I was dreaming about them and I was trying to get away,” Glenallen told his boss.

Good plan. Too bad he ended up with cuts all over his arms and legs, not to mention rug burns on his knees. His wife had to rush him to a hospital, then return home to wash his blood off the walls.

Poor Glenallen is in such bad shape, Thursday he was placed on the 15-day disabled list.

Just imagine how terrifying this whole business must have been for Glenallen. Imagine how much trouble he must have had falling asleep the next night, with all those imaginary spiders crawling around. He probably had to count sheep to fall asleep, unless of course Glenallen also suffers from fear of sheep.

By itself, this might not be much of a story. I mean, we’re not exactly talking Tales From the Crypt here.

Only this isn’t the first time something like this has happened to a Toronto player.

One morning last season, Blue Jay pitcher David Wells had to miss work because of something that happened in his sleep.

In the middle of the night, Wells said he suddenly started sleepwalking. He walked right over to a bedroom window and smashed his pitching hand through the glass.

Obviously, it is becoming a scary place to play baseball, Toronto. Guys in the minor leagues speak of going to the Show. Guys in Toronto’s organization speak of going to the Creepshow. They shouldn’t call this team the Blue Jays, they should call them the Ravens.

As if this baseball season needed one more Hitchcockian twist, let us not forget Nick Esasky, first baseman for the Atlanta Braves who announced one day that he could no longer play baseball because he was suffering from vertigo.

This was a new one on us. Frankly, we can’t recall how serious Esasky’s condition was--airplane travel or bending down to field grounders.

We do not mean to sound unsympathetic. These guys aren’t alone in their fears. Jackie Jensen retired from baseball because of his fear of flying. Jim Eisenreich has overcome Tourette Syndrome. It is no laughing matter.

Still, I’d hate to be the Toronto manager next time the phone rings.

“Hello, boss? Listen, I won’t be in today. Last night I was sound asleep when, all of a sudden, under my bed . . . “