His Luck Might Finally Have Changed

Pitchers never know what is over the next hill.

One day, Orel Hershiser is the king of diamonds, on and off the baseball field. Next thing you know, his arm blows out like a tire.

Mike Morgan, who has helped keep the Dodgers from dropping from sight in Hershiser’s absence, hasn’t a clue what could happen to him next. Could be his first pennant. Could be the scrap heap.

After all, although occasionally he looks like a Hall of Famer, this is still the guy who has the poorest record of any active pitcher in the majors, at least among those who have lasted more than a season or two.

Yet, having already had one of the truly peculiar careers among ballplayers--Morgan has played in three decades as a major leaguer and is only 30 years old--let’s just say he’s never sure if his luck is running hot or cold.

After taking a perfect game into the seventh inning Monday night at Dodger Stadium, and ending up two-hitting the first-place Cincinnati Reds, 4-1, Morgan returned to the clubhouse with so much protective padding on his twisted right ankle, his foot looked the size of a hippo’s.

“Comfortable?” Fernando Valenzuela asked sarcastically, arriving to find Morgan’s foot propped up on his chair.

“Sorry,” Morgan said.

“How many days? Fifteen?” Valenzuela kept needling, knowing full well that the last thing the hot Dodgers need is for a starting pitcher to go on the disabled list.

Morgan ignored him.

“I’ve turned this thing dozens of times,” Morgan said. “It’s basically pretty fragile. I could step on a penny and fracture it.”

Maybe that’s why Mike Morgan has the most unusual retirement plan of any ballplayer we know.

He is thinking ahead. And he is thinking ahead because you never know what might happen to your arm or your foot.

“Crutches?” third baseman Lenny Harris asked, happening by.

Morgan bit his lip, ignored Harris, too. Contenders have loose locker rooms; they kid one another unmercifully. But superstitious pitchers don’t like to jinx themselves.

And Morgan has good reason to believe in luck.

At a time when somebody may have to build a Hall of Infamy just to enshrine the baseball figures who have been caught associating with gamblers, that’s precisely with whom Morgan would like most to associate.

When his playing days are over, the Dodger right-hander would like to operate a gamblingbook.

Strictly legitimate, of course. Being a Las Vegas boy, born and raised, Morgan has long been fascinated by the gaming business. So has his father, who rarely misses a chance to bet a couple of bucks on his kid whenever Mike pitches.

There is a time and a place for everything, including gambling. For now, the only hustlers with whom Morgan keeps company are the Dodger teammates who have scratched and scrapped theirway back into the pennant race.

“First time in my life I’ve ever even been close to one,” said Morgan, who spent several thrill-free seasons in Seattle, one with Baltimore’s dreadful club of 1988.

“What’s left--60 games? Gotta make every one count now. There are Hall of Famers who never even got a taste of winning their division. I don’t want to spend my whole life never being on a winner.”

Maybe that’s why there is a badge attached to the top of Morgan’s locker, a button that bears the message: “Expect a Miracle.”

The Morgan who pitched against Cincinnati was a winner, first pitch to last.

“Best game I’ve seen Morgan throw since he’s been a Dodger,” said Rick Dempsey, who caught him.

Around dugouts, though, there are often sightings of Morgan’s evil twin--the guy who doesn’t get going when the going gets tough. The guy with the good stuff who loses it. The guy who had a 42-79 record at the start of this season.

The popular theory is that Charlie Finley messed up Morgan for years by making him start a major league game one week out of high school, at age 19. He pitched a complete game for Oakland that night, but lost--and has been losing ever since.

When the Dodgers dealt outfielder Mike Devereaux to the Orioles to get Morgan, they obviously saw something they liked. For a while, though, the Dodgers had too much pitching. Now they have so little, Morgan has become an indispensable man.

They can do two things with him, love him or leave him alone. So, they fool around around Morgan. They see him looking a little tight, or overhear him being too serious, so they bust his chops a little, loosen him up.

When he flirted with a perfect game, they didn’t treat him with kid gloves.

“They were all over me about my hitting,” said Morgan, who belted out three hits last season in 36 at-bats.

The Dodgers find themselves in the delicate position of having to rely on Mike Morgan, who has had a long run of bad luck. They don’t know what to expect from him, but they have their fingers crossed. Life’s a gamble.