Comeback to Beat Cubs Was Inspired by the Fans

Under the managing of Dick Williams, the Padres won their first only and National League championship in 1984. He tells of his Padres years in his just-released autobiography, “No More Mr. Nice Guy,” written with Times Staff Writer Bill Plaschke. The Padre chapter is called “McNightmare.”

Despite our fine season record, it was obvious that we’d finally charged in over our heads. All the fighting and inspired play wasn’t going to beat these long overdue Cubs. And only one team had ever come back from a two-games-to-none deficit to win a five-game playoff series.

Joan Kroc walked around the airplane after those two losses in Chicago trying to cheer everyone up, but instead of encouragement, it sounded like a eulogy. By the time our plane landed in San Diego, we were thoroughly bummed.

But something strange happened when we arrived at the stadium. There must have been 3,000 people there. Believing in us. Believing in a team on the verge of getting wiped out. Suddenly, we believed too.

I firmly believe this set the tone for what happened the next three days. All you baseball fans who think you never directly affect a team or a game, you’re wrong. That weekend, you may have won us a playoff.

When we took the field at San Diego Jack Murphy Stadium, we realized that the impromptu party had never ended. The crowd’s roar grew to a level I’d never experienced.

That night, of course, was no contest. And the hero, of course, was Garry Templeton. He hit a two-run double in the fifth inning, which was all we needed. Ed Whitson held the Cubs to five hits over eight innings, and we won, 7-1.

Game 4 of the playoffs was quite simply the best playoff game I have ever witnessed, period. I’ll describe it to you in two words: Steve Garvey. Much as I felt he was never a team leader, on the most important night in Padre history, he controlled nine innings of baseball like few other hitters in the history of the game.

In the third inning, his two-out double gave us a 2-0 lead. His two-out single in the fifth tied it at 3-all. And then in the seventh inning, his two-out single gave us a 4-3 lead.

With the score tied, 5-all, and one out in the ninth and Cub reliever Lee Smith on the mound, Tony Gwynn poked a single into center field.

Up stepped Garvey.

There was no way Garvey could pull us out of the fire once more, and--BOOM--my thoughts were interrupted by the loudest crack I had ever heard. After what felt like forever, in what seemed like slow motion, the ball dropped into the stands, and Garvey had his homer.

The next afternoon, the fifth and deciding game was almost anti-climactic. The celebration afterward was as sweet as if Garvey had hit that homer again. I looked into the outfield stands and felt that somewhere among those people the spirit of Ray Kroc was watching.

The title celebration ended, however, with me feeling like the end of my life here was approaching. After the champagne was drained, I had dressed and left the clubhouse curious that I hadn’t seen any front office people.

We found out they were at an impromptu stadium club party, an event we hadn’t been told about, probably by accident because it was planned at the last minute. But accidents like that shouldn’t happen to the winning manager, should they?

The Series was no party. I don’t know if the Cubs could have done any better against Detroit, but they sure couldn’t have done any worse. In a nutshell, the Tigers beat the heck out of us.

Some may point to the broken wrist suffered by our center fielder Kevin McReynolds in Game 4 of the NLCS. Wrong. McReynolds is a talented player, but he goes at just one gait. He’s not a big game player because he doesn’t put out big game effort.

We lost the series four games to one, but we didn’t have time to stew over it. The hoodlums using the Tiger victory to start what became an infamous riot didn’t want us to leave. The streets around Tiger Stadium quite simply were on fire. Finally the cops showed up and escorted us out to the highway.

Sitting on the plane, looking at Jack McKeon and Ballard Smith sitting nearby, I wondered, why am I killing myself? If they want my job even when I win, is this job worth having? I told a couple of people nearby I was thinking about quitting, and before I knew it, Ballard Smith had cornered Norma and was begging her to talk me out of it.

The entire flight home, he begged her--obviously just to avoid the bad publicity my resignation would have.

The next morning, I woke up to another beautiful San Diego day, with a parade planned for that night, with the knowledge that the Padres had just set a home attendance record. It felt so good that the fans had never given up on me, no matter what my bosses were doing.

So I decided there was no reason to quit now. And it had been so much fun watching Ballard beg. Fetch, beg . . . maybe if I stuck around I’d see him roll over and play dead.

So, yes, I was staying. And, no, I’ve never made a bigger mistake.

Excerpted from “No More Mr. Nice Guy: A Life of Hardball,” by Dick Williams and Bill Plaschke. Copyright 1990 by Dick Williams and Bill Plaschke. Published by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc.