In Short, Hershiser Is Able to Spell Relief

You must understand what it is like to be informed you have an anterior labrum that is malfunctioning.

You want to say: “I’ll go down to Pep Boys and buy another.”

You are told: “Pep Boys doesn’t carry anterior labrums. If it is a part you want to continue using, you must reconstruct the one you have.”

Thus it happened that Orel Hershiser underwent a rebuilding job in that area of the right shoulder which, on the playing fields of Dodgertown, he is road-testing today with four thoughts in mind.

“The first thought is to continue pitching normally as I have in the past,” he says. “The second thought is to be one of those pitchers about whom the manager says, ‘If I can get six good innings out of him, I’m satisfied.’ And the third thought is short relief, the old stopper coming out of the bullpen.”

“Do you mean you would pitch relief and be happy?” he is asked.

“Short relief,” he repeats. “The fourth thought is long relief and I would never do that.”

What he has against long relief is his own business. But you can see, at least, that the attempted comeback of Hershiser is not without direction.

Winner of 23 games and the Cy Young award in 1988, a conquering hero, Orel won 15 in 1989, or 14 more than in 1990 when the anterior labrum throws a gasket and the fantasyland in which Hershiser is romping ends dramatically.

It ends, what’s more, with Orel’s sticking the Dodgers with a contract guaranteed through 1991, meaning if he isn’t able to pitch this year, as he couldn’t last, the club will have paid him roughly $5.2 million for good citizenship.

But wipe no moisture from your eyes for the Dodgers, who could be paying him at this year’s rates.

“I hope you understand that two games are going on in baseball today,” Orel says. “You have the money game and you have the game-game. Please believe me, the game-game is more fun. It is exciting. It is fulfilling. You are sharing dressing rooms with the best athletes. You are giving interviews. Knowing it won’t last, you cherish every moment of it.

“And the money? All of us are going to take as much as we can get. But if I have to quit, you’ll never hear me say I miss the money as much as I miss the excitement.”

Because it isn’t Hershiser’s aim to leave either--the money or the excitement--he labors exhaustively in training camp here to rectify a serious defect.

“The anterior labrum of Jim McMahon was reconstructed successfully,” Orel says. “So was that of (golfer) Jerry Pate. But while quarterbacks and golfers put stress on shoulders, it isn’t the kind of stress demanded of pitchers.”

“How long will it take before you know whether you are able to pitch?” he is asked.

“I wish I could answer that. I hope I will know before the end of spring. I am able to throw the ball effectively now. What I don’t know is whether I can throw, rest and resume throwing, as a pitcher does in a game.”

“Have you given thought to other lines of work?” he is asked.

“Yes, I have given thought to broadcasting. Do you think that’s something I could do?”

We are not sure that one hampered by a faulty anterior labrum can handle a job in the booth calling for such cerebral excellence.

But one thing Hershiser isn’t eager to do at the mike is serve as long man, coming into a broadcast, say, in the third inning and working through the seventh. In the booth, he goes either as a starter or a stopper.

“Naturally, I want to go on pitching,” Orel says. “I have been slaving almost a year to recondition myself. But if I can’t go on, I’m not going to say, at age 32, that my life is behind me. I will say the show was great while it lasted. What’s next?”

Orel’s manager, Tom Lasorda, won’t be that cavalier.

He will say: “Are you gong to believe your doctor, who blames your anterior labrum, or are you going to believe your skipper, who sees a Sicilian curse?”