ANALYSIS : They Have Somebody in Corner

During the ‘70s, the Baltimore Orioles employed a devout outfielder named Pat Kelly, who presided at clubhouse chapel services that seemed eccentric at the time but have since proliferated.

As an outfielder, Kelly was not notably blessed. His specialty was misplaying warning-track outs into home runs. After another ball ricocheted off the heel of Kelly’s glove and cascaded over the fence, pitcher Jim Palmer issued a snide suggestion that, when spring training rolled around again, “maybe somebody should work with Kel on batting those in for doubles.”

Earl Weaver, the manager at the time, wasn’t a completely ungodly person. But religion in the clubhouse made him nervous. As a matter of fact, everything made him nervous.

At crunch time, when the game was down to win-or-lose and no more moves were feasible, Weaver hid himself from both view and viewing to smoke a Raleigh and listen for the final out. Also perhaps --Kelly and others suspecte--to pray.

But Weaver denied it directly and, furthermore, he urged Kelly to curtail the Orioles’ Bible study. In Weaver’s opinion, it was bad luck. This precipitated their famous exchange.

“Skip,” Kelly said, “don’t you want me to walk with the Lord?”

“Kel,” Weaver replied, “I’d rather you walk with the bases loaded.”

All of that has changed. Today’s managers are apt to stick little gold crosses in the crowns of their caps, and open prayer has overtaken sports.

Where touchdown scorers used to boogie in the end zone, they are more inclined to genuflect and sign themselves. Awaiting Buffalo’s climactic kick in the last Super Bowl, the New York Giants players who were not in the game knelt in little conclaves on the sidelines, bowing their heads and holding hands.

“God is on our side!” Detroit Pistons guard Isiah Thomas exclaimed on television Friday night after banking in an improbable three-point shot that led to the overtime elimination of the Boston Celtics. In the parlance of basketball, such shots are known as “prayers.”

Two weeks ago at the Kentucky Derby, Nick Zito, the emotional trainer of Strike The Gold, rooted his horse home with a stretch call that owed more to Elmer Gantry than Dave Johnson. As Strike The Gold crossed the finish line, Zito pointed to the firmament and shouted: “Thank you, God! You’re number one!”

The night before last, Los Angeles Dodgers right fielder Darryl Strawberry threw out former teammate Dave Magadan of the New York Mets and called it a literal miracle. Two days earlier, Strawberry had unhinged his shoulder bouncing into the fence. He expected to be idle for a while.

“Here I had a separated shoulder,” Strawberry said, “and my pastor had prayed for me all Wednesday night and Thursday morning. And he calls up and tells me that if I come in to Bible study on Thursday the Lord was going to heal my shoulder. He laid hands on me and prayed for me and, before I knew it, I took off my sling and had no pain.”

Meanwhile, Strawberry continues to bat .223. In some regards, according to some of his brethren, the reformed drinker and wife-beater may have gone a little too Christian for his own good.

“As a baby Christian,” said Dodgers center fielder Brett Butler, a full-grown one of about 150 pounds, “he has accepted Christ and been saved. But there are still things he has to learn about. He thinks he has to be on an even keel all the time and that he can’t get mad or excited or upset. You can get mad without being a sinner.”

Strawberry acknowledged: “I accepted Jesus Christ in my life and that’s the most important thing. But it might have taken some of the steam out of me. I have a tendency to be nonaggressive.”

The trouble with God-fearing players, according to heathens, is that they think it’s God’s will when they lose. Fighting back against this heresy, pitcher Tim Burke of the Montreal Expos contended: “If Jesus were on the field, he’d be pitching inside and breaking up double plays. He’d be high-fiving the other guys.”

After clubbing George Foreman exactly 355 times, heavyweight boxing champion Evander Holyfield confided: “Mostly because we feel the same way about the Lord, I can’t say I enjoyed beating George.” To which Foreman responded groggily: “Amen.”