Irate Fans Are Seeing Scarlett

I guess Atlanta has had its share of malevolent villains. There was Sherman and his infamous march to the sea. He burned and pillaged the Georgia earth.

And then there’s Kent Alan Hrbek.

He never led an Army, set fire to the railroad station, demolished the plantations.

All he did was pick a runner off first. The cad. The bounder.

Now, a lot of ballplayers are noted for this. But, usually, they’re pitchers.

They do this with what baseball calls “a good move to first.”

Actually, no one had a better move than Kent Hrbek. They say Grover Cleveland Alexander, the pitcher, used to have such an artful move that he used to walk a dangerous batter on purpose, then pick him off with a sly throw to the bag.

Kent Hrbek didn’t bother with any of this chicanery. He just got the ball and picked the runner, Ron Gant, off the base. It was awesome. Gant was simply standing there, minding his own business.

Hrbek didn’t bother with any of the niceties of the rules or complicated pickoff plays. He simply picked Gant up by the off leg, shook him, removed him from the premises like a bouncer ejecting a tough customer from a bar. And then he tagged him out. For sheer audacity, you had to gasp in admiration. No one ever thought of that as a way to, so to speak, throw a runner out before.

But, Atlanta was not amused.

It was just a lousy out. But it killed a rally. It may have decided the game.

So, Sherman, move over. Atlanta has a new hate.

You think they would blame the loss on the home team? Hah! You think they blame Gettysburg on Robert E. Lee? They now had their new man-you-love-to-hate.

Kent Hrbek is easily the most unpopular Northerner to hit these parts since Sherman. You would think he shot Stonewall Jackson. You would think he came through town wearing a Union uniform instead of a baseball suit. You would think he burned Tara.

But, Kent Hrbek is hardly Jack the Ripper. He’s not even U.S. Grant.

He simply is a big, easy-going, happy-go-lucky kind of character who tries to get along with people. He is good to his mother, he signs autographs, he holds still for interviews. He even answers his own phone.

All he really does is stand there and hit home runs and dig low throws out of the dirt. Despite his bulk (he goes 6 feet 4 and tops 250), he is a nifty fielder, one of the classiest since Joe Judge.

He has hit more home runs indoors (more than 140) than any man who ever lived--and he has hit a lot of them outdoors (243 altogether.) But he came into Atlanta this week and crept into the community heart, eliciting all the heartfelt warmth of a rattlesnake in your mail box.

They greeted him with bared teeth. They waved posters (“This Ain’t Wrestling, Hrbek, This Is Baseball! “ and “Go Home, Hulk Hrbek!”) They booed him to the echo.

Then, it got nasty. The first phone calls were to his hotel suite. His pregnant wife took one of them. Hrbek quickly took the others.

They were threatening. Were they obscene, somebody asked Hrbek. “Any threatening call is obscene all by itself,” he told them.

Then, some cretin called his mother in Minneapolis. “You better watch out for your son--he’s going to get his! “they promised.

It’s a sad commentary on our times. A simple athletic event can verge on Murder One.

The curious coin of the incident was, no one in Atlanta appeared to have vented its rage on the real culprit--the umpire who validated the strong-arm heist, Drew Coble. No one appears to have disturbed his night’s sleep. Or his mother’s.

In the wild extra-inning game the Twins and Braves played Tuesday night, a curious switch found Umpire Coble the home plate umpire. Hunk Hrbek twice came to bat in the late innings (10th and 12th) with the go-ahead or, maybe, winning run in scoring position--and the plate umpire, one Drew Coble, called him out on strikes both times. Evening up? Making amends?

It hardly mollified Atlanta in any case. All night long, they waved foam-rubber tomahawks and shouted “Cheater! Cheater!” at Hrbek.

And, then, came the bottom of the 12th inning Wednesday morning. Atlanta’s superb young batsman, David Justice, had singled and stolen his way to second base with two out and the second-basseman, Mark Lemke, at bat.

Lemke lifted a soft liner to short left field. Justice never hesitated. He streaked around third and headed for home where the Minnesota catcher, Brian Harper, and umpire Drew Coble were waiting.

The ball and the runner arrived at the same time. Justice slid. Some 50,000 people held their breaths.

Ump Coble signaled safe. Atlanta got back in the World Series.

Winning heals all wounds. If it also wounds a few heels, we can get on with the 1991 World Series and leave it on the field. Where it belongs.