Padres’ Solution to the Problem: Mix It Up

Chemistry is a funny word, unless you happen to be a person bereft of scientific aptitude who has the misfortune of having to take it as a class. In such a case, as I experienced a few eons ago, there is absolutely nothing funny about it.

Having bailed on chemistry and settled for remedial botany, I ultimately set forth on making my livelihood writing about fun and games.

Lo and behold, that darned word keeps coming up in the world of sports.

Chemistry.

As I came to understand it, or not understand it, as a student, chemistry is a very physical thing that deals with specific elements and how they interact. There is nothing ethereal or mystical about it. It was just that none of it made sense, at least to me.

As applied to sports, the word seems totally misused. There is, in this twisted application, nothing physical about it. It all has to do with some mysterious blending of minds, hearts and souls.

Teams have chemistry or teams don’t have chemistry. Or maybe they have chemistry, but it’s the wrong chemistry.

An example of wrong chemistry would be the 1990 Padres. They seemed to have all of the elements to win the National League West. Las Vegas thought so. They were favored.

However, all of the egos and attitudes--notice we are talking anything but the physical--blended in such a way as to cause a tremendous explosion. That’s “explosion” in a figurative sense, of course. Those were the days of Jack Clark and Mike Pagliarulo, if you care to recall.

That team finished tied for fourth, 16 games behind, with 75 wins and 87 losses. That explosion blew Jack McKeon, who entered that season as both manager and general manager, all the way to retirement in North Carolina.

I use those Padres as examples, because I am getting to these Padres.

The 1992 Padres.

This team has the right chemistry.

Everything works for today’s Padres, even when everything isn’t working.

That’s the right chemistry.

I sat in the stadium Wednesday afternoon and knew the Padres were going to beat the Pittsburgh Pirates. Even when Pittsburgh was ahead 1-0, 4-1, 5-1, 6-4 and then, 7-6, going to the bottom of the ninth. I knew it as surely as I knew Randy Myers would not be concerned about his inability to get anyone out, which he wasn’t.

I knew it when Kevin Ward soared over the left-field fence to rob Jeff King of a three-run home run all the way back in the first inning. Tough day for Mr. King, who was thrown out stealing two innings later. It’s a tough day when you are both robbed and thrown out stealing . . . and also boot a ground ball.

I knew it when Tony Gwynn, who plays Judy to the Punch of Gary Sheffield and Fred McGriff, hit a two-run home run off Randy Tomlin, who had surrendered only one previous home run to a left-handed batter in his career.

I knew it when center fielder Darrin Jackson forced Lloyd McClendon at second base on what would otherwise been a base hit for, you guessed it, poor Mr. King. Robbed, caught stealing and then robbed again. If he had not managed a home run in the fifth inning, he might have been found perched on the Coronado Bridge without a bungee cord.

And I just knew Craig Shipley would get the winning run home from third in the bottom of the ninth, though I didn’t suspect he would rocket a first-pitch single into left-center field.

You see, things are just going the Padres’ direction right now. They are finding ways to win even though the pitching, starting pitching at least, is in a horrendous slump. They are winning even though Myers, the closer, keeps opening doors for the opposition.

You will really know the chemistry is right when the hitters get into a mix-up, which is bound to happen, and suddenly the pitching comes around.

The chemistry is right when there is joy in the clubhouse. You can suggest that comes from winning, but it might be the other way around. Winning might come from happiness.

“For me,” said Tony Gwynn, “it’s just a lot of fun to be part of this ballclub.”

It is almost impossible to find Mr. Sunshine in a glum or gloomy mood, but that was the way he came to be in 1990. It was no fun to be around that ballclub, not for anyone.

The fans are not really into this, but they are not a part of this internal chemistry. They can add to it, as they did during the 1984 playoffs, but they cannot subtract from it.

Only 16,338 paid to see one of baseball’s most interesting and competitive clubs close that home stand Wednesday . . . and many booed and left after Pittsburgh scored in the top of the ninth.

“I saw them going to their cars as I ran into the dugout,” Gwynn said. “That’s their choice. I guess they paid their money and they saw all they wanted to see and left.” He hesitated and then could not resist a cackle. “But if they stayed around for all nine innings, you can’t tell me they weren’t excited.”

Excitement?

That too is what this chemistry is all about, though I never would have applied it to chemistry as a subject.