Hind Sight : Padres’ Kimm Had Bird’s-Eye View of Mark Fidrych

Who would have guessed that Padre third base coach Bruce Kimm could have gone on to such a successful managing career?

As a major league manager, the guy is unsurpassed. Undefeated. He has made all the right moves.

OK, so he is only 1-0.

Who could have imagined?

Try Mark “The Bird” Fidrych.

Kimm, who stepped in Tuesday for an ill Greg Riddoch, always did know how to call a game.

You see, before Kimm managed a team, he first had to manage a national phenomenon. It came in 1976, when he was Fidrych’s personal catcher.

“You didn’t worry about nothing when Bruce was catching,” Fidrych said one evening this week. “It was like, ‘OK, let’s play catch, Bruce. You and me.’

“The only time I shook him off was when he told me to. Sometimes, I’d shake him off and he’d put the same sign down. And I’d shake him off again and he’d come out and say, ‘What’s up?’

“I’d say, ‘I don’t know, I just feel like practicing shaking calls off.’ ”

Great teams. Crosby and Hope. Rowan and Martin. Fidrych and Kimm.

Some people get a career.

Others get one year.

One stinking, wonderful, wacky year.

“When I was in A ball, the catcher would miss what I was throwing a lot,” Fidrych said. “In double-A it was pretty good, but when I got to triple-A, it was like, ‘Wow, this is a catcher. Why is he here?’

“So he didn’t have a power bat. I would have been lost without him.

Sixteen years ago tonight, Fidrych went from being a local hero to a national craze in what was one of the most unexpected summers of Kimm’s life.

It was on June 28, 1976, that Fidrych and the Detroit Tigers beat the New York Yankees, 5-1, to improve his record to 8-1. The game was televised on ABC’s Monday Night Baseball. And Kimm had the best seat in the house.

In one of baseball’s nicest fairy tales, Fidrych, one of the game’s most endearing characters, went 19-9 in his rookie season. He led the AL with a 2.34 ERA. He started the All-Star game and was the AL Rookie of the Year.

In one of baseball’s cruelest twists, Fidrych was injured the next spring and never again was the same.

And Kimm, as a player, would never have the success that he had that summer working with Fidrych.

“That’s about the only way you would remember me from baseball,” Kimm said.

One year.

Today, Kimm assists Riddoch and hopes that he eventually gets a chance to manage full time. Fidrych lives in Northborough, Mass., owns a 10-wheeler and hauls asphalt and rocks through his home state.

But sixteen years ago, that was a summer. . . .

“I won’t ever forget that Monday night; you kidding me?” Fidrych said. “Reggie Jackson dropped a fly ball. Bruce said to me, ‘Here’s your opening.’ That’s one thing he used to say.”

Kimm also vividly remembers that Monday night game. “I think he threw only 88 pitches,” Kimm said. “I remember they clocked him at 93 miles per hour in the first inning and 93 in the ninth.”

And he remembers former Tiger outfielder Willie Horton hitting a home run to win the game.

“A homer to left-center,” Kimm said. “I can still see the ball going out.”

Fate and Tiger Manager Ralph Houk brought them together. Cold reality separated them. Fidrych attempted several comebacks but never could recapture his past. Kimm, bounced around, finishing a brief major league career with the Chicago White Sox in 1980.

Fidrych, then 21, was as offbeat as they came. He talked to the baseball. He knelt on his knees before pitching each inning and manicured the mound. He sprinted around the infield after an important out or a good defensive play to shake the hands of those involved.

“The first time I saw him was in Oklahoma City,” said Kimm, who, at 25, played for the Evansville Triplets in the summer of 1976. “He came in that night during the game. I caught 126 games that year, but I wasn’t catching that night.

“I was back in the clubhouse and he came in during the sixth or seventh inning and said, ‘Hey, I’m supposed to pitch tonight.’

“I told him no, he was pitching tomorrow night.

“So the next night, there was a ground ball to shortstop, and Chuck Scrivener made a good play. In the middle of the inning, (Fidrych) went over to shake Scrivener’s hand.

“It was his first triple-A game. We razzed him about it. ‘Hey, this is triple-A--you don’t need to do that.’ But that kind of enthusiasm really made you want to play hard.”

And it strummed fans’ emotions. The Bird practically invented the baseball curtain call. Despite the Tigers’ low finish--fifth-place in the AL East in 1976--Tiger Stadium was nearly sold out every time Fidrych pitched. And the 50,000 or so refused to leave those games until Fidrych came back out of the clubhouse to wave his cap.

He sold out stadiums on the road, too. In 29 starts--an amazing 28 decisions and 24 complete games--Fidrych drew a total of 901,239 fans.

Through it all, Kimm was the quiet observer. Until 1976, he had not played a game in the majors. He was busy bouncing around such minor-league towns as Toledo, Knoxville, Appleton and Tucson.

When Kimm did come up in 1976, he didn’t know that Fidrych was about to become the toast of the baseball world.

“We had played a couple of exhibitions against Cincinnati,” Kimm said. “He had pitched and gotten hit around pretty good.

“I think the Tigers were basically taking a look at me and at him. I was new to the big leagues and he was new to the big leagues. They probably felt I knew him better than anybody.

“They threw me in in his first major league start (May 15 against Cleveland, a 2-1, complete-game victory) and he had a perfect game for 7 1/3 innings. He pitched so well they decided to stick with it.”

Neither Fidrych nor Kimm asked Houk to stay with that combination; it just worked itself out.

“Ralph just decided that it made a nice combination, probably like Lou Whitaker and Alan Trammell,” Fidrych said.

For the most part, Fidrych’s starts were the only times Kimm played. While the rest of the country counted down the days until The Bird pitched again, Kimm also waited. While the attention focused on Fidrych, Kimm waged his own battle. Each Fidrych start meant that Kimm would have one more chance to continue chasing his own dream.

“We were not a very good team, but when he pitched it was like a playoff atmosphere,” Kimm said. “I was in the playoffs with Pittsburgh (as a coach), and there was that electricity in the air when Fidrych pitched.”

As Fidrych collected victories and fans, Kimm remained in the background. He wound up with a .263 batting average in 1976, with one home run and six RBIs. He played in 63 games but had only 152 at bats.

His best moment offensively was the home run. It came on Aug. 17, when he he led off the eighth inning against California’s Frank Tanana. It was almost too perfect to be true: It won the game for Fidrych, 3-2, and it was Kimm’s only major league homer.

“I’ll never forget the time he hit that home run,” Fidrych said. “He comes out afterward and says, ‘Don’t lose this one. I got the game-winning hit. I’m not going to get too many.’

“I said, ‘Don’t worry, buddy, we got them. You and I.’ ”

It was in Detroit and, as usual, the fans stayed in their seats after the game, calling for Fidrych, wanting a curtain call.

But there was something else that night.

“I wish I would have realized it, but that night they were yelling my name, too,” Kimm said. “52,000 people. My wife told me later.

“It would have been a great moment for me.”

Instead, the moments were spent watching Fidrych.

Kimm remembers a time in Cleveland when Rico Carty asked him before an at bat just what the heck Fidrych was doing talking to the ball. He also recalls Phil Garner walking up to the plate in Oakland talking to his bat, mocking Fidrych.

He remembers the late Thurman Munson grounding a ball back to Fidrych in front of 50,000 in New York one day and Fidrych good-naturedly telling Munson, “It’s this white thing--you’ve got to hit it.”

Said Kimm: “Munson said, ‘I’m going to get him; I’m going to get him.’ Fidrych struck him out twice after that.”

People named their children after Fidrych. Girls staked out Fidrych’s apartment.

“One story went that he went to get his hair cut, and while it was happening, the beauticians were catching his hair, taping it to paper and having him autograph it,” Kimm said.

And then there was the time in New York when the Tigers were leaving town after a series. Fidrych hopped in a friend’s car to go to the airport. Kimm watched from the Tiger bus as fans tried to get at Fidrych.

“It was unbelievable,” Kimm said. “People completely covered the car. You could not see it.

“That is a true story. It was phenomenal.”

Off the field, they went their separate ways. Kimm was married; Fidrych was single. But on the field, they were inseparable.

By the next season, though, the magic was gone. While the world heard about Fidrych’s injury and, a few years later, the end of his career, Kimm was about done as well.

The 1980 season was Kimm’s last as a player. He hit .243 that year in 100 games. His career numbers: .237 batting average, one homer, 26 RBIs.

“I had ample opportunity,” Kimm said. “(Then-Chicago Manager) Tony LaRussa got me in 100 games in 1980. I had a great opportunity to do something. I just didn’t hit enough.”

Fidrych was aware that Kimm moved on to coach for the Reds (1984-1988) and for Pittsburgh (1989-1990), but he had lost track of Kimm after that.

“I didn’t know he was in San Diego,” Fidrych said. “(Former Tiger pitcher) Frank MacCormick called me last weekend and said, ‘Yeah, he’s coaching third base. Did you see the fight the other night?’ ”

Kimm was one of the Padres who were ejected in the brawl with the Giants a week ago Thursday.

“He’s the kind of a guy who deserves to have a big-league job,” Fidrych said. “He knows the game just as good as anybody.”

Once, Kimm waited for his playing career to take off. Sixteen years later, having more success as a coach than as a player, the aspirations have changed.

“Yeah, I’d like to manage,” Kimm said. “Not the Padres, though--this is Greg Riddoch’s team.”

He smiled.

“If I don’t get the chance, I’ll still be happy,” he continued. “I’m in baseball, where I want to be. Hopefully, I’ll never have to work again.”