Save Comes to Myers Wrapped in a Boo

The ambling figure with the bow-legged shuffle seemed lost in thought as he crossed the infield dirt and headed toward the pitching mound. He seemed oblivious to the ugliness cascading from the stands.

Randy Myers was on his way to work.

He also was oblivious to the message on the scoreboard. Though hardly on purpose, the timing was not good. The scoreboard was listing the players who had been added to the National League All-Star team.

As Randy Myers toed the rubber and tossed his first warmup pitch, the name Bip Roberts popped onto the scoreboard. He had made the team. Roberts, the man the Padres sent to Cincinnati in an off-season trade for Myers, is having an All-Star year.

Myers isn’t.

That’s why he was being booed.

The fiendish press box humorists had concluded that Myers could play a role in Monday’s festivities. He could pitch for the home run hitting contest. He could throw his best stuff and see how far it went.

Yuk. Yuk. Yucky.

So there he was on the mound late Thursday afternoon. In the outfield seats, mothers were hurrying their children toward shelter, youngsters put on their baseball gloves and other fans clamored for helmets. Baseballs surely would be landing in their midst like hailstones with seams.

Chicken Little would have loved Randy Myers.

Seemingly only a few hours earlier, in the ninth inning Wednesday night, Myers came upon the mound with the score tied, 0-0. It did not stay that way long. St. Louis’ Tom Pagnozzi hit the ball into the seats and the Cardinals won, 1-0. Myers once again was out of tune, and so the Four Tops/Temptations concert could start.

The boos were ugly Wednesday night.

Very ugly.

It had been that kind of year for Myers, particularly of late. He had not earned a save since May 29, when he struck out the side in St. Louis. It was easy to remember the date and the opponent and the accomplishment, because nothing much good had happened to the man since then.

Indeed, the Padres had stayed with him and stayed with him and stayed with him until all confidence had been drained. Since June 2, he had faced only one save opportunity . . . and blown it. That made five blown saves. And that does not count a four-run lead he blew in what was a non-save opportunity. It’s bad when you blow such a big lead you don’t even get a blown save.

This had been a sleepy afternoon at the ballpark. Jim Deshaies made his debut as a Padre and pitched so slowly and deliberately that you could almost go to a concession stand between deliveries. Tony Gwynn, Fred McGriff and Jerald Clark were all caught dozing off first base, two of them picked off by the pitcher and the third, McGriff, almost run down by the catcher. Philadelphia shortstop Dale Sveum committed one error on a casually played ground ball and later played a routine ground ball by Dan Walters into a generously-scored “double” to short.

Yawn.

Randy Myers, by his very presence on the mound, awakened everyone.

However, this was not to be one of those nasty days for the erstwhile Nasty Boy. He came into the game with one out in the eighth and worked through the inning with only the partial scare of a semi-deep fly ball to left by John Kruk. He struck out Darren Daulton to end the inning and then survived two ground ball singles in the ninth.

Myers got the save, protecting a 3-1 Padre victory.

He shook the hands of Dan Walters and Gary Sheffield and Tony Fernandez and Fred McGriff and Kurt Stillwell and then turned toward the outfielders. Sheffield and McGriff followed him and embraced him once again, as if to reinforce what this one meant to them . . . and to Myers.

“We have to pick each other up,” Sheffield said later. “I hate to see him down and people getting on him. I know how that feels. He’s been there for me. He needs a pat on the back. We got the win and he got the save. That was gratifying.”

Randy Myers was stripping out of his uniform down the row of lockers. He is the same guy after good games as he is after bad ones. He addresses queries in matter-of-fact, even tones. You wouldn’t have known he had earned his first save in almost six weeks.

Of course, it had to feel good to turn boos to cheers.

He said he never heard either.

“No,” he insisted. “I really don’t. I have to concentrate on what I’m doing. I’m trying to get ‘em out.”

So he really was oblivious to the noise as he walked from the bullpen to the mound?

“Kruk and Daulton were coming up,” he said. “Those are two awfully good hitters.”

But it had to feel good to get right back out there and enjoy success . . .

“Better than yesterday,” he said. “But if Kruk hits that pitch out, it’s a tie game and it’s a bad outing. We got ‘em today and, hopefully, we can pick up a game. Today’s game’s over now. We’ve gotta go get ‘em tomorrow.”

By now, in the course of a few moments of conversation, he was out of his uniform and into his street clothes.

“Hey,” wondered a teammate, “aren’t you going to shower?”

“I’m going home,” he said, “and jump into the pool.”

He had had enough hot water for awhile.

Until tonight.