Waiting for His Pitch : Dodgers Might Have to Change Their Way of Doing Business to Sign Mike Piazza

They spent about an hour together, poring over yellowing scrapbooks and talking about the Babe as if he were the next-door neighbor. Mike Piazza was curious if Martha Berger’s husband ever said much about Joe DiMaggio; Martha explained that DiMaggio was just coming up when Wally played. But the Babe, well, he and Wally were close. They had lived together in the same apartment house when they played together for the Boston Braves.

Piazza smiled. “Let’s hear those stories,” he said.

It was more than just being neighbors in Manhattan Beach that brought Martha Berger and Piazza together recently at her beach cottage, where she has continued to live since Wally’s death six years ago. Toward the end of last season, Piazza was chasing Berger’s National League rookie records for home runs and runs batted in, which Berger has held since 1930. Piazza fell three short of Berger’s and Frank Robinson’s 38 home runs, and drove in 112 runs to Berger’s 119, but his numbers were still enough for him to be unanimously voted rookie of the year.

It was a remarkable ending to a tumultuous season for the Dodgers and Piazza, who set all kinds of team rookie records. He excelled on a team mired in mediocrity on the field and burdened with tragedies off it. Piazza played tenaciously through the final game of the season, when he finally was given center stage in a 12-1 pounding of the San Francisco Giants.

Many times after that game, Piazza said he wasn’t sure when any of his accomplishments would sink in, or if they ever would. But by the time he visited Berger’s house one January afternoon, the season tucked away in his own mental scrapbook, the reality of baseball as a business had already affected his spirit. Accomplishments aside, Piazza is learning quickly that some things never change.

“Even with what Wally accomplished, $12,000 was the most he ever made,” Martha Berger said. “In Wally’s days, they didn’t have agents. He had to do everything himself. And they would always tell him, ‘There is no money.’ ”

Piazza picked up a book about Berger from the dining room table. Leafing through it, he stumbled on a letter Berger had written in 1931 to Emil E. Fuchs, then president of the Boston Braves, when Berger was trying to get a raise.

“ ‘I know the amount that I am asking of you sounds like a large jump but I feel that I drew enough fans through the gate and was popular enough with the Boston fans to be worth $10,000 a year to your club,’ ” Piazza read out loud. “ ‘Now Judge, don’t think me fatheaded, but just look things over and if you were in my position, would you take a cent less than $10,000 a year?’ ”

Piazza closed the book and looked at Martha. “I admire him for doing this,” he said. “Maybe I should read this book and get some pointers.”

*

The one thing you don’t want to mess with is Piazza’s feelings. He’s so sensitive, he could seemingly hold a grudge long into a decade. He’s a player who beats his batting helmet unmercifully when he goes one for three. Call him moody, he’ll agree. Call him intense, he’ll nod.

He doesn’t care what you call him, just respect him.

“I guess I do equate respect with pay,” he said.

About a week after Piazza visited Berger’s house, he and his agent, Dennis Gilbert, met with Dodger officials to talk about Piazza’s 1994 contract. As a second-year player, Piazza is at the Dodgers’ mercy. They can renew his salary of $126,000, raise him or even cut him 20%. All Piazza can do to protest is not play. In recent years, Fernando Valenzuela held out after the 1981 season; Ramon Martinez held out after the 1991 season and Pedro Guerrero, well, that’s another story.

“I was excited to be included, because it was the first time they (the Dodgers) asked for a player to be in on that type of meeting, and I thought, well, it might be something special,” Piazza said. “They might surprise me, maybe say, ‘Mike, we appreciate everything you have done for the organization and we want you to be happy.’ Then, what happened was so bizarre, disappointing and frustrating. It really set me back. Sent me soul-searching.”

The Dodgers, who have long adhered to the philosophy that no player is bigger than the organization, offered Piazza about $500,000 that day, using as a comparable salary the $435,000 they paid teammate Eric Karros after he won the 1992 rookie-of-the-year award. But the key for the Dodgers is not statistics, but service time.

The Dodgers point to Ramon Martinez, who received $485,000 after the 1990 season, after one-plus years of service. They mention Texas Ranger outfielder Juan Gonzalez, who received $280,000 after leading the team with 27 home runs and 102 RBIs his first season in 1991, and who received $525,000 after his second season, in which he hit 43 home runs in 1992.

Traditionally, the Dodgers pay second-year players higher salaries than most other clubs, barring those signed to a multiyear contract--a philosophy they do not subscribe to. The $500,000 offered to Piazza would put him among the top-paid second-year players.

“There was a reason we included Mike in that meeting,” said Fred Claire, Dodger executive vice president. “Mike had a great year, and we wanted to tell him how much we appreciated it. We wanted to let him know we were not interested in a multiyear deal at this time, not that we won’t be in the future. And we wanted him to understand our approach in negotiations, and that is that players with one-year service time will be paid according to the system that is in place.

“After three years, players have arbitration, and after six years, they have free agency. That’s the structure of the collective bargaining agreement,” Claire said. “We have had players who have had outstanding first seasons, not that I’m comparing Mike because his accomplishments were great, but we have paid our players well. Eric Karros and Ramon Martinez are good examples of players we paid well after their first seasons, and they (were) among the top-paid players in the game with one-plus years of service.”

Gilbert, though, is comparing Piazza to Chicago White Sox first baseman Frank Thomas, who hit .318 in 158 games with 32 home runs and 109 runs batted in during his first full season of 1991 and was given a three-year contract worth $4 million. Piazza hit .318 in 149 games with 35 homers and 112 RBIs. Karros hit .257 in 149 games with 20 homers and 88 RBIs.

“Thomas’ contract was a multiyear deal, and what the White Sox did was to buy out arbitration,” Claire said.

But because the Dodgers had recently paid a $1.2-million bonus to an amateur Korean pitcher and $1.3 million to Darren Dreifort, their 1993 No. 1 draft choice, Piazza had higher hopes. He would like about $1 million. The Dodgers say paying bonus money is different than the system applying to Piazza.

“I think the problem is, they came to us, and we told them that they paid Darren $1.3 million and Chan Ho $1.2 million and last year Ryan Luzinski $500,000,” Piazza said. “They said that is like comparing apples and oranges because these guys were draft picks. We said, ‘Look at the contract that Frank Thomas got after his first full year instead of the one you gave Eric Karros.’

“I’m not going to say that I’m a better player than Eric; he’s a very good friend. I love him like a brother. But when you look at the numbers, I think that’s like comparing apples and oranges. If I had only hit two or three home runs more than Eric, or if my average was only 10 points higher, I would understand. But my numbers are there. My numbers are almost identical to Thomas’ ”

The day after the meeting, Piazza didn’t show up for the voluntary workout at Dodger Stadium. A few days later, he left for Philadelphia to spend time with his family, a trip that was previously planned. The Dodgers and Gilbert have had more talks, but Gilbert says nothing has changed.

“Fred Claire and (counsel) Sam Fernandez are smart people, and I anticipate them doing the right thing,” Gilbert said. “I’m hopeful it will be resolved.”

So Piazza remains in Philadelphia, where he is working out daily, hitting two hours in his own batting cage and spending time in a gym. He hopes that the contract is settled before Feb. 17, when pitchers and catchers report to Vero Beach. He wouldn’t become an official holdout until March 1.

“I’m not making any threats--we have some time left,” Piazza said. “Dennis and Dan (Lozano, Gilbert’s assistant) are in touch with me off and on, and I hope we get something done soon.

“I’m not looking to break new ground. I’m not looking to go to the moon. I just want to be rewarded and supported for the year that I had and what I hopefully will do next season. I wouldn’t go that far now to say I’m going to hold out. That’s too premature. I realize it is a business. I’m just a little bit disappointed. It’s going to take some time for me to sort it out.”

Anyone familiar with Piazza’s intensity is wondering how his psyche will be affected if negotiations drag out. Gilbert believes Piazza is mature enough to handle the negotiation process. Claire says playing baseball and contract negotiations are separate issues. Piazza doesn’t want to think that far ahead.

“Deep down inside, I want Eric (Karros) and I to continue to go out and play hard and be the foundation of this team for years to come,” Piazza said. “We have proven we can play on this level, and now we need to step up and lead a little more. I’m kind of torn. I want to get (the contract) done and get down there and start working, but I also want what’s fair.”

*

In Philadelphia, Piazza said, he isn’t as recognized as he is in Los Angeles. He’s starting to get used to people he has never seen before addressing him by his first name, as in, “More water, Mike?”

“Did you hear that?” Piazza said recently at a Southland restaurant. “He called me Mike.”

One of the best parts of fame, as Piazza sees it, are those people who know who he is but respect his right to be out in public. “It’s an adjustment you have to make, but people are pretty cool,” he said. “I think the funniest thing I always hear is when people approach me to talk or sign an autograph and say, ‘You are probably sick of this, but . . . ‘ And I say, ‘No, I’m not sick of this, I’m sick of people telling me I am probably sick of this.’ ”

There’s also the down side, such as the kid who followed him through LAX recently, yelling at the top of his lungs, “There Mike Piazza, there’s Mike Piazza.”

“He followed me all the way to the baggage claim,” Piazza said. “It was scary.”

Lozano, Gilbert’s assistant, said the attention Piazza gets is on a superstar level. “I’ve done a lot of things with Jose Canseco, and Mike gets attention the way Jose does, where people can be somewhat frantic about him,” Lozano said. “It doesn’t matter where we are, if he is there, it’s more than just to get his autograph. People want to be around him, they want to talk to him.”

Appearance requests for Piazza this winter have been overwhelming, but he chose carefully, keeping them to a minimum.

“I kept it kind of low, because I am preparing to play and that is my No. 1 job,” Piazza said. “I turned down a lot of things. I’m kind of superstitious in my season preparations, and I wanted to do the same things I did before last season. But I did the MTV Rock and Jock softball game, that was fun. And I just finished a commercial.

“Those kinds of things the fans like to see and I enjoy doing. I also enjoyed going to the hospital to see children and the people, to see the strength they have after what they have to go through. And I use that strength toward baseball. I feed off of that. It’s a small thing you can do, but it gives me something, too. It’s a trade-off.”

All business on the field, Piazza is mostly business off the field, at least during the season. He loves heavy-metal music and likes to play the drums, but almost everything he does revolves around the game.

“I think I become a different person when I’m playing,” he said. “I’m like anybody else when I’m not playing. I like to unwind, go out and have fun. But when I’m playing, it’s like I’m Jekyll and Hyde. It’s no nonsense. I don’t like to fool around. I hate to say it, but it’s a job, and you need to prepare yourself and play with that intensity between the lines.

“During the season, I don’t like to do anything. I eat, sleep, go to the ballpark. I feel uncomfortable saying no to all the things that are asked of me, but you have to do that to keep your sanity. There is a fine line, and there are some very good causes and you have to make some time to do those things.

“I want to continue to be positive for the Dodgers. I feel like Los Angeles has adopted me as a native son, and this whole thing that’s happening with my contract is just a small bump in the road.

“It’s unfortunate it has to happen, but it’s not a perfect world.”