ST. PAUL’S APOSTLES : Baseball’s final refuge draws castoffs to fans’ Hog Heaven

Jack Morris is on the mound, Darryl Strawberry is in right field and Tobias, the pig that delivers baseballs to the home plate umpire, is wearing a tux in honor of the St. Paul Saints’ 1996 home opener.

It’s the first week in June, a game between the Saints and Winnipeg Goldeyes in the independent Northern League, and another capacity crowd of 6,329 at Midway Stadium seems to be endorsing the signs that read, “Fun Is Good.”

There’s Sister Rosalind, with her saintly apprentices from the Sisters of St. Joseph, wandering about, offering heavenly massages at $7 for 10 minutes.

There’s Melissa Ballis, standing by the barber chair behind the third base dugout, offering haircuts at $10, the money going to charity.

There’s Dave Ehrlich, a Saint employee whose job interview consisted of displaying his enthusiasm for owner Mike Veeck by standing and singing “Do Wah Diddy Diddy,” roaming from section to section, leading fans in singing that same . . . well, ditty.

And there’s Morris, the winningest pitcher of the 1980s and trying a comeback at 41, saying later he’s “happy the fans are having fun but I have work to do. My focus is on the field and I’m not aware of the circus.

“As long as they’re not mud-wrestling at the plate when I’m pitching, I don’t mind.”

Well, maybe that’s one Veeck hasn’t thought of.

He’s the irrepressible son of the irrepressible late Bill Veeck, and if that’s a name that causes purists to shudder, Mike Veeck even had a promotion for those purists.

It was called “Absolutely Nothing Night.” Absolutely nothing was given away by the Saints, who have played to 90% of capacity since Veeck and others helped reestablish the once low minor league Northern League as an independent four years ago.

Andy MacPhail, then general manager of the Minnesota Twins, who play in the Metrodome, only seven miles from Midway Stadium, called it “Mike’s Beer League” and predicted it wouldn’t last, but MacPhail is the one who has moved on, to the Chicago Cubs.

The eight-team Northern League has been producing a handsome return for investors while providing what Veeck calls “a last chance” for veterans, such as Morris and Strawberry, and “a first chance” for rookies who weren’t drafted.

Is it embarrassing that Strawberry’s last chance is a bus to Fargo and Sioux City and Thunder Bay, Canada, and that he shares the field with a pig?

“I can’t control opinion,” he said. “Baseball is baseball. What’s embarrassing about it? There’s a lot of good people here who love the game and are unwilling to give up on it, no matter what they’ve been through.

“I feel I still have talent and didn’t want to walk away without giving it another try.

“But if this doesn’t work out, I’ll move on. I have a good family and the good people of a good church. I have peace, my life straightened out. Some guys don’t learn, but I have the real thing now.

“I can handle whatever happens.”

Under the league’s $76,000 per-team salary cap, Strawberry is said to be making $2,000 a month. An 84-game schedule began May 31 and ends Sept. 2.

The money here isn’t important to him, but that major league check is.

He’s had a costly tax battle with the government and a costly legal fight with his first wife over alimony and child support.

The legacy of a controversial career, on and off the field, in and out of rehabilitation for substance abuse, led to a perception by some this winter that Strawberry had been blackballed.

“How can I say I was blackballed when I created the situation myself?” Strawberry said recently in the Saints’ cramped clubhouse. “I’m not bitter, not angry. I can’t beat myself up over the past. I have to live with it and move on.

“I went through a period last winter when I wasn’t even sure I wanted to play, and maybe that played into it.

“A couple teams called, wanting to know, and I wasn’t sure.

“My mom and my agent [Bill Goodstein], the two people most important to me, had both died. I didn’t have any real desire to play, but then guys like Eric Davis and others began to call, saying I should give it another try, and that led to the opportunity here. I appreciate the chance. I don’t want to end my career on a negative note.”

The independent leagues claim they are equivalent to double A, but that’s a generous assessment.

Northern League teams carry 22 players. Only four can have five or more years of professional experience. Six must be rookies. The rest are in between--released minor leaguers.

Shortstop Rey Ordonez, the New York Mets’ rookie sensation, played with the Saints in 1993, after defecting from Cuba.

Veteran first baseman Dan Peletier, now with the San Francisco Giants, played here in 1995.

Leon “Bull” Durham, pursuing a comeback in vain, spent two years with the Saints. Minnie Minoso was allowed to bat as a designated hitter in 1993, Veeck providing one of his father’s favorite players with an opportunity to perform in a sixth decade.

Although it clearly isn’t the whole idea in every case, Veeck said, “The whole idea is to develop talent. The major leagues will deny it, but because of spiraling developmental costs, they love the independent leagues [to which they have no financial commitment].”

Facing pitchers of modest talent and experience unwilling to challenge him, Strawberry has seen mostly breaking and off-speed pitches. He is hitting .383 through 60 at-bats, with six home runs and 19 runs batted in.

Those numbers have yet to produce any offers, but Veeck says Strawberry will be in the big leagues by mid-August and would have been signed by any number of teams if their business departments hadn’t worried about fan reaction.

The Saints have had no problem with that, although Veeck said he wasn’t initially interested in signing Strawberry, that he had made up his mind on hearsay and that his wife, Libby, convinced him he was being judgmental and should, at least, talk to people who really knew the player.

Veeck ultimately could identify some with Strawberry, having gone through alcohol rehab himself in the ‘80s and having seemingly been blackballed in his pursuit of a job with a major league organization.

“We didn’t do it to sell tickets because we’re sold out most nights,” he said of the signing. “We didn’t do it for the publicity. I don’t have the ego of a Charles Finley. I don’t care if my name is spelled right.

“We simply felt Darryl deserved the opportunity, that he’s not the bad guy some people have made him out to be.

“I told him nobody wakes up in the morning and says, ‘Golly, I can’t wait to be a St. Paul Saint.’ I told him it’s a last chance, and I asked only two things: Stay 150% clean [the commissioner’s office continues to pay for his random testing] and sign every autograph.

“Darryl’s reaction was that he had done some terrible things for which he was sorry and that he has to start back somewhere.

“I can relate to that. If he’s hustling me, everyone will be able to say of me, ‘What a jerk.’ It won’t be the first time.”

Morris last pitched for Cleveland in 1994. He was 254-186 for his career and burned out mentally and physically.

He spent the last year working his grain farm in Montana, where he employs six people. He made a lot of money in baseball and kept it. He says that’s not what this is about.

“I cleared my mind, found I missed the game,” he said. “It’s simple. I want to win again in the big leagues, finish my goals. I’m not embarrassed to say that I’d like to win 300 games. If I don’t do it, or if Dennis Martinez doesn’t do it, I don’t know that it’ll be done again, the way the game has changed. The odds are against me and maybe it’s a dream, but what’s wrong with that?”

Nothing, as far as Veeck is concerned.

“Was I going to tell a future Hall of Famer he can’t pitch for us?” Veeck said.

“I mean, he can probably go back to the Detroit Tigers right now and win for them, the way their pitching is.”

Perhaps, but Morris said he wasn’t thinking about the hapless Tigers or the sad state of major league pitching or the 1998 expansion opportunities.

He said it’s simply a matter of rediscovering the fire--he was snapping at umpires and others during his home debut with the Saints--and wanting to win 300 and not caring if this affects how some reporters look at his future Hall of Fame candidacy.

“If I fail, so what?” Morris said. “I’ve failed 186 times. I’ve also won 254 times. The whole thing is about effort. My heart and mind are in the game. They weren’t when I quit. I mean, nobody is making a lot of money here. It’s about the opportunity to come back.”

Morris has started three games. He has given up 22 hits and nine runs in 14 2/3 innings with six strikeouts and two walks. Opponents are batting .338. He has yet to throw a forkball, however, and is not trying to rush it.

“The odds are that if I’m not ready by the end of July, I’ll never be,” he said, adding that he would love to rejoin his hometown Twins and isn’t sure he would accept an offer from another team.

Steve Solomon would probably accept any. He is the typical Saint--pleased that Morris and Strawberry are drawing a larger number of scouts and reporters to Saint games.

“It benefits a player like myself who is trying to be seen,” Solomon, a 26-year-old outfielder, said. “I’m not looking to hide.”

Solomon went to Crossroads High in West Los Angeles, then Stanford, where he earned an economics degree and was a sixth-round draft choice of the Philadelphia Phillies in 1992. He was released by the Phillies this spring, but decided to give it another year with the Saints.

“I don’t want to keep living out a dream if it has no future,” he said. “Fortunately I have something to fall back on, although I’ve not exactly put [the economics degree] to use making money. Maybe I failed common sense.”

If that’s a pig delivering baseballs to the umpire, it may be too late to worry about common sense--but who cares when fun is good.