41,509 Fans--Just What the Doctor Ordered for Butler

Brett Butler’s four-month journey through fear and pain ended Friday night awash in the wondrous noise of life.

Twenty-nine steps was all it took.

Twenty-nine steps, from the Dodger Stadium dugout to home plate.

Twenty-nine steps that mirrored his comeback, slow and unsteady at first, then culminating in the strength of a 41,509-person embrace.

Upon finishing his walk to home plate for his first at-bat for the Dodgers since being diagnosed with tonsil cancer May 6, Butler was hit by a different type of radiation.

Every able-bodied fan in the house stood. And yelled. And waved. And flapped banners like the one reading, “Brett, Somebody Loves You.”

For nearly a minute, Chavez Ravine shook with joy and hope.

Butler doffed his cap, raised his arms, bit his lip, dabbed his eyes.

Then he turned and, as earlier promised, swung at Francisco Cordova’s first pitch for the Pittsburgh Pirates.

He figured that amid all the commotion, he could catch the fielders off guard.

Same old Butler.

He grounded that one weakly to second base, but eight innings later he drew a walk, stole second, took third on a catcher’s throwing error.

And guess who scored the winning run on Eric Karros’ sacrifice fly in the Dodgers’ 2-1 victory over the Pittsburgh Pirates?

Butler slid home far ahead of Mike Kingery’s throw from right field, dust and amazement and the thunder of life swirling around him.

Yep, Brett Butler is back.

For how long, nobody knows.

How strong he will be, nobody cared, at least for one night.

After enduring cancer surgery, 32 radiation treatments, regular injections of an experimental drug and daily doses of nearly 70 pills . . . Butler was just thrilled to see his name written in that familiar blue magic marker, on that lovely cardboard lineup card.

“I’ve been through hell and back,” Butler said. “That makes this the singular most important game of my career.”

Not to mention, one of the loudest.

He was given an ovation when he took the field for pregame warmups, when he ran to center field at the top of the first inning, when he made a running catch of Jason Kendall’s fly ball in the fifth.

Then when he lined a trademark punch single to left field in the fifth, his first hit in 128 days, the crowd stood and roared again.

Butler was patted on the side by Pirate first baseman Mark Johnson. Then he stood on the other side of the bag and stared at the sky.

Protege Todd Hollandsworth, batting at the time, stepped away from home plate so the cheering could continue.

“We want you to know,” Butler wrote in a pregame letter to fans, “that you share in this miracle.”

Maybe for a few moments Friday.

*

But one look at Butler’s back pocket during pregame workouts was proof that he must ultimately endure this alone.

There was a bottle of water there. Radiation on his throat has severely reduced his saliva production.

“He has a bottle in his hand every minute of the day. He even takes a bottle to bed,” said his wife, Eveline.

The Dodgers successfully petitioned the National League to allow Butler to bring a water bottle to center field with him. But on this night, he refused, even though it could have meant finishing an inning barely able to swallow.

“The only thing that scares me right now is losing,” Butler said.

The left-hander must also deal with numbness in his right shoulder caused by the surgery, which involved the removal of a plum-sized tumor and lymph nodes. He doesn’t know when, or if, the feeling will ever return. Not that he needs his shoulder to throw, or even all of it to bat.

“It’s going to be easier for him because he is a contact hitter, takes a lot of pitches, works the pitchers, doesn’t have that big swing,” said Dodger Manager Bill Russell.

Then there is the issue that is far bigger than a batting average or bunt.

Butler has been told that he has about an 84% chance of surviving the cancer if it does not return within a couple of years. If it does return, however, his chances alarmingly drop to 15%.

Robert Gadlage, Butler’s personal physician, flew in from Atlanta with cheers . . . and caution.

“I think we’re all optimistic, but it’s cautiously optimistic,” Gadlage said. “We’re way ahead in this game, but it’s only the second inning.”

Eveline Butler said she has heard far worse from others.

“We have letters from people who have had the cancer, saying we shouldn’t expect so much, that we have set unreachable goals and we are setting ourselves up for failure,” Eveline said. “I don’t know. Maybe those people don’t have the same basis of faith that we do.”

That faith, says Butler, helped him from the moment he was informed of the cancer on May 6, after it was discovered during a routine tonsillectomy.

*

He was 38 at the time, beginning his 16th and perhaps last season. At 5 feet 10, 161 pounds, with no power and little natural athletic ability, he had fought his way far beyond expectation during his career, and was hoping to end that career in a championship.

Then he was told he might die before he was 40.

“He broke down that day. It was the most distraught I’ve seen him,” Eveline said. “But since then, he hasn’t cried once. He’s said, ‘OK, what do we have to do.’ ”

Butler immediately retired upon hearing the bad news, but recanted several days later. The Dodgers were going to be in a pennant race and he wanted to take part.

Two months later, amid the painful effects of the radiation, his resolve remained firm.

“I felt, ‘Who am I to question God?’ ” he said. “He took an 89-pound weakling and put him in the major leagues for 16 years. I figure, he can do anything.”

Butler endured a neck so badly burned, it looked as if it had been chewed by a dog. He endured as many as 35 cold sores on the inside of his mouth.

It took him 15 minutes to take one bite of pasta. It took him only six weeks to lose 18 pounds.

When he finished his treatments in Atlanta, he visited Dodger Stadium on July 30 in preparation for his return. Teammates were aghast at his appearance, and Eveline wondered whether this would be his last visit there ever.

“To watch him sitting in the box with Fred [Claire, general manager] and watching him struggle just to eat, I thought, ‘This is going to be tough,’ ” she said.

To watch him insist that he would return this season made teammates shiver.

“A lot of people thought, ‘This is just something he needs to say,’ ” said pitcher Tom Candiotti. “But I know Brett. And I thought, maybe he’ll never be the same type of player. But he’s gonna do it.”

Butler spent the next three weeks working with noted New Orleans-based trainer Mackie Shilstone, then joined the Dodgers at the end of August on the beginning of their recent road trip.

Then came Friday night, when members of the Pirates came over to congratulate him, and fans ran down to give him roses, when even bitter grudges were forgotten.

Remember last season when pro-union Butler openly supported the team after it gave infielder Mike Busch a cold shoulder because he had played for a strike-breaking squad in spring training?

“I wish I had the determination and self-drive of a Brett Butler,” Busch said. “He is an inspiration to everyone.”

Shortly before Butler left the field pumping his fist with that winning run, there was a brief relief appearance by Dodger pitcher Scott Radinsky, two years removed from Hodgkin’s disease. Miracles everywhere.