Hit .400? Not a Chance: Walker : Rockies’ Outfielder Would Rather Talk About Videos He Watches During Rain Delays

A conversation with the man living life at .400 into July takes unexpected twists and turns.

Sometimes, speeding around the blind corners of a chat with Larry Walker, you run smack into Randy Johnson looming large and dead ahead. One minute you’re talking about stances and swings. The next minute, Walker is talking about Johnson.

We’re all alone in the Coors Field clubhouse, because the rest of the Colorado Rockies are on the field taking batting practice. Batting practice isn’t an everyday thing for Walker. Today, for instance, it’s skippable. What could more batting practice do for a man living life at .400 into July?

“The thing is,” he says, “I just step in the box, see the ball and hit it. Or try to hit it. That’s how I learned how to do it. Ralph Rowe, who was my hitting coach in the Expos’ chain when I was in Utica and Burlington, told me, ‘Kid, just see the ball and hit the ball. That’s all there is to it. See it and hit it.’ I said, ‘OK.’ He said it was real simple. So I took it real simple.’

When the San Diego Padres came through Denver in early June, an inventive reporter sat Walker down with Tony Gwynn and asked them to compare notes about hitting. Gwynn talked about preparation, about studying video, about swing analysis. Walker talked about video, too. He talked about Tin Cup, Pulp Fiction, Slapshot and the other videos he watches during rain delays.

When it was suggested that the June Rockies-Padres series featured a pair of .400 hitters, Walker said no. He said it featured a .400 hitter and a .285 hitter, which was his career batting average entering this season.

But disclaimers aside, living life at .400 into July means hearing about it every day. At least once, usually more. Living life at .400 into September 1, on the other hand . . . you wonder how many times a day he would hear about it then.

“If I was to think about it,” Walker says, “I probably wouldn’t be any different than I am right now. It doesn’t change anything. I still come to the park. I still screw around. I still show up like I am right now, unshowered all day, looking like a bum, hair not combed. Nothing will change that. Not even Randy Johnson.”

Walker, who was hitting around .415 the night the Rockies played at Seattle a few weeks ago, chose the sensible approach to facing Johnson’s left-handed cruelty. He rested his aching knees and shoulder. Other left-handed hitters take a personal day all the time when Johnson pitches. Rafael Palmeiro does it. Don Mattingly did it. The difference is that Walker told everyone he was going to do it before he did it.

But Johnson isn’t what I’ve asked him about here. I’ve asked him how he gets better if he doesn’t study hitting. I’ve asked him how he goes from .285 to .400 into July if he doesn’t take batting practice every day.

“It’s just being in there all the time,” he says. “That’s been my downfall in past years, being injured and not being in the lineup every day. This year, for the most part, I’ve stayed fairly healthy and I’ve been able to be in the lineup almost every day. Except for when I’m scared to face pitchers, I guess. I spoke the truth about that, by the way. I said, ‘Hey, Johnson is tough on lefties.’ I said, ‘We can put an all-right-handed lineup in there.’ I said, ‘That will increase our chances against him.’

“The way people reacted, that must be the worst thing I’ve done in my life. It’s everywhere I go now. It’s on America Online. It’s in the papers. It’s on TV. It’s in my mailbox. It’s everywhere.”

The thought that Walker can still be living life at .400 at the end of the season is silly. Nobody has done it since Ted Williams in 1941. The thought that Walker could win the Triple Crown this season is silly, too. Nobody has done that since Carl Yastrzemski in 1967. But just before the All-Star break, Walker was leading the league in home runs. He and Gwynn were flip-flopping for the National League lead in batting average, and he was third in runs batted in. So he hears about the Triple Crown every day now, too.

Hearing about it, though, and being consumed by it are different animals. The man living life at .400 into July says he can hear the Triple Crown talk and still not think it’s anything but silly.

Then he takes me around another sudden bend in the road.

“I hear about Randy Johnson every day, too, but I don’t think about Randy Johnson every day,” he protests, perhaps too much. “I don’t go around having little thoughts in my mind about Randy. I don’t have little thoughts in my mind about hitting .400 or winning the Triple Crown, either.”

Gwynn will win the batting championship, Walker says. Andres Galarraga will win the RBI title, he says. Galarraga will win the RBI title partly because Walker hits in front of him in the Rockies’ batting order. A man living life at .400 into July creates a lot of RBI opportunities for the next hitter.

The man living life at .400 into July played in the All-Star Game in Cleveland last week, as he should. A week and a half before the game, we talked about that, about the rewards that come with a season like this. And even that innocuous subject turns an unforeseen corner. To Walker, the All-Star Game means . . . Randy Johnson.

“I get to face Johnson, you know,” he says. “If we both get in the All-Star Game, I get to face him. I mean, I shouldn’t have said anything about it from the very start. If I was the manager that night in Seattle, I’d be sitting me out on my own. I should’ve said I was playing right up ‘til the game, and then not played. I should’ve told everybody that (Don) Baylor took me out of the lineup. I should’ve blamed it on him. But I took it like a man. I didn’t bail. Well, I did bail, but I didn’t bail on somebody else’s back. I did it on my own.

“I feel like Bill Buckner right now. Buckner has a great career, and he makes one error and that’s all people remember him for. It’s not right.”

As I write this, I don’t know whether Walker faced Johnson in Cleveland on Tuesday night. (Walker walked in the second inning, facing Johnson). I do know that Johnson will have little or no effect on the outcome of Walker’s season; the Rockies and Mariners face each other only twice more. And I know this: Ninety minutes after our talk in Denver, Walker hit a home run deep into the seats in the bottom of the first inning. When he trotted out to his position in right field for the top of the second, the fans in the Coors Field stands stood with their arms raised, and then bowed repeatedly.

As if to say, “We’re not worthy.”

Coming out of the All-Star break this weekend, the Padres are playing in Denver again. Gwynn and Walker are both living life at .400, or damn near it, and we’re into mid-July. The second half, and Williams and Yastrzemski await.

Silly as that sounds.