Myers’ Season Intense, Nearly Perfect

A Massachusetts man traveled to Cleveland for the first time to see the All-Star Game.

He was dazzled by the city’s vibrant downtown, the broad lakefront and the passionate hum of The Flats.

He loved the old architecture, the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and, of course, Jacobs Field.

One afternoon, he ventured off the beaten path to Lake View Cemetery, where he viewed the baroque four-story tomb of assassinated 19th-century president James Garfield.

At the bottom of a winding staircase is a crypt displaying the copper caskets of Garfield and his wife.

Naturally, when asked what he thought was the high point of his visit to Cleveland, the man said, “Garfield’s tomb.”

Some people follow a road less traveled. From Garfield’s tomb, it’s a short leap to Randy Myers, the Orioles’ idiosyncratic closer who made it to Cleveland as an All-Star and might just get to Cooperstown on a road all to himself.

Myers is a big reason the Orioles are leading the American League East. He is having a career season, through Thursday his ERA was 1.35 ERA and he had 27 saves. He could challenge Bobby Thigpen’s single-season record of 57 set in 1990, or his own personal best (and National League record) of 53, set with the Cubs in 1993.

Entering the second half, Myers ranked eighth on the career save list, with 301, closing in on Goose Gossage at 310 and Tom Henke at 311. Active relievers ahead of him were Lee Smith (478), Dennis Eckersley (371) and John Franco (343).

From a distance, Myers, 34, seems to be a bit of a camouflage-suited crackpot suspicious of the world and, particularly, hitters. He was, after all, one of the chin-buzzing Nasty Boys (along with Rob Dibble and Norm Charlton) on the ’90 world-champion Reds. He also was the guy who used a weird martial arts move to crunch a fan who charged the mound at Wrigley Field in 1995. This year, he refused to join teammates in handing out flowers to women before a Mother’s Day game at Camden Yards. When a local sports columnist criticized him in print, he wrote a letter to the newspaper suggesting the columnist was out of touch with “working class” families and their concerns.

He is known for stocking his locker with military paraphernalia and weaponry, as well as a paper shredder, presumably to dispose of unfavorable stories and unlucky writers. Before games, he picks at beef stick with a hunting knife. Wintering in Vancouver, Wash., he hunts, fishes and coaches a women’s junior college basketball team, adding to his mystique. Most stars go south to play golf.

But in Cleveland, I heard Myers explain his background and craft in a way that not only humanized him but qualified him as a baseball Zen master.

“I’m a blue-collar worker from a blue-collar family,” Myers says. “My dad and mom ran a machine auto parts shop. I was going to be a machinist-mechanic. In high school and college, I worked on all kinds of machinery--lathes, bores . . . everything.

“I got used to fine-tuning and not being able to make mistakes. If you’re not within five ten-thousandths of an inch, (you’ve made) a bad part and scrap it. A lot of money can be lost in equipment and time.

“It’s a matter of precision. That’s the mentality of going out and closing a game. I’ve always had that precision mentality. I’ve been asked how I learned how to concentrate. Well, it’s something I’ve done my whole life. I don’t know how not to concentrate.”

Orioles assistant G.M. Kevin Malone talks about finding Myers in a clubhouse, during a game, preparing for a late-inning appearance. Sometimes Myers is in a weight room, sometimes in the manager’s office.

“He wears the same stuff, a military cap and sweatshirt, like he’s going to battle,” Malone says. “The lights are off. Or if they’re on, a cap is pulled over his eyes and he’ll be lying on the floor with his feet propped up. He meditates.”

Preparation is a hallmark. Orioles pitching coach Ray Miller notes that when Myers enters a game, he knows the next three hitters and the likely pinch hitters. Myers takes a short walk after each pitch, deciding on the next pitch, and often shakes off the catcher until he gets the signal he wants.

It’s a long journey to the World Series. But the Orioles just might get there with Myers’ help. The onetime machinist-mechanic says he still works on his own cars. The question: Can he keep a bullpen purring through October?