A Giant Leap

What do you want from the kid?

Maybe you want him to be the brash rookie, cocky and glaring.

Maybe you want him to be like that goofy Nuke Laloosh character in the film “Bull Durham,” half a grin, spouting cliches.

Russ Ortiz is barely 24, as baby-faced as the day he left Montclair Prep. He should be polishing his stuff in triple-A ball. He should be tucked safely in the bullpen, a work-in-progress.

But injuries have forced the San Francisco Giants to push Ortiz into the starting rotation. Suddenly the right-hander finds himself smack dab in the middle of the National League wild-card race.

He sits in front of his locker, in the far corner of the clubhouse, speaking plainly and softly, barely audible over the din of a nearby stereo.

No promises or predictions. No controversy. He’s got too much on his mind.

“I want to do well for the team,” he said. “I want to help us get to the playoffs . . . but it’s going to take time for me to learn.”

You wonder what is really going through the young man’s head. The hopes, the doubts. You see him jogging alone, hours before game time, back and forth across the green expanses of the outfield at 3Com Park.

Today, Ortiz starts against the Florida Marlins. It was only nine days ago he got his first victory in the majors, pitching eight-plus innings and giving up six hits to beat the New York Mets, 6-4. He kept the ball from the final out.

Sometimes, he said, being in the big leagues “is like a dream.”

Sometimes, it’s like a nightmare.

Last Monday, fresh off his victory, Ortiz took a 5-3 lead into the fifth inning against the Chicago Cubs and fell apart. Getting behind on the count to Sammy Sosa, he reverted to his primary weapon, a 96-mph fastball.

“Right down the middle,” he said. “A mistake.”

Sosa hit it over the left-field fence for a home run.

“In the minor leagues, I can get behind and throw all fastballs and get away with it,” Ortiz said. “Not here. You don’t get away with any pitches in big-league baseball.”

Then came Mark Grace. Ortiz decided to mix in a curve. Home run.

“I thought I kept the ball down,” he said. “But he got it up in the air.”

Then came Henry Rodriguez. Changeup. Home run.

“Really, I thought I made some good pitches,” Ortiz said.

Those back-to-back-to-back homers led to an 8-5 defeat that left him with a 1-2 record in five starts. His earned-run average has risen to 5.27.

Not that the Giants are entirely surprised. Developing a rookie pitcher during a playoff race can be hazardous.

It was only three years ago San Francisco drafted Ortiz out of Oklahoma, signing him with a $90,000 bonus. He was a closer then, having helped the Sooners to a national championship with three saves in the 1994 College World Series.

The Giants decided to make him a starter at their double-A club in Shreveport, La., last season. That meant he had to develop other pitches to go with his fastball.

“He’s one of our top prospects, obviously,” Giant pitching coach Ron Perranoski said. “I like his arm, the quality of his pitches.”

There is a big difference, however, between knowing how to throw a pitch and knowing when to throw it.

“You can’t put that in a bottle,” Perranoski said. “It’s a matter of experience.”

San Francisco does not have the luxury of nursing Ortiz along, not since Osvaldo Fernandez and Shawn Estes landed on the disabled list. The Giants have to be patient with their new starter, at least until Estes recovers from a sore throwing shoulder.

Ortiz, meanwhile, is trying to maintain a kind of tunnel vision.

It’s a trick he learned at Oklahoma, when he fell on tough times and was briefly benched during his junior season.

“That was a pretty humbling experience,” he said. “I was doubting myself and doubting God. I had to be really patient and not worry about stats or anything.”

Now, after each game, he spends only a few hours--just long enough to ice down--mulling over his mistakes. He goes over the technical aspects of his pitching.

Was he moving forward too quickly? How was his location?

If the bad pitches or bad decisions still bother him when he gets home, his wife, Stacey, steps in. She reminds him of his faith. She says: “It’s not going to happen for you right away. It’s going to take time.”

By the same token, Ortiz has not allowed himself to become too excited about his triumphs.

Let his family get worked up when he retires Mark McGwire on a fly ball to left. Let his friends gloat over him striking out Sosa twice before surrendering a home run.

Ortiz has taken only a few opportunities to get swept up in the moment.

Beating the Mets was cause for celebration. There was another instance, when he debuted with two innings of relief work against the Houston Astros in April.

“I just looked around and smiled to myself,” he said. “I’d made it.”

The majority of the time, especially when he is on the mound, Ortiz tunes it all out. The big crowds and television cameras. The big stadiums and the pressure of the playoff race.

“That gets into your head,” he said. “And then you start pressing.”

His sights are set on the task at hand. Ortiz takes his new job day-by-day.

Whatever else is on his mind, he isn’t saying.