Dodgers Making Their Charge at Padres--for Last

If they set odds before the baseball season that a player named Tony would push for a .400 batting average, people would have rushed to put their money on Tony Gwynn, not Tony Fernandez.

One person you would not have seen in line would be Gwynn himself, the eight-time batting champion, the guy who carried a .339 lifetime average.

He bailed out on the dream and did not think he had another run at .400 in him.

“Honestly, I didn’t,” Gwynn said. “I think to do it now you’ve got to be patient, and I’m not patient. You’ve got to walk a lot. I don’t walk a lot. I felt like my best chances [to hit .400] had gone by the boards. But the start I got off to changed my mind. I thought, ‘Well, maybe.’ ”

Then again, maybe not. Gwynn batted .444 during a 13-game hitting streak in April. But a strained left calf slowed him down in May, necessitating a 19-game stint on the disabled list.

It has brought his pursuit of 3,000 hits to a crawl. Gwynn has the milestone within range, needing only 18 hits. Eighteen is nothing for Gwynn. That’s one good homestand when he’s really going.

Except right now he can barely make it to the batter’s box. He came out of a game Saturday against the Pittsburgh Pirates because the calf tightened up, then sat out Sunday’s game.

He felt great before the Padres began their three-game series against the Dodgers on Tuesday night, then went out to take a few fly balls and “it grabbed me.” Another night on the bench, another night the quest for 3,000 has to hold. The Padres probably will put him on the disabled list again today.

‘I’m going to get there,” Gwynn said. “That’s always been my premise. Coming into this year, I felt I’m going to get there. When, where, what the circumstances will be, I don’t know.

“I’ve been working my butt off to get back, get healthy. Then, boom, this happens. The 3,000 stuff, that’s going to happen, God willing, unless I get hit by a truck or something.

“That part of it, I can’t control, I guess. You know that when you do get back out there, you’re going to be able to get 18 hits.

“That’s pretty much how I look at it. With this injury thing, people think I’ve been pushing, trying to hurry and get there. And I haven’t.

“The only thing that’s been difficult sometimes is dealing with [the media]. And that has been an experience really in itself. I think I can handle the press OK, but just answering the same questions over and over again, sometimes it works on you.”

Gwynn getting weary of the media? That’s a new one. Normally, he’s one of the most accommodating and enlightening interviewees in sports. The only times he isn’t available are when he’s on the field, in the batting cage or signing autographs. He can turn a talk about hitting into high-level philosophy.

There is nothing customary about Gwynn’s season this year. Despite a .338 average, he isn’t listed in his usual place among the batting leaders because he has not made enough plate appearances. And the average itself is deceiving; he carries a .393 average against right-handed pitchers but is batting only .226 against left-handers. Very un-Gwynnlike.

“Usually I hit lefties as well as righties, I hit on grass as well as turf,” Gwynn said. “But this year it’s just been way up here for righties, way down here for lefties, way up here at night, way down here at day. I base my whole game on being consistent day in and day out. Right now you’re just sitting here scratching your head trying to figure out why things are going the way they’re going.”

If he’s sick of reporters, if he’s wondering what’s wrong with his batting stroke, perhaps it’s a sign that he’s fed up, period. He never has moaned about the series of bad breaks and bad faith that has intervened in his career.

The two years his Padres made it to the World Series they ran into two practically unbeatable teams: the 1984 Detroit Tigers and the 1998 New York Yankees. Gwynn’s World Series batting average is .371; San Diego’s World Series record is 1-8.

The Padres went Florida Marlin and dismantled their National League championship team from last year, leaving great doubt the 39-year-old Gwynn will get another shot at a World Series in his career.

In 1994 he lost his best chance to hit .400. He always thought the opportune way to do it would be to hover just below .400, then get hot at the end of the season. He was in position with a .394 average after 110 games when the strike ended the season.

Now the one thing it seemed no pitcher, no labor dispute, no ownership could take away from him--his God-given right to accumulate 3,000 hits--is set back by his own left calf.

He has every right to have a deep pool of resentment with him. If it’s there, somehow it never surfaces. A couple of drops are all you’ll ever see.

If Gwynn is tired of dealing with the media, he sure has a strange way of showing it.

He wanted to get out of the locker room Tuesday night. It was after 10, he was about to drive home to see his daughter’s junior high school graduation Wednesday, then drive back to Dodger Stadium for that night’s game. Instead of dwindling, the number of reporters around his locker was increasing.

He changed into his street clothes, pausing to answer a question along each step of the way. He put on his shoes and answered a question. He tied his left shoe, answered a question. Tied his right shoe, answered a question.

That’s the way it has been this season. All he wants to do is hit the road and turn on cruise control, but he’s having a tough time even making it to the car.

J.A. Adande can be reached at his e-mail address: j.a.adande@latimes.com.