Close … closer even closer: So you think you know baseball? Then what makes a good batting practice pitcher? Where the heck did the fungo originate? How much meal money are major leaguers given? Baseball's big picture is defined by the snapshots that provide the game's intricate details

Sporting News, The, July 29, 2002

The fungo bat: A trusty tool

During batting practice, you usually can spot a coach slapping grounders to infielders with his trusty fungo bat. Former Cardinals manager Red Schoendienst, a 60-year veteran of professional baseball, says the fungo has been an important tool for coaches since he has been around. Now a special assistant with the team, Schoendienst still carries his everywhere he goes on the field.

"In spring training, you'll hit a thousand balls a day--easy," he says.

Fungo bats are lighter than regular bats, so swinging them is a little easier. They're also longer, a narrow barrel to help the hitter place the ball better. Schoendienst, 79, says he can hit a ground ball to within a foot of his desired target. Fly balls are a little trickier because the swing must be harder.

There's nothing terribly complicated about a fungo bat--except the derivation of its name. The word has been traced back as far as 1867, first appearing in Haney's Book of Reference, which described a practice game of that name in which one player hit a fly ball to others out in the field. The player who caught the ball would take a turn with the bat.

Others have said the term comes from Latin; from a Scottish term meaning pitch, toss or fling; and from a children's rhyme. And one radio station cited "a Princeton professor" saying it could have derived from the sense that "hitting the ball sounded like fungus wood."--Stan McNeal

Bobblehead night: 80 minutes of madness

Bobbleheads are as popular with ticket-takers as anything that would spur thousands of people to line up at noon when the gates don't open until after 5. "Don't even bring it up" one ticket-taker says on Fernando Vina Bobblehead Night at Busch Stadium.

Not long before the gates open, the li'l Fernandos are transported to the stadium from a warehouse in downtown St. Louis. They are packed in 1,273 cardboard boxes. Each box weighs 20 pounds and contains 24 smaller white boxes. Each white box has a miniature version of Vina, and each head bobs like Leo Mazzone's.

Minutes before the gates open, fans are lined up around the stadium. They're hot and sweaty and cranky, probably because they realize they have spent hours waiting to get a doll that looks as much like Fernando Vina as Jerry Jones looks like himself.

When the gates finally open, the handout process is a three-person operation. One takes the ticket. A second hands li'l Fernando to the customer. A third hands another Vina to the second. The Busch Stadium crew gives out 381.9 Vinas per minute, exhausting the supply of 30,552 in 80 minutes. If only the game moved so quickly.--Matt Crossman

Signs: Don't believe everything you see

In seven seasons as the Padres' third base coach, Tim Flannery has learned to keep his signs simple.

"My son comes home from youth games with these elaborate sets of signs," says Flannery. "They're far more complicated than anything we use. Why? That is a question I'll never be able to answer."

There are two things a player must look for: the sign and the indicator. The sign can be anything from touching a belt buckle to placing hands on knees, but none of it means anything until the coach gives the indicator, which means a sign actually is on.

All that gesturing can be confusing. Rich Dauer, the Royals' third base coach, estimates that one of every five signs is missed and says the hit-and-run is the most often ignored. That's why Dauer says he hasn't changed his signs all season.

But not everyone in the major leagues believes signs should be simple. When Preston Gomez was managing (three teams from 1969-1980), he ordered a different set of signs for every player. Dauer understands why. When he goes through a signaling routine, Dauer knows the opposing dugout is watching as closely as his own players. "As a third base coach, I am the most paranoid person in the park," he says. "If they're not trying to steal my signs, then I'd be disappointed."--Bill Center

From last out to first pitch

10:30 p.m.

Game ends. Next up: Cardinals vs. Padres in 20 hours, 40 minutes--and counting

10:30-11:30

The grounds crew drags the warning track and bases, plugs holes in the sod and puts the tarp on the field if there is at least a 30 percent chance of rain ("Pretty much most of the time in a Midwestern city like St. Louis," says head groundskeeper Bill Findley).

10:30-1:00 a.m.

Players eat dinner in the clubhouse. Clubhouse staff wash uniforms, dirty towels, T-shirts and underwear. The Cardinals have three washers and two dryers and use five pounds of detergents (Surf, because it smells fresh) after each game.

11:15 p.m.

Visiting team bus leaves stadium.

Midnight

Managers Toni La Russa and Bruce Bochy leave. The last two Cardinals--relievers Dave Veres and Steve Kline--depart after working out. Cleaned uniforms are hung in the lockers. Each player has two for home games, two for the road.

6:00 a.m.

Cleaning crew arrives to mop, dust and vacuum the clubhouse.

7:00

Groundskeepers arrive.

7:10

Tarp is rolled back. Groundskeepers double-check field, making sure that holes around home plate and the mound are filled in. "They sweep up sunflower seeds from the bullpen and fill in holes there, put down chalk lines and water the grass and infield dirt. ("This might riot seem like much, but It takes a long time. "The hardest part is keeping the infield dirt wet because it's so hot here," says Findley,)