Homesteaders

Sporting News, The, April 17, 1995 by Steve Marantz

They straggle in, refugees of baseball's war, strike-weary, out of work, and occasionally, out of sorts.

Mickey Tettleton, late of the Tigers, is the first player to arrive, direct from his ranch near Pauls Valley, Okla., dragging a bag of equipment and a heavy heart. Manager Jackie Moore greets Tettleton, nods at his bag, and says, "We're short on catchers. I hope you brought your glove." Tettleton replies, "No, thanks. I'm here to DH."

Former Pirates infielder Tom Foley is next in. He finds Tettleton at a batting cage, alone, slamming orange balls off a hitting tee. Tettleton and Foley loosen up by playing catch and then pitch to one another. Foley confides to Tettleton, "I hope I'm not around here too long." Tettleton replies, "I hope none of us is around here too long."

Former Phillies infielder Mariano Duncan is the third arrival. He takes a look at Tettleton and Foley and heads for the door. Ill see you guys tomorrow," he says.

Later, Tettleton and Foley chat in the clubhouse. Enter Dave Gallagher, former Braves outfielder. Garagher sizes up the group and announces, "This isn't a camp -- it's a leper colony."

Everybody, it seems, is compelled to name it. Camp Homestead, Camp Limbo, swap shop, Camp Fehr, Homestead Homies, flea market and tryout camp are a few nicknames. Historians might favor Camp Messersmith or Camp Seitz. Officially, it is the Major League Baseball Players' Association free-agent camp. No matter the name, one thing is certain. There never has been a camp like it before, and there may never be again.

It opened April 7, a week after the players ended their strike, for the purpose of giving free agents a place to condition themselves while they looked for jobs. Normally, free agents are signed in the two months following the World Series. By the time spring training begins, they know if they have a job. But the strike prevented free-agent signings, leaving approximately 150 to 200 players without employment.

When it ended, clubs moved quickly into an abbreviated three-week training camp, simultaneously shopping the free-agent market. Time was critical. In a move designed to help free agents prepare themselves and keep up with players in the 28 club camps, the players' union opened a camp in Homestead, Fla. It hired a manager, a staff of coaches, a trainer and equipment manager. It arranged for regular workouts and, eventually, game competition. The union expected as many as 100 players to show up, but only 29 were on hand the first day. The frenzied pace of signings, combined with players' reservations about the camp, kept attendance down.

"Players are being given the opportunity to come down and get themselves in shape and not be behind the rest of the players," says Moore, a 38-year veteran of coaching and managing. "We'll present them with a regular spring camp -- calisthenics in the moming, organized pitching, ground balls for infielders, hitting against five pitching. After they get in shape we'll play some games.

"A guy could show up here one day, work out and then next day he's gone. This is what we're hoping. Nothing we would enjoy more. That's what we're trying to accomplish."

Not everybody liked the idea. Former Phillies first baseman John Kruk declined to attend. "What's the point of me going there?" Kruk says. "What are they going to learn about me they don't already know? I've been in the big leagues for nine years, and if they don't know what I can do by now, those people are dumber than I thought they were."

Former Red Sox pitcher Danny Darwin took a dim view, suggesting that his pride was hurt by the notion of such a camp. "I won't try out for nobody," Darwin says. "I'm too old to try out. might go down and work out, but I'm not auditioning."

There were reasonable concerns. One, raised by Kruk, nagged by chronically sore back and knees, is the specter of injury. "Suppose I get hurt ... who pays the medical bills if you ain't been signed?" he says.

Medical insurance provided by the union covers cost of treatment, but nothing covers potential loss of marketability. As a result, on-field action is expected to be cautious. "You won't see nobody running into walls," Tettleton says.

Training-room activity is light "In this camp, nobody says something is wrong," Moore says. "Usually players talk about a stiff arm or something. Not here. We could get by with one trainer for 100 players. You'll never find a healthier group of players."

With players bearing all of the risk on injury liability, clubs might have an incentive to sit back and watch. "I thought of it a lot before I came here," Gallagher said before signing a minor league contract with the Phillies. "You never want to get hurt, but the one fear of being here is that it would be an incentive for a club to let you work out. Just by being here would a club send someone to watch you, not having any liability in case you get hurt? I hope that's not the case. I hope the interest is there and you get signed and that's it."

Despite their concerns, some real talent showed up, and it comprised a potentially competitive lineup: Tettleton or Benito Santiago, c; Dave Magadan lb; Duncan or Scott Fletcher, 2b; Randy Velarde, ss; Chris Sabo, 3b; Howard Johnson, Mike Devereaux, Mike Felder, Gallagher, Candy Maldonado or Lloyd McClendon, of. Starting rotation included Dave Stewart, Bobby Witt, Todd Stottlemyre, Scott Sanderson and Erik Hanson. Derek Lilliquist was the setup man for Jay Howell. Somehow, Moore was planning to field a team that would play exhibitions against other clubs.