Spring straining

Sporting News, The, Feb 27, 1995 by Steve Marantz

But nobody knows if Dykstra actually is in Orlando. Players arriving early say they doubt he will show up. Dozens of reporters and several TV crews crowd a lobby awaiting him. Suspense builds. Finally, minutes before the scheduled meeting, Dykstra appears, grimfaced, flanked by teammate Dave Hollins. He pushes past reporters, saying nothing.

Reports from inside are sketchy. Dykstra reads a prepared statement disavowing any intention of betraying the union. But he also questions the tactics of the union's negotiators. Hard questions fly at Dykstra. He fields some, and teammates Hollins and Darren Daulton field others. As the meeting continues, Bobby Bonilla emerges and tells reporters, "There were some mixed feelings on what Lenny said. Half the guys are ready to charge him and the other half are ready to listen to what he has to say."

Later, Andy Van Slyke describes the 41/2-hour meeting: "It was like a Christian going into the lion's den with 100 lions with fangs sticking out who haven't eaten in five hours."

Union head Donald Fehr says to reporters, "There are 1,100 players out there and you're focusing on just one. Lenny has never suggested to me or anyone else that he would act contrary to the opinion of the majority of other people."

But reporters are unable to ascertain Dykstra's opinion. He slips out a side door, hides momentarily behind a parked car, and jumps into a getaway truck driven by Hollins.

Mets G.M. Joe McIlvaine puts Dykstra in perspective. It is the first day of camp, and McIlvaine's mind is drifting back to better times. He recalls the Mets drafting Dykstra out of Garden Grove (Calif.) High School in the 12th round of the 1981 draft.

"I don't think this story has been told before," McIlvaine says. "But when we drafted Lenny, he demanded that we start him out in A ball. We told him we never put a high school kid higher than the Rookie League. So he says 'I'm not signing,' and the next day he packs his bags and takes off for Colorado. He's playing in some league in Colorado.

"A week later he comes back and says 'I want to sign. But I'm not signing unless you put me in A ball.'

"Well, we had a hellhole of a place called Shelby, N.C. Shelby had the worst field in organized baseball. But it was A ball. So we signed Lenny and sent him to Shelby and he hit about.260. We put him back there a second year. And the third year he went to Lynchburg and hit.358 and stole all the bases.

"He's the only kid we've ever had who refused to start in the Rookie League because he was better than the Rookie League."

"Has he changed since then?" McIlvaine is asked.

"No," McIlvaine says. "Confidence was never a problem with Lenny."

If there is a redeeming factor to the spring, it is the human face of a replacement player. Most are friendly, open, appreciative and thoughtful. They are the people striking players were before they became numbed, over-indulged and bored with celebrity.

There are no attitudes in replacement clubhouses. There are people like the Marlins' Marty Clary, 32, a former pitcher for the Braves, who is trying to forget the tragic death of his 1-year-old son, Weston. The infant fell from a third-story apartment window last spring in Pueblo, Mexico, Clary had gone to play baseball. Now, Clary says," There's nothing can go through more difficult and shaking to your faith. If people want to be mad at me for playing baseball, let them."