Word: zimmerer
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...score of 3-2. He was relishing in the spectacular comeback of pitcher Mike Torrez, who pitched his best outing since he faced the Yankees on June 29 in New York. And the perennial bullpen wild card, Dick Drago, made his first credible appearance in weeks. Don Zimmer has always been a nervous man. When he talks to reporters he darts his beady eyes from corner to corner, looking for approval...
...somehow, everything seems the same in the American League East--the spectre of Don Zimmer remains, stone-cold and poised at the steps of the dugout, a genuine study in genetic variation; the Orioles spoiling if not winning, but always getting the most out of a thin lineup; and Reggie Jackson is still dropping flies, complaining and getting thrown out of games. But the season of 1978 broke all precedents, and no one to knows what the standings mean in August 1979, and no one dares to imagine...
...have they backed down. New faces like Steve Renko have been struggling for recognition right from February 15, and they have produced better than even Earl Weaver could have expected. Last year's pitching blanks--Bob Sprowl, John LaRose, Andy Hassler--were tossed into more pressure than even Don Zimmer's surgeon could imagine, having to face the Yankees, the Yankees, and the Yankees as the Red Sox lost a game a day for a month and Bill Lee smirked in the bullpen, reading riddles from the Baghavadgita...
...appears that Don Zimmer has given up on the hard sell. He's played his talent rather admirably, keeping sore elbows and ankles in check. No pulled groins on this ball club, no pulled ripcords. While Zimmer insists that he is doing nothing differently this year, everyone knows it's just ego. Behind Zimmer's ego is not an ounce of superego, just a whole bunce of id. Id like the Red Sox dugout exploding onto the field after they win the 1979 American League East title; id like the Boston Globe printing a photograph of his dough-and-steel...
Bill Lee--that old gonfalon of Red Sox past--once said that Zimmer had to pass his driver's test before he could manage a professional baseball team. But gerbils just don't drive--they sniff and sneak and scurry their way out of the maze. And if the O's are demolished in a plane crash, (or if Earl Weaver sniff too much glue), then Don Zimmer's beady eyes might finally sit still at the end of the season. Besides, Zimmer is the right man for the job. In the American League East, a rodent's instincts...