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Sunday, August 12, 2001

Compiled by Robert Dvorchak

Tony Gwynn, who will make his final appearance as a player in Pittsburgh this afternoon, recalled a time when he was standing on first base after hitting a single, and Willie Stargell made an observation.

"Son, it looks to me like you're scared of the fastball," Stargell told him.

Gwynn thought about it later and figured he would try to go to it instead of letting it come to him. A while later, he saw Stargell before a batting practice and brought the subject up.

"I said, 'Mr. Stargell, when you said that, is this what you meant?' And he winked. Those are the silent lessons you learn in this game," Gwynn said.

Gwynn learned everything he could from every great in the game -- Stargell, Pete Rose, Mike Schmidt, Bill Madlock, plus all the veterans in San Diego's clubhouse -- Steve Garvey, Goose Gossage, Garry Templeton, Graig Nettles.

"I wasn't scared. I was open, willing to take it all in. That's a lost art in this game," said Gwynn, who made a rare start last night in this his 20th and final season. He received a standing ovation from the PNC Park crowd in his first at-bat in the second, then doubled and scored.

His eight batting titles tie him with Honus Wagner in the National League record book, and he is 17th on the all-time hit list. He will be remembered with a bat in his hand, but behind the scenes was his preparation, the years spent studying video to learn about himself and opposing pitchers, his work on his baserunning, his attention to positioning himself on defense.

One day last week, Manager Lloyd McClendon said Gwynn was everything that's right about baseball. That was apparent when Gwynn received the commissioner's Historic Achievement Award at the All-Star game this year.

This fall, he and Cal Ripken Jr. will retire. The farewell tour has been bittersweet. It's nice to take a curtain call in cities such as Pittsburgh and have a chance to say goodbye, but it's tempered by the fact he loves to play baseball and won't be playing next year.

"People ask who will follow after Cal and I are gone. Somebody will. That's the nature of the business," Gwynn said. "People tell me that I did it right. But that's all I've ever known. Work hard, have success and try to handle success the right way.

"Cal and I talked about this. Our numbers were good. But just as important is to be remembered as good guys who did it the right way. That doesn't always happen," Gwynn said. "I can go to my grave with a smile on my face."

Nine for 9

Bill Mazeroski accepted nine official gifts in the Friday night ceremony held -- where else? -- at second base. The haul included a video, a photo, a diamond ring for his wife, his own street sign, a base emblazoned with the No. 9, a bronze glove, a painting, a big screen TV/home theater and a ball from George W. Bush, a team owner who found a second career in the White House.

They were presented to an athlete who got paid to play a game in 1954 when Vietnam was a French quagmire, became a Pirate when he was 19, played on two World Series winners, hit a home run that has never been duplicated and defined the defense of second base so well he had his number retired and his image cast in Cooperstown bronze.

"What more could a ballplayer ask for?" Mazeroski mused.

But there was one last favor bestowed on a working-class hero who had a golden touch even if he wasn't born with a silver spoon -- a standing ovation from an audience that likes its heroes humble, hard-working and triumphant. Those fans rose above whatever differences they have to join in unison for the single purpose of appreciation.

There have been louder, more raucous, more spontaneous cheers in Pittsburgh sports. But none have been warmer. The hardest hearts were softened by Mazeroski, a throwback to when baseball was a game and a reminder of why it stirred such passions.

"It's been a special, special, special career just being here in Pittsburgh," he said in way of thanks before the fans returned the favor as he circled PNC Park's crushed red lava in a 1960 vintage convertible.

His feet never touched the ground as he headed for home one last time, just as his feet never seemed to touch the ground on a double play pivot or when he circled the bases to slay the Yankees.

The cheers reached a crescendo when he passed the Pirates' dugout. He had introduced himself to these Pirates in spring training as "an old infielder." On this night, they rose to lend their voices to the ballpark chorus lauding the white-haired, waving man wearing a sleeveless No. 9 jersey and a radiant smile.

It was a baseball player's version of riding off into the sunset. May the music of the moment resonate in his ears forever.

Necessary habit

Mike Fetters knows his pre-pitch ritual looks quirky. With the outcome of a game hanging in the balance, the Pirates' new closer takes a deep breath or two, then snaps his head to lock onto the catcher and the batter with a stare that says he's focused. Then, he sets himself in his stretch.

While teammates and fans may get a kick out of it, Fetters has practical reasons for adopting the routine. For one, he's an asthmatic and needs to control his breathing to keep from hyperventilating. And two, it helps him block out the noise and other distractions as he goes about his business trance-like.

"It might look strange, but it really helps keep me under control," said Fetters, acquired at the trading deadline from Los Angeles in the Terry Mulholland deal.

Like most closers, he always had a gunfighter's stare. But he adopted the breathing pattern last year while working with his massage therapist. Not many performers in high-stress situations can get the job done if they don't breathe properly.

Fetters triggers the sequence by picking out a spot on or near the mound -- a spike mark, an expectorated sunflower seed, a blade of grass. Then, it's quick gulp of air and a controlled exhale, followed by a radar lock on the batter's box.

"It helps me focus," he said. "I try to make it as simple as possible."