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Rays/MLB

Tears mark the real man

By JOHN ROMANO
Published May 31, 2006

A proud man in Washington cries.

An angry man in Atlanta vents.

The scenes are unrelated, but only by time and distance. Viewed together, perhaps there is a story to be told.

They could speak to the way things used to be, and how drastically they have changed. Of what it really means to be tough. Or even of the subtle difference between pride and ego.

Perhaps you already have seen the clips on television. There is Frank Robinson, 70-year-old manager of the Washington Nationals, crying in his office while explaining why he pulled his catcher in the middle of an inning. And there is Brad Penny, millionaire ace of the Los Angeles Dodgers, yelling and trashing equipment after being pulled from a game in Atlanta.

Two emotional men, two competitive performers.

Only one real embarrassment.

It is not the way their emotions poured out that is at issue. It is the reasons behind these displays that is instructive.

Robinson, you should know, is among the hardest men to have ever played the game. Some say he was mean. Others were too afraid to say anything.

His career began when integration was still a novelty, and he lived through taunts and humiliations few will ever know. But if he took abuse from the bleachers, he never offered an inch on the field in a Hall of Fame career.

Willie Mays was playful. Hank Aaron was dignified. Robinson was controlled fury. He played in an era when batters wore no armor other than a helmet, yet he crowded the plate and dared pitchers to throw inside. Ultimately, he was hit by far more pitches than any of baseball's legendary sluggers.

Robinson went into second base on double plays as hard as anyone who came before or since, and he challenged teammates to play with equal intensity.

All of this is meant as an explanation to the almost voyeuristic peek we had of Robinson on Thursday.

The Nationals were without their top two catchers and Matthew LeCroy, a natural first baseman, was pressed into service. The Astros took advantage by stealing seven bases and forcing LeCroy into two throwing errors.

With the Astros running wild and Washington's lead evaporating, Robinson removed LeCroy in the middle of the seventh. Pitchers are routinely yanked in mid inning, but it is considered a humiliation for a position player.

That LeCroy is hard-working and well-liked is a large part of the story. That he walked off the field without complaint or grudge is important, too.

It explains why Robinson felt so badly afterward. He cried not for himself, but for LeCroy. For a player strong enough to admit he was not up to the task. And it hurt Robinson to think he might have shamed a decent man.

To Robinson, winning comes before ego. And so he could not allow LeCroy to stay on the field. But the customs and codes of the game mean something, too, and so Robinson was conflicted by the choice he had to make.

Which brings us to Penny.

The pitcher who looked so tough while slamming a bat down in the dugout Monday. A competitor so dedicated and driven to victory, he yelled at Dodgers manager Grady Little and pitching coach Rick Honeycutt. An athlete so intense, he couldn't contain his emotions when pulled.

At least, that's how it looked.

But it's not how it should be seen.

Penny is everything Robinson and LeCroy are not. He is a selfish oaf who cared not about the honor of the game, or the fortunes of his teammates.

He was angry only because his precious statistics had been threatened by Little's decision to go to the bullpen.

You see, Penny had been staked to an 8-1 lead against the Braves on Monday, and he needed only to survive two more outs to get the minimum five innings necessary for a starting pitcher to be credited with a win.

But Atlanta had put together six consecutive hits off Penny, and had the tying run at the plate, when Little brought in reliever Joe Beimel. One pitch later, the Braves had hit into a double play and the threat was over.

Did Penny eventually realize his blunder? Did he regret his outburst later when the 12-5 victory had been secured? Not at all.

He complained to reporters that he wasn't given the chance to work out of the jam, as if six consecutive hits were a mere fluke. He tried to curry sympathy by revealing he has been pitching with a sore shoulder, as if this entitled him to special treatment on a team fighting for first place.

And so you have the difference between someone who believes in the sanctity of the game, and someone obsessed with personal glory. Between someone willing to make a tough decision, and someone not tough enough to admit he is wrong.

Between the way baseball was meant to be played, and the way it is too often played today.

Remember this the next time you see someone get emotional about a ballgame. Remember that it isn't always what it seems.

Real men don't throw hissy fits.

But they do, occasionally, cry.

[Last modified May 31, 2006, 02:28:40]