For a day, Rays able to dodge 'the beast'

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By GARY SHELTON

© St. Petersburg Times, published May 21, 2001

ST. PETERSBURG -- For once, they had escaped. For a day, at least, the pain ceased.

Gerald Williams sprinted down the corridor toward the dressing room as if he were trying to get there before the umpires called his team back onto the field. The rest of the Rays followed, walking slower, as if they suspected that something might fall on them yet.

When losing has its grip on a ballclub, when it cannot be scraped off of the shoes, when its hold cannot be pried from the neck, even victory is mistrusted. Even the days the beast takes off come with question marks.

The Rays won?

Is that really nine innings already?

Are you sure that was three outs?

This is the way it is with the Rays because, frankly, this is the way it is with all losing teams. Losers are the same. They share a mentality. It doesn't matter the shape of the ball or the bottom of the shoe or the texture of the field. All that matters are the haunted eyes that focus nowhere in particular and the raw voices that seem to have no answers.

They all walk the same, moving away from the wreckage of another loss the same way, in that shuffling, aimless march, as if they have been driven from a battlefield. They all sound the same, repeating the same phrases that were handed down from another team that didn't measure up. They all look the same, with heads bowed and shoulders slumped.

In the Tampa Bay area, we recognize the beast from all angles. Losing has lived around here so long, it has the right the vote. The Lightning lives in last place. Until recent seasons, the Bucs spent almost two decades as the NFL's biggest loser. And now there are the Rays, the baby seals of the American League.

Losers spend an eternity talking about their injuries, because it seems to take that long for them to heal. Losers gripe about the free agents who never measure up and the trades that turn out awfully. Losers whine about umpires and referees, saying they never get a call, which of course they don't. They talk about all the close losses, and all the bad bounces, and all the young prospects who are going to make tomorrow better than today. They look over their shoulders, waiting for bad things to happen, expecting bad things to happen. Which, of course, they do.

Losing is 10 stories high, and losing is 10 acres wide, and losing eats everything. It makes veterans look too old and phenoms look too young and managers look too employed. It causes battlefield demotions and career destruction. It makes fax machines malfunction. Ask yourself: Did you ever hear a fan of a winning team gripe about how far it was to the ballpark?

According to Hal McRae, losing also is the biggest obstacle in front of the Rays, a team that seems accustomed to its pace.

"It's the worst problem we've got," he said after Sunday's 10-2 victory against Detroit. "When you're losing, morale is low. You sit and wait to lose. You feel something is going to happen, and that's going to result in your losing. There is no education in losing."

Perhaps not. But that doesn't keep teams from trying to bring in guest lecturers to class. Take Sunday, when the Rays invited both Lou Holtz and Tony Dungy into their locker room. At press time, it was uncertain which of the two told Paul Wilson that pitching six solid innings was a good idea, and which told Greg Vaughn that it would be keen if he could manage to hit two balls on the other side of the fence. Both agreed, however, the Rays should blitz more.

Dungy remembered. He sat in the rightfield picnic area during Sunday's game and remembered his first Bucs team, the one that started 1-8 and considered losing a common-law spouse.

"Losing is the same, no matter what sport you play," Dungy said. "If you're losing, you find yourself waiting for something bad to happen. It gets to be a case of whether you're going to allow it. You've got to have the talent, but I'd say that about 80 percent of it is mental."

Holtz agreed. "When you're losing, the first thing you do is get frustrated. Then you get aggressive with people, then you get insecure, then you lose your leadership, then you become undisciplined, then resentment sets it, then you have no enthusiasm."

Say this much for Holtz. He certainly seems to have the Rays' season down pat so far.

It has been a trail of tears over a bumpy road followed by a fall off the cliff onto something pointy. It has been squabbling ownership and a fired manager and a third baseman who was told to go bother someone else. It has been fans who refuse to come to the game, and a team that refuses to give them a reason.

Most of all, worst of all, it has been painfully familiar. You've seen Wilson Alvarez before, back when his name was Daren Puppa. You've seen Vinny Castilla, back when he was called Alvin Harper. You've longed for Bobby Abreu in the past, back when he was known as Steve Young. Disappointment doesn't change. Just its aliases.

For McRae, who has to slay the beast, the task is formidable. Perhaps, just perhaps, he landed a blow on Sunday. Go to the fourth inning, when the Rays led 3-2. John Flaherty bunted both runners over. Andy Sheets grounded to the right side to get a run home. Those are the little things the Rays, like most losing teams, have ignored.

"There is no education in losing," McRae said. "A game like this shows you some direction. It shows we can win, and it shows you how we can win."

We'll see. One game is hardly a streak, and one victory is hardly a reversal of fortune.

Still, even for a day, it beat the alternative.

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