Tony La Russa - One Last Strike: Fifty Years in Baseball, Ten and a Half Games Back, and One Final Championship Season

Cover design by Richard L. Aquan

Cover photograph by Jeff Roberson/AP Images

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To Elaine, Bianca, Devon, and our four-legged family

You made it all possible

To the ARF staff, volunteers, sponsors, and donors

You created the ARF season and pushed the dream

way beyond our original goals

Also, to all those special people Ive met over the years

who have become friends. The closer the bond,

the greater my appreciation

And finally, to all those involved with professional baseball,

especially everyone associated with MLB

and our teams in Chicago, Oakland, and St. Louis

Contents

A BOUT A DECADE AGO, WORD FILTERED DOWN THAT TONY La Russa was looking for me. I had never met him, but given his high profile in the game, I felt as though I knew him. He managed the Cardinals, my team, and for that reason alone he rated pretty high. We eventually hooked up by phone and had a long talk. Tony is a voracious reader and had just finished A Painted House , my highly fictionalized childhood memoir and a story brimming with Cardinal baseball. I told Tony that being a Cardinal fan was in the blood. My father, grandfather, and everybody else in the family had followed the team for as long as anyone can remember. Growing up in small towns in Arkansas and Mississippi, the highlight of our day was the nightly broadcast on KMOX out of St. Louis with Harry Caray and Jack Buck on the radio. Bob Gibson, Lou Brock, Curt Flood, Orlando Cepeda, Tim McCarverthose were my heroes, and I knew their statistics, birth dates, and hometowns. My grandfathers team had been the Gashouse Gang with Dizzy Dean, another Arkansas farm boy, and my father revered Stan Musial.

Satisfied with my credentials, Tony graciously invited me to come to St. Louis, watch a game, hang out with the team, and have a late dinner. I collected my dad, Big John, and away we went. It was a memorable visit, the highlight being Big John and Stan the Man sitting together for two hours watching the Cardinals and reminiscing. Leaving St. Louis the following day, my dad informed me that he had now reached the pinnacle, his life was complete, and he was ready for the hereafter. Thankfully, hes still around and doesnt miss a Cardinal game on television.

A friendship was born, one that Tony and I have maintained over the years. On many occasions, Ive visited him at spring training, in St. Louis, and even on the road. Long after the games were over, we dined for hours and solved many of the worlds problems. He always wanted to talk about books and writers, while I preferred to get the gossip on players and managers. Over the years I have marveled at his passion for the game, his dogged pursuit of perfection, his commitment to his players, his endless quest to learn even more, his determination to win, his complete inability to accept defeat (even in spring training), and his breathtaking knowledge of the intricacies of baseball. Every baseball fan thinks he or she is an expert on the game, but an hour with Tony and the average fan would feel like a T-baller.

Through Tony, Ive been lucky to meet and spend time with Bob Gibson, Lou Brock, Ozzie Smith, Mike Shannon, Red Schoendienst, Jack Buck, and Stan Musial. Hes a tireless networker and relishes friendships with other great coaches. I once walked into his office in Florida after a spring game and was introduced to Bobby Knight and Bill Parcells, two of his old chums. Tony pushed the right buttons, got the two bickering over something, and for the next hour I laughed until I cried. During a long dinner at Nicks Tomatoe Pie, one of his favorite restaurants in Jupiter, I listened as the great John Havlicek regaled us with stories of his days with the Celtics.

Over the years, Tony challenged me to write a baseball novel, and I said I planned to as soon as I found the right story. I challenged him to write a book that would dissect the game and reveal its many layers of complexity. In 2005, he worked with Buzz Bissinger on Three Nights in August, a masterful analysis of a crucial three-game series with the Cubs.

In late spring of 2011, I called Tony and told him I finally had an idea for a baseball novel. The central plot involved a beanball and baseballs unwritten code of dealing with it. Talk about a hot-button topic. Nothing torments Tony like a hit batter. Was it intentional? Do we retaliate? If so, when? And who do we hit? In his dugout, he makes the call, and by doing so takes the pressure off his players. Other managers refuse to touch the issue, instead allowing their players to handle things. More than once Ive heard Tony describe how a perfectly civilized baseball game can change in an instant by a fastball up and in.

In August of last year, Tony called to check on the novel. The Cardinals were ten games behind the Brewers and the season looked rather bleak. Typically, though, he had a plan to win the wild card and he was optimistic his team was buying into it. I had my doubts, though I kept them to myself. The odds of closing from ten games back with only thirty to go were slim. He reminded me that I had not been to see a game the entire year, beginning in Florida in February, and hinted there may not be another season, at least not for him. Shortly after that conversation, the Cardinals slowly came to life, and the Braves, their wild-card rivals, began to fall apart.

When I arrived in St. Louis on Friday, September 23, the Cardinals were two games out with only six left, and they had blown a win the day before against the Mets. The fifth-place Cubs were in town, but win-loss records mean nothing in that rivalry. Statistically, the Cardinals were still alive, but the mood in Busch Stadium that night was far from festive. Someone forgot to tell the team they were still in the hunt. They lost 51 to the Cubs and went to the locker room down three games with only five to go. It would take a miracle.

In St. Louis, the postgame dinner was always at a wonderful Italian restaurant called Tonysno connection other than great food. Its downtown and a short walk from the stadium. Mr. La Russa had his table there, regardless of the late hour. He invited some of his St. Louis pals, all rabid Cardinal fans, and we set about the task of trying to cheer him up. Dinner after a win was a celebration, but after a loss, especially to the Cubs, it was another matter. The mood was generally upbeat, though everyone at the table knew the season was practically over. We talked about beanballs, retaliation, baseballs codes, headhunters, famous brawls, and the like. There was no discussion of the playoffs or the World Series.

No one at the table, including Tony, could have foreseen the magical and memorable ride the Cardinals were about to take. Their gutsy run from ten games out had come to an end with two straight bad losses. It was time to think about next year.

There was no reason to suspect the miracle was just beginning.

After the Cardinals beat the Rangers in game seven, Tony announced his retirement. He had made the decision weeks earlier and had quietly informed the ownership. Like all his friends and fans, I was saddened by the end of an era, but I was also proud to see him walk away on top.