Goose Gossage

A sneeze, in essence, has wiped out the San Diego Padre bullpen. On Tuesday night against the Dodgers, starter Andy Hawkins had to leave the game in the eighth inning with the Padres ahead, 2-1. He was tired. He'd thrown too many pitches for his right arm to handle. Normally, the Padres would turn to Goose Gossage then. But Gossage was in the training room, not the bullpen, because his back ached. Why did his back ache? He had sneezed. It happened Saturday.

Rich “Goose” Gossage cut an intimidating figure on the mound with his sinister-looking Fu Manchu mustache and blazing fastball, and at 61, he can still fire a few high, hard ones, as he showed after Wednesday's Hall of Fame vote, in which players from the steroid era were shut out of Cooperstown. “I'm glad nobody who is tied to performance-enhancing drugs got elected,” said Gossage, who was inducted into the Hall of Fame in 2008 after going 124-107 with a 3.01 earned-run average and 310 saves from 1972 to 1994.

Monday was our first glimpse of the 1987 Goose Gossage, and it looked like (a) he was really throwing hard and (b) he had no hard feelings. Last seen, the 1986 Goose was inserting foot in mouth, but, somehow, got his feet back on the ground over the winter. He and Ballard Smith, the Padre president, have kissed and made up.

Rollie Fingers and Bruce Sutter blazed the trail that Rich "Goose" Gossage hopes to follow today, that rare path that begins in the bullpen and ends in baseball's Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y. Voters have been reluctant to embrace relievers from the 1970s and 1980s because they didn't rack up the sheer number of saves or have the microscopic earned-run averages of today's ninth-inning specialists such as Mariano Rivera and Trevor Hoffman.

Reliever Goose Gossage returned to San Diego Sunday, expressing hope a meeting with club management can smooth the differences that led to his suspension. "I hope to go back and play baseball soon," Gossage said upon his arrival at the airport. "We still have a chance at second place." Team President Ballard Smith suspended Gossage on Friday for criticizing club management.

What we're experiencing in sport these days is an epidemic of bad manners. Lovable Refrigerator Perry turns into Gorilla Monsoon, savagely spiking an opposing quarterback, when a mere forearm to the Adam's apple would have sufficed. John McEnroe comes back to tennis and brings his discourtesy with him. A Yankee Stadium fan throws a knife at Angel first baseman Wally Joyner. Maybe the guy just wanted the knife autographed, but at least he should have yelled, "Yo, Wally, heads up!"

Padre reliever Goose Gossage, his right knee still swelled and painful, underwent arthroscopic surgery Thursday morning and will be sidelined for a minimum of three weeks. But he could be out much longer. The injury was diagnosed as a tear of the articulating cartilage in the knee, and trainer Dick Dent could not give a specific timetable, saying only: "He'll do nothing but rehab for three weeks. And in three weeks, the injury will be re-evaluated."

They say Goose Gossage leads by example. Here's his example: Last season, rookie pitcher Gene Walter didn't like the way the bullpen drinking water tasted, so he brought his own thermos of water out there with him. Gossage saw it and said: "What's this?" And he hurled the container against a wall, breaking it into pieces. Without the Goose, the San Diego Padres might fall to pieces. "Basically, when you get down to it, he's the heart and soul of this team," pitcher Andy Hawkins said this week.

Goose Gossage now ranks Ballard Smith below George Steinbrenner. It's not that Gossage wants a reunion with Steinbrenner in New York, but he told Newsday on Tuesday, "I miss the Yankees." Things change. Four years ago, Gossage used to always assail Steinbrenner--the Yankee owner--calling him "The Fat Man." Now, he's picking on a thin man (Smith).

A sneeze, in essence, has wiped out the San Diego Padre bullpen. On Tuesday night against the Dodgers, starter Andy Hawkins had to leave the game in the eighth inning with the Padres ahead, 2-1. He was tired. He'd thrown too many pitches for his right arm to handle. Normally, the Padres would turn to Goose Gossage then. But Gossage was in the training room, not the bullpen, because his back ached. Why did his back ache? He had sneezed. It happened Saturday.

When the baseball writers peek into the sealed envelope Tuesday and reveal their choices for the Hall of Fame, it would be nice if they anointed a couple of members of baseball's least appreciated fraternity--relief pitchers. Here's a vote for Goose and another for Bruce. Those who pass on them should have to face some vintage Goose Gossage gas and flail after one of Bruce Sutter's split-finger fastballs. In their prime, these two bordered on unhittable.

The newest Chicago Cub pitcher, having just singled, was standing on first base. He grinned, almost as if giggling, then he took a lead. And a bigger lead. Suddenly he gathered together his 6-foot-3, 225-pound frame and took off for second. At that exact time, Padre pitcher Keith Comstock turned and threw to first baseman John Kruk, who threw to second baseman Sandy Alomar Jr. The big man was trapped. A rundown ensued.

It is the time of year when baseball players fill their Gatorade cups with coffee. On a chilly Midwest afternoon, Goose Gossage stared down into his cup and shook his head. With less than two weeks remaining in this, his 16th and longest season, all the eldest Padre could find were questions. Is Goose still needed? Is Goose still wanted? Is anybody still listening? Tuesday, Gossage took a wondering, worried, often frustrated glance at 1987 and ahead to 1988. A glance is all he can stand.

Goose Gossage is not a pretty sight on a pitching mound. His facial expressions vary from grimace to frown, the latter being the most pleasant he is likely to display. His demeanor suggests that batters are mere vermin to be exterminated. His chore, as a relief pitcher, always has been to get a game over. He always has interpreted this to mean as quickly as possible. Goose would never be found manicuring the mound or rubbing a baseball while gazing absent-mindedly at the clouds.

Monday was our first glimpse of the 1987 Goose Gossage, and it looked like (a) he was really throwing hard and (b) he had no hard feelings. Last seen, the 1986 Goose was inserting foot in mouth, but, somehow, got his feet back on the ground over the winter. He and Ballard Smith, the Padre president, have kissed and made up.

Babe Ruth could not have played for the San Diego Padres. He overate, drank, womanized and swore at his manager, Miller Huggins. Grover Cleveland Alexander could not have pitched for the Padres. Fans know how he came into the seventh game of the 1926 World Series with two down, bases loaded, the winning run on second, to strike out Tony Lazzeri--while half-crocked. Neither could Ty Cobb, who was too mean. Or Ted Williams, who once flipped off the crowd at Fenway Park and never wore a tie.

The newest Chicago Cub pitcher, having just singled, was standing on first base. He grinned, almost as if giggling, then he took a lead. And a bigger lead. Suddenly he gathered together his 6-foot-3, 225-pound frame and took off for second. At that exact time, Padre pitcher Keith Comstock turned and threw to first baseman John Kruk, who threw to second baseman Sandy Alomar Jr. The big man was trapped. A rundown ensued.

Not that it matters, but the Padres blew a baseball game in the worst way Tuesday. They led Milwaukee, 3-2, heading into the ninth inning and had Goose Gossage on the mound. With two out and nobody on, somebody named Dale Sveum lined a single. Rick Cerone walked, and then Jim Gantner singled in Sveum. Suddenly angry, Gossage got the final out.

Goose Gossage apologized to Ballard Smith, Joan Kroc, McDonald's restaurants, the people of San Diego and anyone else who would listen. Now, he can pitch again. Thursday morning, Jerry Kapstein, Gossage's agent, completed a deal with Smith, the Padre president, who suspended Gossage without pay Aug. 29 and vowed he would never pitch again for the Padres unless he learned to keep his mouth shut.

While raindrops fell Friday night, San Diego Padre players were inside having a serious chat with Don Fehr, director of the Major League Players Assn. Fehr came to tell them what he knew of the Goose Gossage situation and wanted to know their concerns. Mainly, the players wanted to know when Gossage--who criticized the Padre front office and was suspended without pay for the rest of the season on Aug. 29--would be back.