Music

Fanboy Deluxe

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Perhaps a bit uncomfortable with my sentimental journey, he countered with how torn he was at the UT-USC championship game, because he had been such a USC fan as a child but was now a big Texas football fan. Then he expressed his distress over the Texans' not drafting either Reggie Bush or Vince Young, while acknowledging he didn't understand football defense as well as he understood baseball defense.

And then he demonstrated just how well: Need to lower staff ERA? Get a steadier catcher and a slick-fielding shortstop, and last year's rag-arms will suddenly become this year's All-Star candidates. And as for the bunt, Dierker says it's pretty much useless in this juiced-up era. "Before Babe Ruth, your top home-run hitter in the league had something like ten home runs, so they had to develop methods for producing runs when runs were scarce," he explains. "Now, bunting doesn't make any sense."

"You were ahead of the curve in that sort of management," I add, not exactly kissing ass. "Maybe everyone thinks that way now, but you were one of the first to manage like that." See, I just want to hear him acknowledge the truth of it.

"Yes, I was ahead of the curve on that," he obliges me.

"You were a big proponent of the hit and run," I continue, leading the witness.

"No, I'm not," he says, and lumps it in with the bunt as an antiquated play. "Everyone thought I was, but I wasn't. You shouldn't take the bat out of the hitter's hands if he has a good pitch to hit. So when I stole bases, I always told hitters to swing if they got a good pitch. It wasn't the hit and run. People thought it was."

This entire experience is too good to be true, of course. I'm living out Fantasy Manager Baseball Camp in my neighborhood sports bar -- so I know deep down I'm sure to lose my footing at some point and make a fool of myself. I tend to do that, anyway. While Larry's talking, I keep ordering another Guinness and another Guinness, and he slowly sips at his beer. Perhaps I'm becoming a bit too comfortable with my new buddy Larry, even after he's stopped talking and sits back down with his foursome at the table. About ten minutes after Larry seems to have exhausted himself of conversation with me, I go back in for more (my girlfriend tells me my speech was slurred at this point).

"Hey, Larry," I shout from the next table. "Do you think Clemens coming back is going to cause the rest of the team to play better?"

"Yeah, I think it will have an effect," he says and turns back to his cohorts. Shortly after that, he and his mates stand up and walk out. He doesn't say good-bye to me or anything. I don't think he's trying to be rude. I' m guessing he's just ready to leave.

The next Monday at work I give a co-worker a synopsis of my encounter with the Dierk.

"Did you ask for an autograph?" he asks.

"I wish."

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