Playboy's 1992 Baseball Preview

I have seen the future and it sucks. Recession, repression, sexism, racism, ozone depletion, diet beer. Even worse, baseball. The irrational pastime simply can't top the show it staged last year, when a couple of 100--1 shots played a one-in-a-million World Series. Next year brings expansion: two terrible new teams to lower the level of play. Then the game's sweetheart deals with CBS and ESPN run out; new deals will favor TV at baseball's expense. In 1994 comes the end of the basic agreement between players and owners, followed by your basic strike or lockout, possibly followed by a summer with no big-league baseball--a joyless Mudville year in which the game itself strikes out.

So forget the future. Join me in toasting the game before it goes flat ("Carpe gusto," Roman bleacher bums used to say). This year, we will watch the Twins unravel as two stripes of Sox chase the A's, Jays and remade Royals in the American League, while the Pirates and Padres shock the National, all in the last great season of a golden age.

In 1991, 57,000,000 fans went to major-league ball games, the sixth attendance record in seven years. About 55,000,000 of them bitched about players' salaries, as though Will Clark's swing or Roger Clemens' cojones could be measured in dollars. The fact is, fans get more for their money now than ever before. Last year, we had Jose Canseco doing the late-night with Madonna in the New York Post and outstarring her on the field, at least until her baseball movie comes out. We had Iron Man Ripken playing a tougher position than Iron Horse Gehrig for the 1573rd-straight game and swinging a molten bat, too. The Tigers invented the shut-your-eyes-and-swing offense. Lou Brock's speed record fell to Rickey Henderson on the same day that Nolan Ryan tossed his absurdly grand seventh no-hitter. We had a Series in which five of seven games were decided by one run; four games turned on the final pitch, including a seventh game to tell the grandkids about--a thriller decided by Lonnie Smith, a man who could homer but could not run home.

In these great days, the debate isn't about whether or not there are great players, it's about who is the greatest. For instance, the Ryne Sandberg--Roberto Alomar question: 2b or not 2b the best 2b ever? And there's no questioning this list of future Hall of Famers: Brett, Puckett, Fisk, Thomas, Ryan, Sierra, Palmeiro, Franco, Griffey Jr., Eckersley, Henderson and Canseco. Here's another thing to remember: They're all in the A.L. West.

This is the year to wake up and smell the hot dogs. We are seeing a game at the top of its form. The Age of Ryan, we could call it. Or is it the Age of Clemens? It would be Oakland's age if not for two October miracles and 16 injuries last year. Or Pittsburgh's if not for the Pirates' annual Cheshire cat act in the play-offs.

So maybe it is the Age of Parity. That's a football word, but what passes for parity in the N.F.L. would be dominance in baseball, where the gap between worst and best is far narrower. If the 1991 Twins and Braves didn't prove that to your satisfaction, take a look at John Smoltz. Last year, he was 2-11 at the All-Star break. Then he met with a sports shrink, began mumbling "I think I can, I think I can throw 95," went 12-2 in the second half and matched zeroes with Jack Morris in the Series. That kind of reversal makes drama.

So does a colorful supporting cast. Bo knows the rigors of rehab, sweating his way back, becoming the story of 1992 as the key to the Sox' ascendance. Tom Lasorda invents new profanities. Lenny Dykstra slides and drives headfirst. The Reds' Glenn Braggs rips a steel clubhouse door off its hinges. Cubs phenom Turk Wendell, who brushes his teeth between innings and leaps six feet over chalk lines, refuses to catch any ball thrown by an ump. And Darryl Strawberry, the most dramatic of athletes: After his separated shoulder was "healed by the Lord" in 1991, poor Straw was surprised when he hurt it again. Moral: Last year, at least, the Lord liked Atlanta.

There were other miracles as well. Gene Larkin, who broke Lou Gehrig's Columbia University hitting records, became driftwood in the Twins' bat rack, had 19 R.B.I.s all year, never played a post-season inning in the field and came to bat in game seven after Kirby Puckett, Kent Hrbek, David Justice, Ron Gant and 20 others had failed to get a run home. He won the World Series with one swing.

Credit Jack Morris for giving Larkin his at bat in the bottom of the tenth. In the top of the inning, before a single pitch was thrown, Twins manager Tom Kelly wants relief. Morris, working on a nine-inning shutout in the most important game of his life, has the mad thought that he could pitch ten, 11, 50 innings, whatever it takes. The whole world is waiting, Morris is growling, so Kelly nods and says, "What the heck, it's just a game."

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We tend to romanticize the past because we were younger and sweeter back then. Since baseball is part of the national dreamscape, we gild its history even more than the pasts of other sports. But the vast majority of baseball history is fat, slow, white guys being viciously exploited by fat, rich, white guys. That history pales before the modern game and its players. A game between last year's 57-105 Indians and 1954's Tribe, who went 1119--43, would be no contest. The old-timers would be begging for a slaughter rule to stop the modern Indians from scalping them.

Today's game is the best it has ever been. And with talent as plentiful as it is now, the game cannot be bought. The rich Yankees stink, while the (continued on page 140)Baseball(continued from page 112) small-market Twins follow the small-market Reds to the top of the world.

When a complex, lucky game is played as expertly as big-league baseball is now played, anything can happen. A vital game can turn, as one did at Dodger Stadium last fall, on a snapped bat that spins toward the shortstop and slaps the ball away from him.

That's why wonders never cease. It is why we have had three stunning, unpredictable World Series in four years. Kirk Gibson's Dodgers over the unbeatable A's in 1988. The Reds in a sweep over the unbeatable A's in 1990. The Cinderella Twins and Cinderella Braves fighting over the glass slipper last year. The lone recent exception, 1989's sweep of the Giants by the unbeatable A's, was perfectly predictable. Except for the earthquake.

The Reds and Mets will probably go to the post as N.L. favorites. I picked them last year, along with probable 1992 A.L. favorites Oakland and Toronto. (I have the gift of pre-prescience: calling pennant races a year early. Who else forecast the Reds-A's 1990 World Series in 1989?) Doing so would presume that baseball makes sense, so I won't.

Cincinnati has moved Eric Davis, replacing him with center fielder Dave Martinez and the team has added two fine pitchers, Tim Belcher and Greg Swindell. The Reds rotation is now the envy of the league. What those who love them forget is that they have no cleanup hitter and no bull-pen smoker if Rob Dibble (a) is as hittable as last year's second half suggests, or (b) goes berserk, kills a few fans and joins Pete Rose on Fay Vincent's enemies list. Bumping the Reds aside in the West, I am out on a limb with San Diego, looking for help from three potentially superb Padres starters, Andy Benes, Bruce Hurst and Greg Harris.

The Mets signed Bobby Bonilla to play left field. They got Bret Saberhagen and an infielder for two good hitters, Gregg Jefferies and Kevin McReynolds. They may be surprised to see Saberhagen pitch Elliot Ness-style--untouchably--while Bonilla, Vince Coleman and Howard Johnson play the outfield soccer-style. The better-balanced Pirates, who can pick up the ball and throw it, deserve to win.

The Yankees kept Danny Tartabull, the hot stove league's top free agent, from making a difference. They signed him to hit 35 homers for a fifth-place club. The Blue Jays addressed an important problem by signing Series hero Morris, their new number-one arm. April brings Morris' 13th-straight inaugural start, a record. Last year, he redefined the concept of starter by starting opening day, the All-Star game, the play-offs and World Series. The Jays also got Dave Winfield, the die-harder D.H.

Boston fell short in the bidding for Morris and settled for Frank Viola, the poster boy for elbow trouble. Once un-hittable, Viola may spend 1992 watching his change-ups bounce off the Green Monster at Fenway. Baltimore unveils Camden Yards, the best new ballpark since the one Ruth built, plus a healthy Glenn Davis, but the O's have only one reliable pitcher: closer Gregg Olson. Detroit hasn't had a reliable pitcher since Jack Morris. The A.L. East, as usual, is the Jays' to choke on.

In the A.L. West, the White Sox ride a young-gunning rotation, a Radinsky--Thigpen bull pen and a batting order that begins Raines, Sax, Ventura, Thomas, Jackson to their first world title in 75 years.

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Maybe. This is a game that has spent 147 years scratching the surface of its surprises. "A game," as Stephen Jay Gould notes, "whose inventor's middle name was Joy." No one sees its future.

Sox over Padres in October is plausible, but who knows? Baseball is nothing like football or hoops. It is more like the weather. The weather defeats supercomputers because small things can have profound effects. A hummingbird over Kansas changes an air current that changes another that leads to a typhoon in China. In the same way, Braves leadoff man Otis Nixon gets caught with cocaine in his system, is suspended and is replaced by Lonnie Smith. Smith ties a World Series record, hitting homers in three straight games. He then vaporlocks at second base as the ball that should have won the World Series rattles around in left-center field. Smith is frozen in goofball history as the Braves' chance dies.

We like to call it destiny, but it is chance. It is the weather of baseball, the element that rains down on the best game Joy ever made.

Happy opening day.

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Since 1985, the East's dominant club, the Blue Jays, has won the division three times and lost it two other times on the regular season's last day; still, Toronto has yet to play in a World Series. After last year's A.L.C.S. flop, general manager Pat Gillick didn't let it bug him that folks called the Jays chokers. He went out and assembled what could easily be the best team in the game. Knuckleballer Tom Candiotti is gone, but his replacement is Series idol Jack Morris. On opening day, the reliable Morris makes his 466th consecutive start. He heads a rotation that also features Jimmy Key, Juan Guzman and Todd Stottlemyre, with Tom Henke and Duane Ward splitting saves in the bull pen. Dave Winfield, with 406 home runs and almost as many candles on his birthday cake, loves hitting in the SkyDome. He solidifies the D.H., a trouble spot in Toronto since Cecil Fielder left. Right fielder Derek Bell hit .346 at Syracuse and is capable of .290 as a rookie; Eddie Zosky won't hit much, but watch him play shortstop. If Morris' grit rubs off on his new team, you'll see that Jumbotron scoreboard light up in late October.

Last year, Roger Clemens was 18--10. Without that, the Red Sox were 66--68. Over six years, he is 118--52. Without that, they are 399--402. As of this writing, they still haven't traded Mike Greenwell or Ellis Burks, but whatever they get won't be enough to make up for the fact that this is two teams. The one with Clemens never quite makes up for the one without. His 1991 numbers were more daunting than they looked; exclude one awful outing and his E.R.A. dips to 2.37. Young slugger Phil Plantier will help Clemens even more this time around. Last spring, Plantier was the only man to strike out against Jim Palmer during the Famer's brief comeback attempt. But Plantier batted over .341 after a late-season call-up from Pawtucket. Hitting out of a low crouch that lets him spring at the pitch, Plantier had 27 homers between Triple-A and the majors. Mark him down for more in a full year at Fenway. New manager Butch Hobson will get the Sox to the Series soon, but his pitching staff is suspect after Clemens. Signee Frank Viola was 10-5 with a 2.80 E.R.A. for the Mets at the 1991 All-Star break. Then--presto change-up--he couldn't get anyone out and wound up 13--15, 3.97. The Sox wanted Morris instead, but had to settle for second best.

After a Murphy's Law season last year, the Orioles expect things to go right this time. First baseman Glenn Davis, healthy again, should be worth 35 home runs at beautiful new Camden Yards. Kid pitchers Mike Mussina, Jim Poole and Arthur Lee Rhodes swoop in to save a staff that may not need much from veterans Storm Davis (whose parents took teammate Glenn, an abused child, into their home) and Rick Sutcliffe. Chito Martinez and Sam Horn, if both are aboard to aim at the new park's cozy right-field porch, help Davis and M.V.P. Cal Ripken, Jr., in the middle of the order. Then there is Ben McDonald, the longtime "next Clemens" who keeps hurting his arm. Suppose McDonald stays off the D.L. and wins 15. Suppose four other pitchers from a pool of six or seven good candidates join him in getting games to closer Gregg Olson, while outfield hopeful Luis Mercedes tames his talent and gets on base ahead of Ripken-Davis-Horn-Martinez. Do you suppose Camden Yards is ready for a World Series?

Sparky and Cecil's Tigers hit. Or more precisely, swing. Hard. That breeze you felt in the Midwest was Detroit's league-record 1185 strikeouts. But in breaking the 1986 Mariners' whiff mark, the Tigers contrived to finish tied for second. They connected often enough to lead the majors in homers (they would have even without Mickey Tettleton's 31) and to finish second to Texas in runs, while trailing the A.L. in batting average. Fielder, who has 95 homers in two years, is the best fat hitter since Ruth. Only 28 years old, he should last long enough to see Detroit win the East again. It can't be this year, though. For pitching, manager Sparky Anderson needs miracles; his unifaceted club's best arm belongs to Travis Fryman, a third baseman.

He's back! Hide the silverware! And the rookies! George Steinbrenner may have already broken every rule of his "lifetime" suspension by allegedly OK-ing the signings of Danny Tartabull and Mike Gallego as well as a trade with the White Sox. This summer, Steinbrenner makes his unofficial return to fight with his Yankees. Tartabull will help them fight back. Young hurlers Scott Kamieniecki and Wade Taylor and second baseman Pat Kelly have bright futures; Don Mattingly has a new haircut but the same old sore back. Designated hitter Kevin Maas hits only fastballs. Mel Hall sometimes has trouble off the field. Last year the sharp-dressing outfielder was nabbed by Boston DEA agents who thought he looked like a drug lord (something that never happens to Mattingly). A club with all that plus two members of the wacky Perez pitching family begs to be hidden away in fifth place.

The Brewers were favored to win the East three years ago. Then they crumpled under an avalanche of arthroscopes. Their only respite from injuries was when ace Teddy Higuera's shoulder healed long enough for him to lift a pen and sign a lucrative long-term contract. Then his arm blew out again. They were 17 games under .500 last August but stuck with manager Tom Trebelhorn; they went 40--19 to finish a strong fourth, one game behind Boston and Detroit. For taking the trouble to turn things around, Trebelhorn was then fired. New skipper Phil Garner will need the iron will he is known for. Higuera is still wincing, shortstop Bill Spiers is recovering from back surgery and the Brews' only established stars, Robin Yount and Paul Molitor, are a combined 71 years old.

Carlos Baerga, Albert Belle, Kenny Lofton, Jim Thome and Reggie Jefferson are future All-Stars, and they'll all labor for the last-place Indians this year. Sure, Cleveland still stinks, but at least now they stink in the right way. Rather than shoveling money at old stars--the plan until last year--general manager John Hart has dumped old talent, stockpiled kids and shown how quickly a bad team can get exciting.

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In 1990, the White Sox chased the seemingly dynastic A's all summer but lost by nine games. Last year, they christened the new Comiskey Park with a 16--0 loss, then climbed to within a game of first before losing to the eventual world champs by eight games. Still, their second-place finishes put them 38 games over .500 for 1990 and 1991. This is a young club, except for its 88-year-old Charlie Hough-Carlton Fisk battery. It should be a better club than the world champ Twins or A's in 1992. Better than any other club at all, even. Rookie manager Gene Lamont comes from Pittsburgh's third-base coaching box to bring Jim Leyland-style fire to Chicago's South Side; what was once the baddest part of town is now the best, in baseball at least. Tim Raines and Steve Sax will spin around the bases ahead of the ribsticking meat of the order: Robin Ventura, who hit .284 with 23 home runs and 100 R.B.I.s in a sophomore year that redeemed him; Frank Thomas, the smartest great hitter in years; Bo Jackson, a lesser player now but still better than most D.H.s; and Fisk, who can still hit 20 homers as a sideline to his real job--mentor to the young pitching staff. The Chicago rotation, starring Jack McDowell, with Kirk McCaskill aboard to make 30 starts, can average 15 wins. Bobby Thigpen, brilliantly supported by Scott Radinsky, anchors a flawless bull pen. Sax's arrival turns second baseman Craig Grebeck from a good everyday player to a stellar utility man. All of it means that the Sox' only weakness may be shortstop Ozzie Guillen's attention span. According to The National Sports Review, Guillen has fallen asleep on the bases--and been bushwhacked by the hidden-ball trick--four times in two years.

Manager Tony LaRussa can barely hide his pleasure when asked if his Athletics can win again. After his team spent half a decade as baseball's overdog, he loves the thought of sneaking up on other teams. He knows everyone was hurt last season. The pitching collapsed. First baseman Mark McGwire batted .201. Rickey Henderson complained that he was underpaid, then crassly sold out to a mirrored-visor maker. He wore the hideous things as he stole number 939, pissed off the world with an inadvertently surly speech and sulked to a year unworthy of him. Even so, the A's won 84 games. Oakland was the only team in baseball that never fell below .500 in 1991. Don't worry about Tony's team. Jose is to slugging what Madonna is to hype. Second-year starter Kirk Dressendorfer and late-season arrival Todd Van Poppel will soon be winning big. The Athletics will be back because they never went away.

With his team going nowhere with Bret Saberhagen, general manager Herk Robinson seems to have asked himself, "Why not shake things up?" By sending his ace (plus Bill Pecota) to New York for three hitters, Robinson has rescued the Royals. Troubled ex-Mets Gregg Jefferies and Kevin McReynolds, plus untroubled but less talented ex-Met Keith Miller, bring the extra lumber Kansas City lacked. Free-agent first baseman Wally Joyner completes the revamp. Joyner hits like a demon on plastic grass. Batting title for Wally? Bet on it. Nightmares on Royal Way for a bad-to-middling mound staff? Maybe, but Robinson's gambles give the Royals a shot at first place.

Jack Morris, who started every vital game, is gone. Dan Gladden, who scored the run that won it all, is gone. The calm center of the Twins, manager Tom Kelly, returns to try to prevent a first-to-worst rebound. Kelly was almost gone when the Twins lost nine of 11 to start last season. The rest is fable. Minnesota still has Kirby and Herbie, the Tweedledum and Tweedledee defensive whizzes who hit a bit, too. Scott "Superman" Erickson, a Christopher Reeve look-alike, and Kevin Tapani, formerly a mild-mannered UPS deliveryman, head a rotation bolstered by lefty Mark Guthrie. Relief stopper Rick Aguilera's fastball shears off the corners and his splitter sends hitters to the dugout. Outfielder Pedro Muñoz can step in for Gladden, and two kid pitchers, Willie Banks and Pat Mahomes, will help soon. But Kelly, who joked that N.L.-style pinch-hitting strategy wasn't "up there with rocket science"--then screwed it up in the Series--will need to be Robert Goddard to make the Twins take off again.

I have a stack of Nolan Ryan stats. You have seen most of them already. They add up to one thing: He is the most remarkable athlete of this or quite possibly any other era. Last year, at the age of 45, he was baseball's stingiest hurler. Future fans will talk about Ruth and Ryan. His Rangers hit a lot and have a kid catcher for the ages in Ivan Rodriguez. Ruben Sierra is a great player, Juan Gonzalez will be and third baseman Dean Palmer may become an All-Star. Texas could contend in any other division but must have everything go right to stay close in the West.

The Angels have a fine new manager, Buck Rodgers, and a famous new G.M., Whitey Herzog. Whitey got a late start and flunked the off-season. Joyner and McCaskill got away. Every important free agent went elsewhere. The relief in Anaheim when reliever Bryan Harvey signed a four-year deal was sad. More troubling was Herzog's weakness for guys he liked in his National League days. He gave up a good young arm for Von Hayes and real money for Hubie Brooks. They were good players in the mid-Eighties. Remember: Mario Mendoza is in their organization. In his honor, the .200 batting average is called the Mendoza Line.

Seattle's Mariners want a fat, injuryprone 30-year-old to lead them toward the millennium? Opponents won't pitch around Ken Griffey, Jr., with Kevin Mitchell lurking on deck (a Mitchell line drive grazing Mets pitcher Wally Whitehurst's leg "felt like a gunshot wound," said Whitehurst), but Seattle gave up too much for Mitchell. Bad teams that trade good, young pitchers stay bad. If they ever trade Roger Salkeld, best arm in the minor leagues, let's trade the whole team to Japan for the Seibu Lions.

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Barry Bonds, the league's top all-around player for the past two years, vanishes every October. He is seven for 45 (.156) with one R.B.I. in two play-off series. Short series magnify the game's random elements; Bonds may finally cut loose one of his power binges this postseason as the Pirates banish the boos from Three Rivers Stadium. Why not? Even without Bonds's Killer B hivemate Bobby Bonilla, the bats are bullish. Left fielder Bonds and center fielder Andy Van Slyke are the cannons, but all eight everyday slots feature above-average hitters. Bonilla's departure improves what was already a transcendent defense. Orlando Merced and Jeff King can now play their natural positions--right field and first base, respectively. In addition to Gold Glove outfielders Bonds and Van Slyke, Pittsburgh has potential Gold Gloves at second base with Jose Lind and at third with Steve Buechele. Shortstop Jay Bell was a substandard fielder when he came from Cleveland in 1989, but he now is almost as slick as the rest. Buechele was perhaps last winter's best free-agent signing. Strangely shunned by the Yankees, Cubs, Dodgers and Padres--wealthier clubs in dire need of help at third base--he was re-signed for half of what the Mets paid the ultimately less important Bonilla. The Bucs have a proven rotation featuring three adroit lefties and a fast-rising closer, Stan Belinda. Then there is manager Jim Leyland. "Hump" runs his ship with good strategy, respect for his men as adults and...sniff...yes, love. It all brings tears to Leyland's eyes. This year, they should be tears of joy.

When Frank Robinson heard the Mets had landed Bret Saberhagen, he said, "Who finishes second?" The rest of the East has decided to play the season anyway. After all, the pitching was supposed to be great last season and the Mets finished 20-1/2 games out. In came new manager Jeff Torborg, along with Saberhagen and Bonilla. New Yorkers expect the trio of newcomers to mean instant pennant, but it is no cinch. For all his millions, Bonilla had fewer homers than Kevin Reimer or Robby Thompson. The Mets' ballyhooed 3-4-5 men Bonilla, Howard Johnson and signee Eddie Murray are all switch-hitters. The trouble is, they don't hit left-handed pitching, which is Pittsburgh's strong suit. These guys have averaged .294 against right-handers since 1989, .251 against lefties. Shortstop Kevin Elster and catcher Todd Hundley don't hit anyone. The Mets do have a catcher who hits, Mackey Sasser, but he has a mental block about throwing the ball back to the pitcher. The outfield has iron gloves all around. Flushing's team has enough talent to win. Still, my guess is that Torborg left a World Series team to run a runner-up.

The good news about Cubs pitching is that last year's bad news can't get worse. Danny Jackson, Mike Harkey and Dave Smith cannot do worse than 1--13 with a cumulative 6.33 E.R.A. Greg Maddux, possibly the game's least-known great pitcher, will get some backup from signee Mike Morgan. Morgan owes some of his fine N.L. stats to pitching off the mountain at Dodger Stadium, but his E.R.A. at Wrigley is a remarkable 1.23 and he's a reliable sinkerballer--exactly what the staff needs. Curveballer Lance Dickson is a rookie-of-the-year candidate. Turk Wendell will still set Chicago on its ear when he arrives. The Cub attack is not the juggernaut Wrigleyvillers want, though George Bell should improve on last year's numbers and 1989 rookie hero Jerome Walton deserves a chance to play full-time. The wonderful Hector Villanueva has a career home rper-at-bat ratio better than Jose Canseco's. Nothing but a little luck stands between the Cubs and a pennant.

Manager Joe Torre on Pedro Guerrero, whom he planned to start in the Cardinals outfield: "His only limitation is his ability to move around." Guerrero was one of the better hitters of the Eighties. He spent the winter grinning at the thought of the new, more inviting fences at Busch Stadium. If George Bell can play the outfield, I can, he figures. Trouble is, neither man can. The Cardinals are dreaming. Their limitation is the expectation spurred by last year's second-place finish. They're a bad team. If general manager Dal Maxvill doesn't trade Ozzie Smith and Lee Smith for prospects soon, he will squander his chance to build a good team quickly. He has some solid young pitchers, four good kid hitters in Felix Jose, Ray Lankford, Todd Zeile and Geronimo Peña and trade bait. But without prompt action, the Cards' 1991 highlight could well be their revolutionary signing of pitcher Rene Arocha, a defector from the Cuban national team.

Jim Fregosi's Phillies have high-speed center fielder Lenny Dykstra, capable first baseman John Kruk, apprentice slugger Wes Chamberlain and role model Dale Murphy in a lineup as bad as the Phils' pitching used to be. Their improved rotation may feature Terry Mulholland, Tommy Greene, scatter-arm smoker Jose DeJesus and ex-Angel Kyle Abbott. Not enough to make up for a suddenly puny attack. Setup man Barry Jones and closer Mitch Williams are a solid bull-pen tandem. On the whole, the pennant has no plans to be in Philadelphia.

In September, a 110,000-pound hunk of concrete fell off Olympic Stadium in Montreal, forcing the Expos to finish their horrible season on the road. Montreal's Calderon--Grissom--Walker outfield is the league's fastest, if Calderon doesn't switch to first. Last year, center fielder Grissom threw to second, saw the ball get away, raced to the bag and made the tag, registering an assist and a putout on the same play. Les Expos have a future dominator in reliever John Wetteland, but the only reason to think they can contend now is that the Twins and Braves did last year.

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Not even the Padres think they are the team to beat. Manager Greg Riddoch says he would like to stay close to the top. Most San Diegans hope their Pads can avoid the bottom of the fierce N.L. West. Atlanta looks like a worthy defending champ, Cincinnati has pitching and an All-Star infield, L.A. has a zillion-dollar outfield. Even the soon-to-be San Jose Giants could win. Even so, we pick San Diego. The pitching staff was a Ben-Gay ad in the first half of 1991 as the Padres reached the All-Star break 40--43. Then, even with Tony Gwynn hurt, they went 44-35 to finish with the third-best record in club history. Reason? The mound crew of Bruce Hurst, Andy Benes and Greg Harris. Those three were 14--15 with a cumulative 3.60 E.R.A. before the break, 25-9 with a 2.42 after. Old Ed Whitson and young Ricky Bones fill out what could be a scary 1992 rotation. Randy Myers, acquired in a trade for Bip Roberts, growls in the sundrenched pen at Jack Murphy Stadium, dying to prove that the Reds gave up on him too soon. The Padres' offense headlines Gwynn, who batted .358 going into his All-Star start last season. He got hurt and limped (slowly--the man is starting to make Kirby Puckett look svelte) home at .317. A healthy Gwynn now teams with shortstop Tony Fernandez, underpraised catcher Benito Santiago and first baseman Fred McGriff in a batting order that can keep up with the West's best. Like any team in the West except Houston, the Padres can finish anywhere from first to fifth. They have a mound corps to build a championship on.

Focus on a dream. That's what a banner at Three Rivers Stadium read in the last game of the N.L. play-offs. The sign was meant to inspire the home-team Pirates, but Braves starter John Smoltz, who turned his season around by focusing on a psychiatrist's happy-think, mumbled that mantra and shut out the Bucs. Funny year, funny team. Only Atlanta could find rookie Brian Hunter, the first good player in 15 years to bat right-handed and throw left-handed. Or turn a 10--12 pitcher in 1990, Tom Glavine, into 1991's Cy Young winner; or a .230 hitter who clouted six home runs in 1990, Terry Pendleton, into 1991's Most Valuable Player; or an impossibly overmatched rookie named Steve into "Poison" Avery, the sharpest kid pitcher of all. Only problem is, it cannot happen again, even with a strong rotation and a matchless bull-pen committee, even with outfielders Ron Gant and David Justice, the best third and cleanup hitters in anyone's lineup. There is no margin for error in this division, and few dreams come true twice.

Last year, when the Dodgers held their first spring workout, Darryl Strawberry hit five huge homers, one of which knocked a branch off a distant tree. False alarm--what began so boomingly ended with a whimper as L.A. fell short by one game. They singlehandedly saved the season for the Giants, who ruined that last weekend for Tommy's boys. Fact is, opponents cherish beating the Dodgers, particularly since Strawberry's prima Darryl 'tude was added to a team that was already arrogant. Now toss in Strawberry's boyhood pal Eric Davis, another big talent with similar head-case credentials. Manager Tom Lasorda loves his pitching staff--Ramon Martinez, knuckleballer Tom Candiotti, Orel Hershiser (whose recuperating fastball was so slow Lonnie Smith caught one as he was hit by it), Bob Ojeda and Ramon's terrif kid brother Pedro Martinez. Enough? Not if defense matters. The Dodgers must either trade for shortstop Ozzie Smith or try to win with the league's worst infield.

The Reds have everything a team needs to win. Jose Rijo, Greg Swindell, Tim Belcher and Tom Browning make up a murderer's-row rotation. The lineup features Bip Roberts' leadoff speed, moves to Barry Larkin, Paul O'Neill, Chris Sabo and Hal Morris in the middle and dribbles down to Joe Oliver's occasional power in the eighth slot. It all looks just dandy until you figure that the Padres, Dodgers and Braves have starters who are every bit as good, and Cincy's superstopper Rob Dibble had just eight saves in the second half of 1991. The lineup may have holes, too: Roberts and Larkin get hurt a lot, O'Neill and Morris don't hit left-handers and Oliver seldom hits anyone. And whoever bats fourth is merely a pretender to cleanup manhood. Meanwhile, Lou Piniella, the angriest of managers, cusses out players and umps till his face is the color of his cap. If anything goes wrong, will their psycho manager lead them down the drain?

The Giants' radio theme last year was Good Vibrations, an airhead southern California tune unsuited to a tough-minded franchise. General manager Al Rosen--the 1953 A.L. M.V.P. now dueling the Dodgers' Fred Claire, Oakland's Sandy Alderson, Toronto's Pat Gillick and Atlanta's John Schuerholz for M.V.G.M.--has solved his club's mound problems by landing Seattle's Billy Swift and relievers Dave Burba and Mike Jackson. A strong lineup surrounds Will Clark's perfect swing and Gold Glove third baseman Matt Williams' pure power. The Giants might be favored in the N.L. East.

Like Cleveland's Indians, the Astros used to be stinking in the right way: trading pricey veterans for bargain babies. Then they traded phenom Kenny Lofton to the Indians for a little boost this year. Why? Maybe because the Astros, who will slog through a 28-day road trip so owner John McMullen can rent out their home park, are an experiment in stinking for profit. McMullen cares only about the price he gets for selling them. On the field, Craig Biggio moves from catcher to second base to save his legs. First baseman Jeff Bagwell--stolen from Boston--and left fielder Luis Gonzalez have two of the sweeter swings in the West. Pitchers Pete Harnisch, Darryl Kile, Jeff Juden, Ryan Bowen and Al Osuna deserve more ink.

Cook's Picks

N.L. East

A.L. East

N.L. West

A.L. West

A.L. Champs: White Sox

N.L. Champs: Padres

World Champs: White Sox

"This game has spent 147 years scratching the surface of its surprises. No one sees its future."

The Casey Awards

He was a World Series hero. He managed the worst modern team as well as some of the best. He was the wise man who once said, "I had many years that I was not so successful as a ballplayer, as it is a game of skill." He was Charles Dillon Stengel, and these awards go to the men who keep his mighty spirit alive.

Sportsman of the Year: Lonnie Smith would soon be the World Series' goat, but before freezing in history's headlights, Smith did something perfect. As game seven began, he stepped into the batter's box and offered a handshake to Twins catcher Brian Harper. That shake should become a Series tradition.

Hardnose Award: Rodney McCray of the Pacific Coast League Vancouver Canadians chased a fly ball through the center-field fence at Civic Stadium in Portland, Oregon. The wooden fence split on impact and McCray vanished into the night as the ball fell for a triple. He bloodies his nose but stayed in the game.

Rookie Quote Award: On a Montreal trip, Reds rookie Steve Foster was asked by a customs official whether he had anything to declare. "I'm proud to be an American," he said.

Survivor of the Year: Ten years ago, catcher Jeff Banister learned he had bone cancer. He wouldn't let doctors amputate his leg; he said he'd rather die than not play baseball. After seven rounds of surgery, he returned to the game, only to break his neck in a collision at home plate. But last July, Banister was called up to replace the Pirates' Don Slaught, who was hurt. He singled in his first at-bat. When Slaught recovered, Banister, whose desire surpasses his talent, took his 1.000 batting average back to Buffalo.

Special Citation for Fuel Efficiency: The Blue Jays' Roberto Alomar lived in the SkyDome Hotel. He went to home games by elevator.

Bat Out of Hell Award: At Sumter, South Carolina, Al Bennett of the Spartanburg Phillies swung and lost his grip on the bat, which sailed into foul territory, over the field boxes, over the Uecker seats and completely out of the ball park.

Freudian Flip Award: Padres catcher Benito Santiago, no darling of management, got even in July. After grounding out, Santiago threw his batting helmet, which Frisbeed into the dugout and beaned pitching coach Mike Roarke, then ricocheted off manager Greg Riddoch's head, giving him a concussion.

Star of the Year: Twins lefty David West gave up four World Series runs, got no outs and entered Series record books with a by his name--hideous symbol of his infinite earned-run average.

Pussy of the Year: In an exhibition game between Detroit and Cincinnati, Reds reliever Tim Layana faced a surprise pinch hitter, Tigers fan Tom Selleck. Major-league macho called for fastballs from Layana--a pro hurler facing a movie hunk. But when the actor manfully fouled off a couple, Layana meowed. He fanned Selleck with a tricky knuckle curve.

Best Headline: The Village Voice on the Yankees and Mets: They're here, They suck, get used to it.

Best New Pitch: The six-fingered fastball of Expos farmhand Tony Alfonseca, who has an extra digit on his right hand. Alfonseca needs 478 wins to double the output of Mordecai "Three-Finger" Brown.

Tough as Nails Award: After cracking up his new Benz, himself and teammate Darren Daulton, the Phillies' Lenny Dykstra was stumbling around the wreckage, refusing offers of medical attention: No way, dudes. I'm fine. He had a crushed collarbone, broken ribs and a punctured lung, but was still on his feet.

American East League

American West League

The Econo All-Stars

Uncork some Cook's champagne--a clubhouse favorite for its fast fizz and beery price--and toast the game's best buys:

Twins A.L. Rookie of the Year Chuck Knoblauch (.281, 25 steals, heady D) leads off and plays second base. Knoblauch made $100,000 in 1991. White Sox third baseman Robin Ventura (23 home runs, 100 R.B.I.s, $150,000) bats second. Seattle's Ken Griffey, Jr., (.327,22 homers, 100 R.B.I.s, 18 steals, $560,000) plays center field. Chi Sox Frank Thomas (.318, 32 homers, 109 R.B.I.s, $120,000) plays first base and bats cleanup. Next come Rangers left fielder Juan Gonzalez (27 dingers, 102 R.B.I.s, $127,500), Cardinals right fielder Felix Jose (.305,20 steals, 15 outfield assists, $220,000) and Brewers shortstop Bill Spiers (.283, 14 steals, $250,000). Texas' Ivan Rodriguez (.264, $100,000) catches Atlanta's Steve Avery. Avery, who cost Ted Turner $110,000, was 18--8 with a 3.38 E.R.A. during the regular season, 2--0 with a 1.53 in the post-season.

The top-price nine, with a dead battery of Mark Davis and Lance Parrish, cost $27,000,000 in 1991. The Econo All-Stars collected a total of $1,737,500--less than the Brewers paid Franklin Stubbs to hit .213.

National East League

National West League

Star-Gazing

San Diego, July 14--The 1992 All-Star Game, which began with tom-toms tonight, ended with Bells. Pinch hitter Jay Bell doubled home George Bell for a 3-2 National League win. Bo Jackson and Rickey Henderson hit solo homers for the American League. Starting pitchers Bret Saberhagen and Roger Clemens each worked three perfect innings, while the winner, Atlanta's Mark Wohlers, struck out six A.L. batters. The game lasted only two hours, as umpires used the new, larger 1992 strike zone. There were a record four All-Stars named Martinez, plus two Bells and one Belle. In pregame ceremonies, Atlanta Americans owner Ted Turner and the Cleveland Bums' Richard Jacobs shared a peace pipe with Native American groups to celebrate their teams' new names. The moment was marred when firemen, citing this year's ban of all smoking in outdoor Jack Murphy Stadium, doused Turner.

After the game, the Bums' Albert Belle, who made the A.L. roster but did not play, changed his name to Martinez.