| |
 Requiem for a lefty
Posted: Wednesday June 30, 1999 10:26 AM
This past week I attended the final game at Seattle's Kingdome, a gala affair (especially for a rusty sardine can of death) that concluded with fireworks, confetti and enough ex-Mariners to film a new highlight video: Seattle Baseball: We've Always Sucked. There was Ruppert Jones and Dave Henderson . Gaylord Perry and Harold Reynolds . Dave Heaverlo and Alvin Davis . Bill Caudill and Lenny Randle . To my chagrin, there was no Dave Fleming . As is the case in sports, heroes turn to dust with the twist of an ankle; with the snap of a rotator cuff. Dave Fleming was my hero. He grew up right down the road, in a small, tired lake town called Mahopac, N.Y. In the '50s and '60s, Mahopac was pretty hot on the summer vacation map, sort of like a poor man's Cape Cod. Folks would make the one-hour drive from the city, rent out a beach cottage, grill some burgers. Old days, good times. Later on, however, tourism died. There were other places to go; better things to see. Like a lot of small spots in the middle of nowhere, the town suffered through the '80s. All we had was Carmello's Barbershop, Rodak's Deli, the annual July 4th Fireman's Fair, Caldor's and Dave Fleming, the Great Mahopac Hope. In 1987 Fleming, a soft-throwing lefthander with an aw-shucks grin, led Mahopac High to a place in the USA Today Top 25. Three years later, at the University of Georgia, he was on the mound for the final out of the Bulldogs' first (and only) College World Series title. I remember sitting in my family's den, the folks and I hovering around the TV, watching the last pitch, holding our breaths. This was our kid -- a boy next door with major league potential. Two years later, Fleming was baseball's rookie phenom. On a horrific (yet, as Mariners tradition goes, expected) 64-98 team, Fleming exploded. He went 17-11, with a 3.39 ERA. He won nine consecutive decisions, all with a mediocre mid-80s fastball, a changeup and a curve. I was working in Champaign, Ill., that summer -- a hot, miserable couple of months. The greatest relief was picking up a New York Times one day, seeing the headline, Who Is Dave Fleming? And When Will He Lose? We thought he would never lose. Fleming was the real deal. Mahopac was on the map. Raise the flags, dance the jig, sing a song. Then, as if he never was, Fleming disappeared. Oh, there were a couple more pitches. He went 12-5 the next year, 1993, but the 4.36 ERA looked a bit suspicious. A 7-11 season followed, then, in '95, a trade to Kansas City and -- boom -- out of baseball as if he was never really in. I never heard much about Dave Fleming again. Upon returning to my hotel from the recent Mariner-fest, I dug up an old phone number and -- somewhat nervously -- called Fleming. I knew he was living in Southbury, Conn.; that he had tried coming back with the Yankees last spring training, fell short, then had brief minor league stints with Boston and Baltimore. I knew he was out of baseball. "Sometimes it hurts to think about it," said Fleming in a sharp New York accent. "To be where I was, and where I ended up, it's hard to accept. When you win 17 games as a rookie, you have certain expectations. Now I'm 29, and my career's over." There was early elbow pain, Fleming said, then a serious arm injury. By late in his career, his pitching sessions were always followed by stinging pain. His fastball dropped into the mid-high 70s. His changeup lost its sparkle. His pinpoint control went south. As would be expected, he has stopped watching baseball on TV; rarely picks up the boxscores. Fleming had no idea the Kingdome's final game was at hand. Of the current Mariners, only catcher Dan Wilson remains a friend. "The toughest thing," he said, "is seeing guys I played against still playing. And the pitching now, expansion has made it so guys with great arms who might not know how to pitch are called up. I knew how to pitch -- location, picking my spots. It's frustrating being a lefty, knowing what I could do, and now not doing it." He is taking two courses at Western Connecticut to finish his psych degree, even though Fleming has no interest in being a psychologist. He will be a teacher/coach—the official profession of ex-jocks. Recently, before an alumni game at Georgia, Fleming was throwing on the side. Everything magically worked again. The fastball had heat. The changeup was nasty. "It starts you thinking, Maybe I should try one more comeback," he said. "But I have a wife, two kids. There comes a time when you realize -- it's over. It's sad, but over." Mahopac understands that all too well. Sports Illustrated staff writer Jeff Pearlman offers his unique view on baseball every week. The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.
| |||||||||||||||||
Copyright © 1999 CNN/SI. A Time Warner Company. Terms under which this service is provided to you.
| |||||||||||||||||
