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 Hollins wins a fan
Posted: Tuesday September 28, 1999 05:46 PM
When the White Sox sent Dave Hollins to Triple A Charlotte in July, they told him he'd be in Chicago by Sept. 1. Hollins believed them. He waited. And waited. And waited. On Sept. 1, the phone didn't ring. Not once. Hollins fumed. "I'm going home," he told Charlotte Knights manager Tom Spencer. "I don't need this." Spencer understood. Hollins was 33 years old. He had nine years of major league experience. He had signed with the White Sox not hoping to be a star or revive a fading career, but simply to collect the 10 seasons necessary to receive the full big league pension. Lame? Maybe. Understandable? Of course. Spencer understood. Kristie Hollins did not. "You made a commitment to that team," the wife told the husband. "Maybe it's not the majors, but people are depending on you." One day later, Hollins met up with Spencer. "I'm not happy about it," he told the skipper, "but I'm gonna help you win a championship." *** First reactions are often the most sincere reactions. My first reaction to Hollins' plight was, "Good." Actually, "Good -- punk." Hollins was three feet in front of me, sitting awkwardly in the wedding-ring-sized box that is Las Vegas' Cashman Field's home clubhouse. He was wearing a T-shirt with a screen-printed 10 on the back. His pants were slightly torn at the knees. He looked pathetic. I was happy. My initial interaction with Hollins came a couple of years ago. He was a productive third baseman with the Angels. I was in the Anaheim clubhouse, waiting patiently for another player, when Hollins -- it seemed 100% intentionally -- rammed into me. "Sorry," I said for no reason. He walked away without saying a word. Earlier this season, as Hollins was trying to stick with Toronto, I approached him with some questions about Jim Fregosi. "Hey, Dave, got a minute?" He didn't. "Aw, that's just Dave," Darrin Fletcher said later. "He's different." I didn't like Dave Hollins. I thought he was a rude wad of pus -- another jock on an ego kick. To see him, age 33, playing for the Knights in last week's Triple A World Series ... well, it made me glad. People do get what they deserve. We are all accountable. For the first couple of days, I kept a close eye on the man. When he dove for a ball in Game 2 and came up short, the thought He's done zapped through my head. When he listlessly grounded out, there were no tears. Again, this was Dave Hollins. He was too good for the average reporter. Screw him. In Game 3, Hollins laid down a bunt. Adam Piatt, the Vancouver Canadians third baseman, came charging in. He grabbed the ball cleanly, picked it up, threw. Hollins, running like there was a pit bull at his heels, was safe by an inch. The next day, Spencer (whose club lost in five games) spoke at length of Hollins. "He's been the hardest working guy here," the manager said. "He's a leader -- the way he plays, the way he treats people." I told Spencer that I, along with half the baseball writing world, consider Hollins to be less than nice. "Aw, I wouldn't like him either if I wasn't on the same team," he said. "But Dave's just really intense. He doesn't let people see the nice side." Hollins, it turns out, paid for the team's batboy to attend the World Series. Hollins also never allows a Charlotte teammate to pick up the check. He's been quick with advice. He tells it like it is. "Dave," Spencer said, "isn't the kind of guy who changes." Perceptions, on the other hand, do. Jeff Pearlman is a Sports Illustrated staff writer.
The opinions expressed here are solely those of the writer.
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