Billy Boy Is Back

At 8:07 on the night of his return from exile, Billy Martin, the Dead End Kid who somehow never gets dead-ended, poked his cocky puss out of the dugout in Yankee Stadium, smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from his pinstripes and jogged out into the city's open arms. He had in his hand the first lineup card he would deliver as Yankee manager in 11 months—since that day when, speaking of two other superduperegos, Reggie Jackson and owner George Steinbrenner, he had said, "One's a born liar and the other's convicted."

Enacting a scenario worthy of daytime television, Steinbrenner had hugged the prodigal to his forgiving bosom, and now as Martin lifted his cap to the adoring crowd, the organist struck up Billy Boy, the scoreboard flashed WELCOME BACK, BILLY and the fans, in a two-minute, 10-second standing ovation, screamed and flung rolls of unfurling toilet paper onto the field. Martin had said earlier, "I'm a battler and they are battlers. I'm what the common guy likes."

The fact that the Yankees lost to Toronto's tail-end Blue Jays did little to dampen the homecoming party. Billy was back, and to many New Yorkers that was even better than 10 gallons in the tank and a rent-controlled apartment with a river view. Martin was 12 pounds heavier and a ton happier than when he tearfully resigned last July, and to the fans he was Lindbergh back from France, Armstrong back from the moon. To the rest of baseball he was the stormy manager of an injury-riddled team struggling to defend its world championship.

Steinbrenner replaced Manager Bob Lemon with Martin last week for the same reason he dropped Martin for Lemon last summer. He believed New York's problems on the field demanded a different style of leadership—in the dugout and in the clubhouse. "Last year I needed someone 180 degrees from what Billy was," Steinbrenner said. "This year I need someone 180 degrees from what Lemon was."

This year the unflappable Lemon became too detached, a result of a different set of priorities following the death of his youngest son in an automobile accident 10 days after last year's World Series. "It's not that I didn't want to win," he said last week, "but when I lost, it didn't bother me as much." Steinbrenner could sympathize with Lemon's feelings as a man, but not as a manager. He felt the players lacked hustle and spark and, worst of all, concern. "The team was disintegrating and I had to do something now," he said. "Billy is the right guy for the moment."

The problem Martin inherited is remarkably similar to the one he left behind. When he resigned, concerned about "my health and mental well-being," New York was in third place in the American League East, 10 games behind the division leader, Boston. When he returned Tuesday, the Yankees were in fourth place, 8� games behind Baltimore. (At week's end the margin was nine.) Thus Martin's 1979 Yankees were faced with the monumental task of duplicating the feat of Lemon's 1978 Yankees, the only American League team ever to win a pennant by overcoming a double-digit deficit in a season in which it changed managers. Clearly the odds are again overwhelmingly against the Yanks.

Not many believed Martin would ever get this chance at redemption. Five days after accepting his apology and resignation, Steinbrenner promised that Martin would be back again in 1980. But he didn't put the pledge in writing, and his comments concerning Martin's health and deportment suggested he was looking for an escape hatch. Martin seemed to provide a suitable one when he slugged a Reno sportswriter in November, but that opportunity disappeared after the combatants settled out of court in May. Former Cincinnati Manager Sparky Anderson might have had a shot at the New York job, but two weeks ago he became the manager of Detroit. Steinbrenner suddenly had no other big-name choice.

On the day of Martin's return, the Yankees ranked seventh in the league in hitting, 10th in scoring, 13th in stolen bases, fifth in pitching and 12th in saves. Three of the teams' best players were sidelined. Goose Gossage had been out with a torn ligament in his right thumb since April 19; Jackson had been out with a muscle tear since June 3; and Ron Guidry, winner of 25 games and the Cy Young Award in '78, had been out with a back sprain since June 12. True, the Orioles and Red Sox have had their share of injuries, but nothing to compare with Yankee losses.

Martin is prepared to make the standard argument that "there is plenty of time left," but not all of his players are so confident. "We're struggling and we're putting ourselves in a hole," says Outfielder Lou Piniella, the team's leading hitter at .309. "We're way, way back and it seems we've got the whole league in front of us. I just hope we don't put ourselves in so deep that we put on a finishing kick for nothing."

The situation is even more embarrassing because the team's most serious problem—the unavailability of Gossage, the fireballing fireman who saved 27 games and won 10 last season—was the result of a sophomoric clubhouse fracas between him and journeyman Cliff Johnson. Johnson has since been sentenced to Cleveland, but the trauma lingers on. From the day Gossage was hurt to the day Lemon was fired, Yankee relievers got only two saves. In that same period New York suffered 12 defeats in games in which it held or was tied for the lead entering the seventh inning. If Gossage had won or saved only half of those games (a modest assumption: he had a win and three saves in the first 11 games of the season), New York would be in contention and Lemon would still be manager. Says Martin, " Gossage's getting hurt ruined my vacation. Instead of making cocktails at 5:30, I'm at the park working."