What's In A Name?

Since Mendoza retired as a player, the Mendoza Line has been appropriated by an indie rock band from Athens, Ga., and invoked by Brandon on Beverly Hills, 90210 in reference to marginal grades. It has also spread to pro football, where NFL wags sometimes refer to the Kordoza Line, after Kordell Stewart's career passer rating of approximately 70, another minimally acceptable mark. The phrase is widely known even in Mendoza's native land, where ESPN Deportes baseball personalities make routine use of it.

Mendoza did get back at Paciorek, occasionally subjecting him to practical jokes like novelty exploding cigarettes or a faceful of cake. And in his own way, Mendoza also got back at Brett. In late September 1980, with Brett trying to surmount the Williams Line of .400, the Royals star came into a three-game series with Seattle, hitting .394. Brett went 2 for 11, largely because Mendoza robbed him of three hits on plays up the middle. Brett finished the year at .390.

The Mendoza line rings. It's his eldest son, 28-year-old Mario Jr. "I was once let go by major league baseball," father tells son. "How hard can this be?"

Mario Jr. can relate. Once a pitching prospect with the Anaheim Angels, he shared several spring trainings with his dad, who managed him at Class A Lake Elsinore in 2000. But that season, young Mario suffered a stress fracture in a vertebra, causing major league clubs to lose interest in him, and he now pitches for Saltillo of the Mexican League.

The elder Mendoza's return to Mexico as a player took place after two seasons with the Rangers and one in the minors. In spring training in 1981 manager Don Zimmer told him, "Hey, Mex, you hit .220, and I'll be satisfied." He batted .250 over the first two months of the season, and in mid-June the Rangers lurked just a few games behind the A's in the AL West. Then the strike hit, wiping out two months of the season. After play resumed, Texas faded and so did Mendoza, who finished at .231. The Rangers released him early the next season. Failing to hook on with the Pirates in spring training in '83, Mendoza joined the Triple A Hawaii Islanders as a player-coach for a season, then returned to Mexico for the remainder of his playing career. Since turning 45, he has collected a major league pension. But by failing to squeeze one more season out of the bigs he is just short of qualifying for the maximum amount.

The Mendoza line rings. It's Roque Sanchez, Campeche's first baseman. "We failed you," he says, speaking on behalf of his fellow Piratas. "I'd always dreamed of playing for a manager just like you."

Mendoza's style is light-tempered. "It keeps guys, especially young guys, relaxed," he explains. Indeed, his embrace of conviviality helped launch his managerial career. On the Pirates' visits to San Diego, Mendoza enjoyed clowning with the grounds crew. "I'd tug at the hose when they watered the third base side," he says, "or roll balls out of the dugout at them." One of those groundskeepers was a college kid named Bill Bavasi, son of Padres president Buzzie Bavasi. By the early '90s, when Mendoza's Mexican League career was winding down, the younger Bavasi had moved into the Angels' front office. He figured the shortstop who related so easily to all types would make a good manager in the minors, where Latinos in particular can thrive or flail depending on their support system.

In '92, Mendoza began managing at Class A Palm Springs. He spent 10 seasons in the Angels' system, then one more with the Giants. Since 2003 he has been the Mexican Dave Bristol, managing four teams including, until a few hours ago, Campeche.

Piratas have offered to keep him on as a roving instructor, but already there have been feelers from another Mexican League club. Mendoza holds a ticket for an early-morning trip home to Navojoa, 40 miles from the Sea of Cortez, where he and Irma Beatriz like to invite neighbors over for evenings of cerveza and conversation in the "bleachers," the steps that lead to the door of their home. (In addition to Mario Jr., the couple have two other children, Irma Maria, 25, and Manolo, 17.) If a job offer comes, he'll rearrange his plans.

Mendoza has packed his bags. He holes up in a cantina, watching on TV as Higuera leads Campeche to a victory over Leones de Yucat�n. His cellphone lies on the table before him. The Mendoza line is open.