He Has Georgia On His Mind

A baseball uniform has always looked good on Mike Ivie's powerful frame, and as far back as he can remember, he has wanted to wear one. When Ivie was a Little Leaguer, he was already hitting the ball so hard that some concerned parents around Decatur, Ga. petitioned to have him moved to a higher league.

Naturally, a lot of people were surprised when the 27-year-old Ivie took his San Francisco Giant uniform off last month and said that he was quitting his $300,000-a-year job. But last week, after a sudden change of heart, a more secure Ivie returned to the team, saying he felt fully refreshed and was anxious to begin his baseball career anew.

Ivie, a 6'4", 210-pound first baseman, had the best season of his career last year, hitting .286, with 27 home runs and 89 RBIs. After platooning parts of four seasons at first base in San Diego and San Francisco with Willie McCovey, Ivie had finally won the position outright. "This was the first year I was going to have first base all to myself," Ivie says. "I was going to wear it out."

Unfortunately, the only thing Ivie wore out was himself. On June 6, after struggling all season to overcome a debilitating hand injury and a sprained left ankle, Ivie was batting .231 with only two homers and six RBIs, and the Giants were last in the National League West. He had reached a state of such high anxiety that he and Dr. Thomas Tutko, a psychologist who had been treating him, asked the Giants' management if he could have a rest. The team put Ivie on the 15-day disabled list, giving "mental exhaustion" as the reason. Following his return, Ivie remained on the bench for four games, striking out in his one appearance as a pinch hitter. Then on June 25 in San Diego he abruptly announced his plans to retire immediately.

At a press conference—which Ivie says he convened because "I didn't want to just walk away; I'm no quitter by any means"—he insisted his departure had nothing to do with his injuries or his slump. Instead, he claimed he wanted only to be "an average Joe" working a nine-to-five job in Georgia, and added that the life of a professional player had been "dehumanizing."

Ivie now says he regrets some of those statements, but not his decision to retire. "I woke up one morning in a hotel and said, 'I've got to talk to somebody; I need some more help.' I knew no matter what it took, I had to straighten my stuff out before I could play again. I was super, super depressed, sleeping a lot, then going to the park at two in the afternoon and just sitting in my locker for hours. I was really kind of spaced out."

Ivie called his wife, Pam, at their home in Foster City, Calif. to tell her his decision. Despite her best efforts, she was unable to change his mind. "He said it was like being in a burning building and he had to get out," says Pam Ivie.

Several Giants were upset over Ivie's apparent lack of regard for the team, particularly Coach Jim Lefebvre, who said, "Ivie is a deserter. If he pulled something like this in the Army, he'd have a bullet hole in the back of his head."

Ivie's difficulties as a professional ballplayer began June 4, 1970, the day the Padres selected him first in the amateur draft, as a catcher. "You're supposed to be the best out of all the high school and semipro players in the country," Ivie says, as if he were describing a curse. He was 17, a pampered only child who had never been asked to wash his own clothes or do any cooking. "When I started out I was lost," he says.

During his first minor league season, Ivie developed a phobia about throwing the ball back to the pitcher. The Padres didn't realize how severe it was until spring training two years later. In an intrasquad game Ivie would double- and triple-pump before returning the ball. When Manager Preston Gomez upbraided him for it, Ivie packed his bags and flew home to Georgia. Weeks later he agreed to join the Padres' Alexandria (La.) AA farm team, but he vowed never to catch again.