AN INTERVIEW WITH RICK SUTCLIFFE

by Ted Bauer

Rick Sutcliffe, currently an ESPN analyst, won 171 games across 18 years in the bigs. He was the Orioles' pitcher in the first game at Camden Yards, appeared in two NLCS ('84 and '89), won the '79 Rookie of the Year Award and the '84 Cy Young. He still refers to being the Cubs starter on August 8, 1988—the first night game at Wrigley Field—as one of the biggest baseball events he's ever been involved with. "Some days, I don't remember my wedding anniversary," he jokes. "But I always remember that date." For more about the night the lights went on in Wrigleyville, his best Don Zimmer story, his feelings on Andre Dawson not being in the HOF and more, keep on reading.

The Mag: Going into that night, did you guys think it was a really big deal?

Sutcliffe: I don't think any of us really realized the magnitude of it until it got closer. A lot of times as a player, you get the sense of how important a regular-season game is based on how many ticket requests you get. That game was off the charts; I was filling ticket requests for guys like Bill Murray and Mark Harmon. I knew it was my start, so I get to the park and all the ticket stuff is done and I'm just excited. I'm in the bullpen; I'm feeling good. Before the game, people from the Hall of Fame or MLB—I'm not sure which—came to talk to me.

Had that happened before?

No, I almost never talked to people before games. So they say, "The first pitch of this game, we want to put it in the Hall of Fame." I say back, "You're telling me you want me to throw a ball?" I go talk to Eric Gregg, who was working home that night, and I'm like, "If this is six inches high or low, will you call it for me?" He seems to be in agreement, so I go out and I throw a fastball away, not really high or low. It's about six inches outside. Gregg just looks at it and goes "Ball!" I see him the next year and I ask, "What the hell happened with that pitch?" He goes, "As you were winding up, I realized the whole world was watching that pitch, so I didn't want to be the ump who missed it."

Classic. What else do you remember?

That was the first time I can remember ever throwing a pitch and literally, it seemed like everyone in the ballpark was taking a picture. Harry Caray said it seemed like there was an explosion. Damon Berryhill throws the ball back to me, and I can barely see it from the glare in my eyes. So, of course, my second pitch Phil Bradley hits it out of the park. I guess in the booth, there's dead silence, and Bill Murray is up there with the guys, and he just goes "TURN 'EM OFF! THIS ISN'T GONNA WORK HERE!"

Classic, again. What about the rain delay?

Well, Ryne got me the lead back, and when it went to delay, it was just an unrealistic delay. All during that time, I'm throwing balls against a wall to stay loose. I must have thrown 400 pitches that night—not full velocity or anything, but if that game had been delayed for hours, I was going to come back out and get the decision. One thing I've always thought about that rain delay is that it was almost like God saying, "Don't change Wrigley Field."

How important was that game for Chicago and North Side baseball?

You can say the next night was the official first night game at Wrigley, but no. People don't think that. Everything was different once those lights went on. I heard a rumor Ronald Reagan wanted to come, but the Secret Service couldn't guarantee it. I mean, there was excitement everywhere. It's one of the biggest baseball events I've ever been involved with.

Out of all the places you've played, where do you rank Wrigley?

There's no comparison. My first pitch ever was at Dodger Stadium, and I opened up Camden Yards, but nothing comes close. The game doesn't even matter at Wrigley—I mean, people do care about winning and losing—but you're hanging out with 35,000 of your best friends. Sometimes in the 7th inning, they'd raise their beers and sing along with Harry, and you'd see people look over at their friends and go, "What's the score anyway? We winning?" Every game you play there is like a movie that ends way too soon.

You gotta have a good Zimmer story, right?

(laughs) I'm sure. I'll say this: if ever a manager made a difference for a team, it's Don Zimmer. He might have won us 30 games. One good story is actually from '89, the year we went to the NLCS. I was struggling after the All-Star Break; after my third start post-break, he calls me in and he's getting on me, telling me I'm throwing stupid pitches. He goes, "I could call a better game than you!" I'm fired up and I say back, "You wanna call the game for me? DO IT!" I walked out. Five days later, we're at Shea. Zim calls me in and goes, "You know what you're doing; I'm not calling this game." I haven't even looked at the line-up yet, because I thought he was serious five days ago, so Zim says he will call it. Joe Giradi's catching the game, and the first pitch he calls for a change-up. Now, I've never thrown a change-up to open a game ever. I throw it, it works, and next thing I know, it's 9 up, 9 down.

In the 4th inning, the Mets load the bases, and Strawberry is coming up. Zimmer has called every pitch in the game to this point. He comes out to the mound, and Girardi runs out too. The Cubs were always on WGN, so whenever Zimmer put his hand over his mouth, you knew he was going to curse and he didn't want the TV cameras to see it. He looks at me and goes, "I got one thing to say. You're on your own." Just turns and runs off. Girardi and I just start laughing. He runs back, and I get Strawberry to pop up. The next guy is Kevin McReynolds, and I get him into a double play. Inning over.

The whole rest of that year, we're all saying "You're on your own!" to each other. It became a rallying cry.

From the '88 team, you have Greg Maddux and Jamie Moyer. Both are still active, two decades later. What's their secret?

Opening Day '88, I get to my locker. Normally, I had an open locker on both sides; I get there and Maddux is on one side, Moyer's on the other. I go to the clubhouse guy and ask what's up. He says Dallas Green, the president of the Cubs then, wanted it that way. The first week of the season, when I'm not pitching, I'm getting guys up to the rail to watch the game. I bring Maddux and Moyer up there to teach 'em stuff—how to get guys out. THEY KNEW MORE THAN I DID! Both of them are super smart. The only difference is that Maddux always had the control; for Moyer it came later.

From the '88 team: how big a crime is it that Andre Dawson isn't in the HOF?

I've got him way up there. He dominated every phase of the game. The criteria is supposed to be that you're one of the best during your time; if so, that's the easiest question in the world to answer. He dominated! He got a lot of hits, but against good pitching. He hit Nolan Ryan well. That one baffles me.

Thanks for everything.

One more thing: looking back on it, I couldn't possibly have had more fun as a baseball player than what happened. I got to throw the first pitch in the first playoff game at Wrigley in four decades. I got to play with Cal Ripken and Ozzie Smith, guys like that. I started the first night game at Wrigley. I sleep pretty good at night.

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