An Old-timer, Of Sorts, Comes Back To Phila.

This evening, for reasons I'll explain later, I've been invited to dust off the cobwebs on the old A-2000 and play in the Equitable Old-timers Game at the Vet. I'll be joining such all-time Phillies greats as Richie Ashburn, Granny Hamner and Robin Roberts. We'll be playing against the likes of Willie Mays, Bob Gibson and Eddie Mathews. But unlike those big-name bombers, for me, this game will most likely be the highlight of my baseball career.

The last time I was in Philadelphia was 1968. Gene Mauch was manager, Dick Allen was Richie, LBJ was trying to negotiate with Hanoi and I was a rookie Phillies pitcher. I'd won 14 games the year before at San Diego in the Pacific Coast League. Mauch (a.k.a. Skipper, No. 4, Little General, Napoleon, God), had even gone so far as to tell pitching coach Al Widmar that he thought I could help the club. (The man never talked to his rookies personally.)

On my first day in Philadelphia after being called up, I proudly told the cabby to take me to 21st and Lehigh. And keep the change. When he let me out, I looked around, figuring he'd made a mistake. He'd dropped me off in front of an ugly warehouse. It wasn't until I looked skyward and saw the light towers that I realized that I had in fact arrived in the major leagues, at historic Connie Mack Stadium.

I have to admit that when I walked inside the clubhouse and saw my uniform hanging there in the same row with those of Allen, Bill White, Chris Short and Johnny Callison, I was psyched. I could almost feel the ghostlike arm of Mr. Mack around my shoulder, welcoming me to the ballpark and all its baseball tradition.

When I walked out onto the field for the first time, surveying the Philco sign on the roof and all that lush green outfield grass, like something out of a country club, I felt like turning toward California and thanking my dad for all the countless hours he'd spent playing catch with me when I was a youngster. I was in the major leagues.

A few minutes before the start of my first game, I put on my fresh, clean, white uniform, double-checked myself in the mirror, then headed for the dugout. John Boozer, a likeable clubhouse jokester, stopped me as I passed his locker. As usual, he had a wad of Red Man stuffed into his cheek. He wished me good luck, then nonchalantly spit a bull's-eye right on the front of my jersey, dotting the i in Phillies with a big brown stain. Welcome to The Show.