So Good, He's Off His Rocker
ATLANTA
As soon as the bullpen gate opened and the mind-numbing, head-banging tune of Twisted Sister's "I Wanna Rock" started to blare, they knew. John Rocker sprinted from right field, flying faster than Rickey Henderson runs from the box, and the Braves bench was on its heels, trying hard not to giggle.
"We laughed like everyone else does," said Greg Maddux.
"We knew there was a maniac coming into the game," said Chipper Jones.
All the Mets could do was close their eyes and pray for rain. There's a reason they can't get over the hurdle that is the Braves, and last night it wasn't because Maddux befuddled them for a 4-2 Game 1 win, or because the meat of the order took them deep. It was because the guys batting eight and ninth, little guys like Eddie Perez and Walt Weiss, knocked them around, and then the big bad Rocker closed the body bag and took it out to the dump.
There aren't many more imposing, scary sights in baseball than Rocker on the mound, foaming at the mouth. John Olerud thought he had figured out flame-throwing lefties when he got a home run and a single off Randy Johnson in Game 1 of the division series last week, but the Big Unit threw candy compared to what Rocker offered last night.
There were two outs in the eighth and a runner on third when Rocker, the Braves' ultra-hyper closer, made his debut. Before you can say "I hate the Mets" � Rocker's mantra, by the way � a pair of 95 mph fastballs had whipped past Olerud, who never had a chance to blink. Melvin Mora, the guy on third, started dancing the line, playing with Rocker's mind, and Rocker didn't like this a bit. He glared at Mora until the tiny pinch-hitter melted back to the base.
"Don't be breaking my concentration," Rocker muttered to himself, still slobbering and foaming. He doesn't throw the resin bag or wear dead animal talismans the way Mets reliever Turk Wendell does, but Rocker still acts like he's ready to blow at the slightest provocation.
"John can be a little high-strung in those situations," Jones said. "He's got some of the best stuff. He's learning to harness it."
Olerud was ready for Rocker's third pitch, another screaming fastball, but that didn't mean he could hit it. He missed by a foot, and Rocker bounced off the mound, his hands pumping, like he had just won Game 7 of the World Series. Was it the situation that had him so pumped, or the fact that the team that was going down happened to be those nasty New Yorkers?
"A little because it was the Mets," he said. "But in a situation like that I don't care if it's the Macon High School baseball team. Four outs away from winning the first game of the LCS, it's time to buckle down."
The ninth started out equally swift and sweet, with Mike Piazza and his bum thumb grounding out once again, this time on a weak dribbler to second. Robin Ventura, another lefty who solved the Big Unit twice last week, got bamboozled by a changeup that must have looked like a butterfly floating over the plate, followed by a 97 mph fastball. He could do nothing but gasp at the third pitch, a called strike that kissed the outside corner.
"I had to tone it down a bit so my head wouldn't pop off," said Rocker.
By now those red rubber tomahawks were waving on cue, and Rocker was humming Twisted Sister songs to calm himself. He thought he had the game won, until Jones, bumble-fingers all night long, bobbled a Shawn Dunston one-hopper.
"The easiest one they hit to me, I booted," said Jones with a sigh.
Dunston advanced on a wild pitch � "I was mad," said Rocker, "but not at Chipper" � and Todd Pratt, the erstwhile hero, singled Dunston home to put the Mets within two runs.
"Now I was really pumped. No way was Ordonez gonna get a hit off me," said Rocker, and he was right. Rey Ordonez hit a shot to third, this time Chipper handling it with ease to get Ordonez at first. Rocker was the guy whooping and jumping around like, well, "a crazy wild man," in his very own words.
"He's a solid closer," was how Maddux, pretty solid himself over seven innings, put it. "Everyone's confident when he comes in."
Now if only they could get him to maybe drink a vat or two of herbal tea. Rocker spent 30 minutes following his latest save lifting weights, until his body really was ready to burst. In his locker there is a poster of the wrestler Bill Goldberg, wearing black Speedos and black gloves, all pumped up. Rocker, not surprisingly, would like to work for the WCW in another life.
"I had to get all the nasty stuff out of my system," he said when he finally made it to the clubhouse, still breathing hard. "And make room for it again tomorrow."
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