Remembering Mike

That is a Baltimore Sun picture. It was taken after the final out of the 1970 World Series as the Baltimore Orioles defeated the Cincinnati Reds. #5 is Brooks Robinson. #35 Mike Cuellar.

Why do I dig out this photo today?

Mike Cuellar has passed away yesterday. He had been in ill health for awhile. Here is a column by George Diaz of the Orlando Sentinel that was published on Wednesday.

Mike Cuellar sleeps in the unsettling silence of an 11th floor hospital room at Orlando Regional Medical Center. He is hooked up to an IV, in isolation, because of bacteria in his stomach. Visitors have to wear gloves and a surgical gown before entering.

The only certainty he will face is that he is going to die.

His medical chart is cluttered with awful news, etched in a steady decline of health since mid-January: A brain aneurism, followed by the removal of his gall bladder, which preceded the death blow — cancer in the stomach.

He takes a sip of water offered by his best friend, José Vargas, and mumbles a few incoherent words. Dying has a cruel way of stealing the person you know, long before they draw their last breath. That medical chart on Cuellar is bogus, in so many ways. For Vargas — and for a legion of baseball fans stretching from Havana to Baltimore to Clermont — the legacy of Miguel Angel Cuellar Santana is in the living, not the dying.

Mike Klingman of the Baltimore Sun has more.

The man best known for his screwball had his share of quirks. A notoriously slow starter, he pitched best as games, and the pennant race, heated up.

"I belong to hot weather," Cuellar liked to say. "Cold weather no good for baseball or me."

Teammates called him "Crazy Horse" for all of his superstitions. He always sat in the same spot on the bench. On days that he pitched, Cuellar refused to give autographs and wouldn't budge from the dugout until his catcher donned his shin guards every inning.

"Mike never stepped on a foul line," first baseman Boog Powell said. "If his stride was off and he got too close, he used a little 'chicken hop' to step over it."

Weaver said that Cuellar had a lucky cap, which he once forgot to take on a road trip to Milwaukee.

"We had to call the clubhouse man back in Baltimore to airmail that [bleeping] hat to us," Weaver said.

The Orioles took Cuellar's eccentricities in stride.

"Mike had a lot of things that he had to do," Blair said tactfully. "But whatever he did, it worked."

Cuellar's record with the Orioles: 143 victories and 88 losses. He ranks second on the team, all-time, in complete games (133) and third in shutouts (30).

His last victory for Baltimore, in 1976, was a three-hit, 2-0 win over the Texas Rangers and Hall of Famer Gaylord Perry. Cuellar was 39 at the time.

I was fortunate enough to work with Mike from 1996-1998. Mike was the pitching coach for the Duluth-Superior Dukes and I was starting out my baseball announcing career.

Mike had a joy and a competitive fire at the ballpark. It didn't matter that he was in riding a bus to Fargo or Thunder Bay in the independent Northern League working with guys who would almost definitely never make it to the majors.

He would run at the stadium. He would throw three rounds of batting practice in 100 degree weather in Sioux Falls, South Dakota at the age of 59. He packed his suitcase with a Brewers logo on it (from his days as the pitching coach of the El Paso Diablos) and went to work.

He loved the game.

I have a lot of memories of Mike, but here are a few of my favorites.
In 2006, the winter meetings were in Orlando. I was walking around the bar area and thought I saw a familiar face. I headed over to the Christmas tree and there was Mike Cuellar. I hadn't seen him in almost over 8 years, but he remembered me. He was looking to get back into baseball and since he lived in Orlando, he stopped by to talk with some people. We talked for awhile, shook hands, and wished each other good luck.

It was about 1996 and the subject of Cuba came up in a conversation that the players were having. Someone said something complimentary about Fidel Castro. Mike was born in Cuba and disagreed vehemently, "F%#@, CASTRO!"

Mike believed in a realistic batting practice. Most of the players knew this and loved the challenge. A few did not. One guy had his bat broke after a round that saw him barely get the ball out of the cage in six or seven tries. The player quit BP after that a started to cuss out Mike. Bad idea. Mike went right back at him. That player was gone shortly after that.

George Mitterwald was the manager and Jackie Hernandez was the hitting coach when Mike was with the Dukes. Mike's Orioles had beaten George's Twins in the ALCS in 1969 and 1970. Jackie's Pirates had beaten Baltimore in the 1971 World Series. One time someone brought the highlight videos of the 1969-1971 World Series on a bus trip. Mike remembered every pitch that he threw in those Fall Classics.

He was the winning pitcher for the Orioles in the only game they won against the Mets in 1969 as he beat Tom Seaver in Game One. The players loved it. They loved it even more when, almost 30 years later, Mike still reacted in disbelief when the highlight of Ron Swoboda's famous catch in Game Four ended a rally for the Orioles.

The next video was the 1970 series which ended with Mike winning Game Five against the Big Red Machine.

The final video was the 1971 series. Mike pitched Game Seven for Baltimore, but this was Clemente's series. Mike was still upset about the homer that the great Clemente hit off him in the fourth inning of that game. Then, there was the highlight of Jackie catching the final out to clinch the championship for the Pirates. Jackie showed Mike his ring and they both laughed.

This last one is my favorite memory of Mike. In fact, this may be one of my top five baseball memories of all-time.

The Dukes had just beaten the Winnipeg Goldeyes in Game Five of the 1997 Northern League Championship Series at Wade Stadium. After the on-field interviews and the broadcast were over, people were deciding where to celebrate.

There was a bowling alley (Stadium Lanes) across the street from The Wade. In the bowling alley, there was a bar called Mary's Place. Everyone involved with the team went over there.

It was a karaoke night at Mary's Place and some of the players, the trainer, and one of the announcers got up and did a number or two. Then, after very little prodding from the players, Mike and Jackie got up and sang La Bamba.

Mike sang that Ritchie Valens classic with joy.

This game can take a lot out of you. But, if you approach it with half the joy that I saw Mike have, you will be successful. And I am not talking about wins and losses.