I’VE HAD A LOT OF GOOD things happen to me the past seven years, since we last updated this book. The Twins erected a statue of me at Target Field in 2012 right outside the back entrance of the stadium bar that bears my name. My daughter, Heidi, graduated from high school and enrolled in college. I’ve become a regular at the Twins’ January fantasy camp in Fort Myers, Florida. And in 2017, the club held a 30-year anniversary celebration for our 1987 World Series championship team at Target Field.
That was kind of a strange weekend, which I’ll get to.
I’ve always said the ’87 championship team was really special because it was the first major championship for Minnesota professional sports history. Yeah, I know the Lakers won a bunch of NBA titles in the 1940s and ’50s, but that was before professional basketball became what it is today.
Other than being Minnesota’s first big title, ’87 was special, I’ve always thought, because we had a group of guys—Gary Gaetti, Tom Brunansky, Tim Laudner, Randy Bush, Frank Viola, and myself—that came up together as rookies in 1982 and were together when we won in ’87. When I say we came up together, I mean we played together in the minor leagues, we got our butts kicked when we broke into the big leagues—102 losses in 1982—and went through the ringer together in a lot of other ways.
But we always seemed to remind ourselves that someday we could put it together and win. And that’s what we did. We accomplished our goal, and that was pretty special.
Seeing everybody again—though technically 30 years later—made me feel as though we’d never left. Just as I would get done laughing and talking to somebody, somebody else would walk in and start telling another story.
As great as all that was, the weekend was a rough one for me emotionally because my wife, Jeanie, wasn’t there. I should say she was technically still my wife at the time, but we were already headed toward a divorce. That’s the only downside I have to say about anything in my life: I’m not married anymore.
It’s not something I ever wanted. It’s been hellish, being alone after 32 years. The only thing I got from her as an explanation was that she wasn’t happy anymore and didn’t want to be married. Yet I still did.
Like I said, that’s been really difficult for me. Thirty-two years of coming in the door and saying “Hi, I’m home.” And now I come in and listen to the house creak.
Heidi has been my savior through this experience. On her college summer break in 2018 she lived with me while interning with the Twins. To be able to see her at home, and then at the ballpark, has meant more than I can put into words.
So yeah, a lot of recent changes, not all of them good.
A NEW LOOK
One big recent positive is that my overall health has improved. I always made a joke about not working out, or even stretching before games as a player.
Torii Hunter, who came up to the Twins as a youngster at the end of my career, told a story on TV—he’s a part-time Twins announcer—that when he first met me I wasn’t stretching with everyone else out on the field. He came over and asked me why I wasn’t stretching. I told him, “Have you ever seen a horse race? Have you ever seen a horse stretch?” I was just getting ready in my own way.
That kind of caught up with me in retirement. At one point I was up to 340 pounds, but some of that was caused by problems with my knee and foot that made it tough to even move. About four years ago I had a partial knee replacement, and I got my foot fixed, too. Before that, I couldn’t even play golf. I let myself go, and that’s my fault.
After the surgeries, I started working out, playing golf again, walking around the ballpark. I got down to 275 pounds. I was a shell of my former self.
But it didn’t help save my marriage. My wife just told me it was too late to make a difference in that.
FAREWELL TO STELLY
I remember listening to Jim Thome’s Hall of Fame induction speech in 2018 when he talked about how many people were involved in his success. It’s amazing when you think about everyone who had a hand in what I did. For me, a guy like my agent, Ron Simon, took all the financial stuff off my mind and let me focus on baseball.
On the field, Rick Stelmaszek and Tom Kelly were the two guys who were really important to me—TK for having enough confidence in me to stick me in the lineup everyday, and Stelly for preparing me in the minors. Stelly was my manager when I was 19 at Class A Wisconsin Rapids.
I guess you could say I played by the seat of my pants when I first met Rick. I wasn’t exactly the model athlete. I certainly didn’t work out like guys do now, and I might have had a little too much fun at times. I really haven’t changed all that much—I’m still a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants guy.
But Stelly got my career on track during our year together at Wisconsin Rapids. He was a huge part of why I got to where I did as a ballplayer. He was a tough guy from Chicago who didn’t take any guff from his players. He went on to be the longest tenured coach in the majors—one of the Twins coaches during my entire career with the ballclub.
The truth is that I wasn’t that fond of him when I first met him in Wisconsin Rapids. But that changed as time went on, and I realized the impact he had on me. I was around him so much, I probably knew him better than anyone else I came in contact with in the game.
Want to know how tough Stelly was? He had just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in 2017 but still came to Target Field to throw out the first pitch of the season. We were just hoping he’d make it to the reunion later that summer, and he did. You could see at the reunion that Stelly was in rough shape. Some of the guys weren’t even sure who he was when they first saw him.
But as soon as you sat down and started talking to him, it was the same old Stelly. Same old tough Chicago stuff that never left him. Still hard-core Stelly, and that was really cool. We figured he’d only be there for a few innings, but he gutted it out the whole night. He died a few months later.
Tough guy from Chicago. That’s the Stelly I’ll remember.
The guy who taught me what it takes to be a pro.
THAT’S REALLY ME
I remember the day the Twins told me they were going to put a statue of me at the ballpark. I was like, Are you serious? To have a statue at the park along with guys like Harmon Killebrew, Rod Carew, Tony Oliva, and TK, it was humbling as hell. A tremendous honor.
Some nights when I’m at Hrbek’s Pub at the ballpark, I’ll go sit outside and see my statue and think, That’s me. I honestly have to pinch myself.
I think when people look at my statue the best thing about it is it brings back memories of 1987 and 1991. Part of my job as a special assistant with the Twins is shaking hands and visiting with fans at the ballpark. Sometimes team president Dave St. Peter will ask me to visit with fans in a suit.
I was doing that one night right in 2018 after the Twins traded Brian Dozier, Eduardo Escobar, and a bunch of other guys at the trade deadline, mostly for minor-league prospects. I figured when I got to the suite people were going to be angry and ask me about the trades. I was all prepared with my answers.
There were 10 to 12 couples, and one of the last people I talked to said, “I suppose you’re sick and tired of talking about the Dozier trade.” I said, “You know what, no one has asked me about it.” And that’s the honest truth. Everyone I talked to asked me about ’87 and ’91.
These were people who were in their teens, or younger, when we won it all. I left that night thinking it’s amazing what it’s meant to people, and how much they remember. They still remember every pitch. Heck, they remember more about it than I do.
And I guess that’s the great thing about my statue. I know when people look at that statue, and think about me and my teammates, it makes them happy. So I’m humbled to still be putting a smile on people’s faces all these years later.
JUST LIKE US?
The Twins had four straight seasons of 92-plus losses from 2011 to 2014. Then, in 2015, Miguel Sanó and Byron Buxton—the two guys Twins fans had been told were going to lead a return to the playoffs—broke into the majors and the club went over .500 with an 83–79 record.
The future seemed bright. Sanó and Buxton and other top prospects like Eddie Rosario, Max Kepler, and Jorge Polanco appeared to comprise a strong core around which the team could build. Everybody was asking me if they reminded me of our club in the early ’80s. People felt the Twins had a core like we had in 1982 when we—Gaetti, Brunansky, Laudner, Bush, Viola, and I—all broke in together as rookies.
The only problem I saw was that people had heightened expectations regarding the 2015 Twins because they had lived through it with us. It hasn’t quite worked out though. Buxton and Sanó have struggled with injuries and inconsistency, and both of them ended up in the minor leagues in 2018.
Am I still optimistic? The thing that bugs me is that the club had a fire sale at the trade deadline in 2018, getting rid of veterans like Dozier and Escobar. And Joe Mauer, who’s been the face of the franchise for more than a decade, is getting older and announced his retirement in November 2018.
I guess the whole thing has taught us that even though you look good on paper, like the Twins did in 2015, you still have to go out and play the game. Someone tweaks an ankle or hurts his shoulder and what’s on paper changes quite a bit.
The Twins still have talent, although it’s hard to call it young talent now. Kind of like when we were entering the 1987 season. Since we had broken in together in 1982 by losing 102 games, we had been under .500 every season but one through 1986. And that one? We were 81–81 in 1984.
The Star Tribune previewed the 1987 season with a story asking whether this would be the final year for the rookie Class of ’82. Well, we answered that question.
Can the Sanó, Buxton, Rosario core still get it down? I guess we’ll find out a lot about their character. I think it comes down to what kind of person you are, what kind of people are running the show, and if you have a staff that can keep you focused on the goal. That’s one thing I’m most proud of about the teams I played on. We got our asses handed to us the first few years in the big leagues. But we bucked up and got the project done.
We’ll find out in the next few seasons if the current core can follow what we did. I think fans know now that just because we did it doesn’t mean the current Twins are automatically going to do it. The one thing I know is that if they are going to do it, they’re going to have to stick together and show a lot of character.
THE FUTURE
Hey, I’ll be honest: I’m not sure where my future will take me. Other than Target Field, Spearfish, South Dakota, and the Twins Fantasy Camp in Fort Meyers. That you can count on.
I’ve probably spent more time at Target Field the past couple years than I did before. That’s partly because I hate sitting around an empty house. People have asked me if I might go down on the field like some of the other special assistants, guys like Michael Cuddyer. The Twins have asked if I’d be interested, and my response might change now, but I doubt it.
I don’t know probably 95 percent of the guys who play in the league right now. The only guys I know are coaching first base and a few of the other coaches, like Carl Willis, who is now the Cleveland Indians pitching coach. But as far as putting the uniform on, they’ve already got guys like Rod Carew and Tony Oliva as alums. Why do they need me?
But I know I want to continue helping the Twins organization in some way. The Twins have been good to me, and I like to think I’ve been good to them. I know I’ve given them half my knee, part of my shoulders, and a few more body parts. And they gave me the house I’m sitting in today. So I think we’ve been good for each other, and hopefully that continues.
The other thing I’ve really gotten into the last seven years is the Twins Fantasy Camp the second week in January. It’s run by Stan Dickman, and Tim Laudner kept telling me I should attend, and I went seven years ago for the first time and have kept coming back ever since. It’s a chance to catch up with guys like Timmy, Rick Aguilera, Frankie Viola, Gene Larkin, Juan Berenguer, Julio Bécquer, and even Carew. I think we had 16 guys last year.
The camp attracts 110 to 115 guys, and the former players draft eight teams. It’s competitive as hell, and I love it. I think the former players have more fun than the guys attending the camp. Maybe this year I’ll be in good enough shape to play in a Fantasy Camp game. I wanted to last year, but my right knee—my good knee—was so stiff I couldn’t move it. I’d love to do it this year.
I’ve had people ask if I might be interested in another outdoors show like I had, but I don’t think so. I’ve been there, done that. Kind of like putting the uniform on again in an official capacity. Why go back and redo that again?
I’d rather use that time to visit Heidi, who will be a senior at Black Hills State in Spearfish. It helps me to know that if I’m feeling like I don’t want to be alone, I can hop in my car and spend some time with Heidi. Like I said earlier, she’s been my savior in all of this.
All I can promise you is the next chapter in my life is going to be interesting. I really have no idea what the hell I’m going to do.
But then I’ve always been a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of guy. So I guess nothing has really changed.