BERT BLYLEVEN

When I first became aware of Bert Blyleven, I was intrigued by the fact that he was born in Zeist, Holland.

Back there in 1970 when the 6-3, 200 pound rookie broke in, I conjured up the image of a big, raw boned Dutchman who could throw hard but knew about as much baseball -- how to play it and how to appreciate all it has come to mean in American culture -- as any other kid born amidst the tulips and windmills of his native land. Nothing.

Some say if he had learned to change speeds and hit spots better he would be in Cooperstown instead of a Hall of Near-Fame. He got to the latter on a road that took him through Minnesota, Texas, Pittsburgh, Cleveland, back to Minnesota and finally just a long toss from his home town. He ended his career in Anaheim as an Angel.

As usual, I was wrong. Rik Aalbert Blyleven was brought to Canada from the Netherlands when he was 16 months old. OK, so we have a few Canadians in the game. Our neighbor to the north still produces a lot more hockey players than baseballers. Where did Bert learn how to play the latter? In Southern California, that's where. At age five he came to Garden Grove, an Orange County town that owes its name to the fact that miles of citrus groves used to be where miles of housing tracts currently exist. Big league prospects are now grown there by the dozens. Bert's dad became a fan, and Bert became a player.

How ironic. Bert is no angel. He would just as soon cut your necktie off as set you down with a hard curve call third strike on the outside corner. And teammates at a half-dozen stops during his 22-year career learned that he gave the sneakiest hotfoot in baseball, always with that "Who, me?!" smile on his face.

At the very least he had probably the best curve ball of his era (1970-1992). And he could throw hard. His inability or perhaps unwillingness to mature from a thrower to a pitcher like, say, his contemporary, Tom Seaver, kept him from Cooperstown. It also enabled him to set a record that threatened his induction into the TDA SITT. In 1986 he threw 50 gopher balls, more home runs in a season than any pitcher in baseball history. He has worked that dubious stat into his bag of subtle humor, offering his theory on why balls are flying out of major league stadia at a faster rate than ever before.

He might be worried about somebody breaking his record, he opines that "The cows are in better shape now."

How's that again? "They don't just graze, they run laps." Yeah, but Bert, baseballs are made out of horsehide, aren't they? Well, actually, no. The ball in use today is covered with cowhide. And Bert, who is now an announcer for one of his old clubs, the Twins, insists it's the better-conditioned bovines that cause balls to fly farther these days.

The thing I liked best as a fan about Blyleven was his speed. Not how fast the ball travelled from the mound to home plate, although he had a very respectable fastball to go with his exceptional curve. It was the pace at which he worked. This writer loves the game, but that does not mean that a four-hour contest is twice as good as one lasting only half as long. Whenever the twice-transplanted Dutchman was pitching, I always knew, in the immortal words of Chris Berman, I would be "Home Blyleven."