Marlins' Juan Pierre does some of his best work before the first pitch

Published August 14, 2003

 

 

The early arrival flashes a grin to clubhouse security at 2:37 p.m. and darts inside. Some people dread work, even those rare folks fortunate to have a job like his.

 

Juan Pierre does not dread work. He is not a clock-puncher, the sort who would waste company time surfing for personal effects. He is the sort who would instead check all cords and wires, and run diagnostics on the system and software, and get the chair heights just right, so he and all others could enjoy the ideal working web experience, so the company wouldn't lose any productivity, so he could sleep at night.

 

He is the sort who, before every game, studies every likely pitcher's move and time to the plate. Who studies every pitcher after he makes an out, watching how Luis Castillo, similar in style at the plate and on base, is worked. Who studies himself, day after day, to capitalize on what he sees.

 

"I don't like too many surprises," the Marlins' centerfielder and leadoff hitter says Wednesday, one day before he turns 26. "Once the game starts, and I take the field, I have hit every angle I need to hit, for that day, for that game, from the hitting to the fielding. It's like the ball [Tuesday] night on the relay throw, knowing it's going to carom a little bit toward you, not running up to the wall ... a split-second, that can be a run. That's how I always think. It's a game of inches."

 

And no matter how meticulous his preparation, it's never enough. How often does something unforeseen occur?

 

"Oh, every day," Pierre says.

 

So this in itself is something unforeseen: Pierre tells an observer that Wednesday was not representative of his customary preparation of fielding, running, bunting, hitting and throwing. Pierre, leading the majors in steals and fourth in the National League in hits, doesn't feel comfortable with his recent hitting, not after an 0 for 5 the previous evening dropped him to .297. And hitting is most important, because of its difficulty, because "you can't steal first" and the baserunning preparation matters little if he doesn't get on.

 

"Sometimes, you need to back off, take a breath, save it for the game," Pierre says, showing the game of inches is also a game of feel.

 

So Wednesday, for only the third time during his first Marlins season, he was Pierre Lite. For him, it's refreshing.

 

Of his usual habits, Pierre says, "Probably too much. I kind of do too much. You can get too caught up in it, and it can almost be work, work, work, and in the game, you're tired. So I'm kind of freeing the mind up, taking it easy today."

 

Welcome to easy street, which still might lead you to a dead end -- as in dead tired. "People think we just show up at 6 o'clock and play the game at 7," Pierre says.

 

People are wrong.

 

Understand what you didn't see Wednesday.

 

You didn't see his more extreme road measures, measuring out steps to the warning track, testing all caroms, racing around recklessly in the cooler climate. He knows Pro Player Stadium, and he knows South Florida, so now he knows "it's quality, not quantity," and it's not wise to overuse his legs when he needs them for everything.

 

You also didn't see him bunting to coach Ozzie Guillen. All those Dolphins complaining about the dirt infield ruining their field? "It messes us up, too," says Pierre, who finds that after football games, more bunts roll foul. So Pierre, who has 20 bunt hits, practiced the art with Guillen on Tuesday, and will again Saturday, keeping with a twice-a-homestand pattern. This way, when on deck, which is generally when he decides whether to bunt, he will not only know how the fielders at third and first and on the mound move, but he will know how the ball will spin and roll. If he doesn't bunt, as he didn't in St. Louis, it's because the spectacular Scott Rolen is out there. Not because he's undereducated, or out of practice.

 

Wednesday, though, he simply started by watching tape of scheduled starter Andy Ashby, studying not only his pitches but his pickoff move ... which will become pointless when the ill Ashby is later scratched for Wilson Alvarez. Then he goes to the batting cage, not to swing 25 to 50 times off batting coach Bill Robinson as he ordinarily does, but just to take a round off the tee. Over four major league seasons, he has learned to diagnose himself, and he feels his problem now is timing, not form. But the tee never hurts. What would hurt would be leaving the cage without picking up every ball.

 

"Pet peeve," he says. "I can't stand walking in the cage with balls all around."

 

After busting into Michael Tejera's TV interview as a joke, he ducks into the equipment room to find some balls, intending to "get as much out of my little arm as I can." So, at 4:07, he jogs out to the field with the batboy. They are alone, wind whipping through the stadium, Pierre backpedaling and backpedaling and backpedaling, throwing rainbows to the batboy standing on the first-base line, then throwing harder from closer.

 

After signing an autograph and sitting for a couple of interviews, he gabs on the bench until team stretching starts at 5, when he jokes with Derrek Lee and Dontrelle Willis. While others throw, he takes grounders in centerfield from Andre Dawson and throws them to the net. When he muffs a short hop, he claps his glove while seeming to tell himself to stay down.

 

As others take batting practice, Pierre runs. He slips on his gloves like a surgeon at 5:26, shifting his body left, then right, breaking off the pitcher's delivery or on contact, as if on a hit-and-run. He does the same off second, the same off third. He usually does more, five from each bag.

 

At 5:32, Pierre picks up a bat. Bunt, bunt, slap to short, liners to left. He is not a BP show in the Barry Bonds sense, but a perpetual motion picture. When his group is done, Pierre scurries to scoop up the balls and stash them back in the basket while teammates stand around.

 

He scoops up his glove by the first base box, sprints to deep center, chats with Jack McKeon, shags flies. He prefers taking flies off the bats of real hitters rather than coaches, practicing his footwork. Any ball in his area, he hustles to retrieve. The session done, he and Ugueth Urbina race by teammates, trying to beat each other to the first-base line. Pierre wins.

 

Once through the dugout and in the clubhouse, the racing stops.

 

"Gotta get ready for the game now," Pierre says at 6 p.m., chatting baseball with Lee. "It's go time."

 

Go figure.

 

Ethan J. Skolnick can be reached at [email protected].

Copyright ? 2003, South Florida Sun-Sentinel

Thanks for both articles! Good stuff.

Even more reason why Juan Pierre = Man

yup thats the jp i know