Intensity, Humor Fuel His Angels

He has the Angels manufacturing runs by stealing bases, going from first to third on singles and breaking up double plays with tenacity. He has them swinging at 3-and-0 pitches and diving for so many balls on defense that the clubhouse laundry guys have had to order extra stain remover.

But if you want to see Terry Collins do some of his best work, check out the Angel manager a few hours before a game, when players are sprawled about the field for their daily pregame stretching exercises.

Collins works the room like Robin Williams at The Improv, roaming from player to player, leaning over them one at a time, exchanging barbs and then breaking out in such a hearty, high-pitched, staccato laugh you’d swear Joe Pesci was in the house.

This is a side of Terry Collins that television cameras don’t see--there’s no game face, no nervous fiddling with sunflower seeds, no screaming at umpires--but it’s a personality trait that may be just as much responsible for the Angels contending for the American League West title.

“He’s intense every day, but not so intense everyone is walking around on eggshells, scared to death,” Angel right fielder Tim Salmon said. “You don’t often see managers joking with guys during stretch [exercises], throwing batting practice.

“He’s a coach who keeps up relationships with guys, who motivates you every day, who exudes confidence . . . he’s a lot like a college coach, and that’s not a knock on him.”

It seems odd, but what got Collins fired as Houston’s manager last October--he was deemed too stern, too intense, and his strategy was considered more reckless than aggressive--helped get him hired in Anaheim.

The Angels loved Collins’ firebrand approach and his kick-in-the-pants style. General Manager Bill Bavasi even shaped the team in Collins’ image, signing gritty third baseman Dave Hollins, trading laid-back first baseman J.T. Snow to make room for blue-collar speedster Darin Erstad, sending base-clogger Chili Davis to Kansas City last winter and trading for feisty leadoff batter Tony Phillips in May.

So far Collins, the gray-haired 48-year-old who played 10 years in the minor leagues but not a day in the big leagues, has been a perfect fit with the Angels.

The team has 83 stolen bases--it stole 53 in all of 1996--and is on pace to set a franchise record for runs despite having only one player, Salmon, with 20 or more home runs. The hit-and-run has become an integral part of the offense.

Players are encouraged to steal almost any time they can get a good jump, and that green light has instilled a more aggressive mind-set that seems to have carried over to defense. Collins does not chastise players for making mistakes, as long as they are the result of aggression.

All this, Bavasi and the Angels knew they’d be getting in Collins. They didn’t know about the bonus.

“He’s funnier than I thought,” Bavasi said. “We would have hired him sooner if we knew he was that funny. . . . He has a great way with people, and he has the uncanny ability to be honest without being obnoxious. That’s not easy.”

This wasn’t included in the Collins brochure. Players heard all the stories about the wall-piercing shouting matches in the Houston manager’s office, the explosive arguments with umpires.

And you can bet they exchanged leery glances on the first day of spring training in February when Collins told them: “I’m going to get in your face, but don’t take it personally.”

The Angels have happily found Collins to be a man of his word.

“He can be really hot at a guy one day and joking with the guy the next,” Salmon said. “He doesn’t hold things against you. There’s a tendency when you’re not playing well to get into a manager’s doghouse, but there isn’t one here.”

Collins, who learned his craft under Del Crandall and Jim Leyland, says he has changed, perhaps even mellowed, since his three-year tenure at Houston, when he guided the Astros to a 224-197 record but the team suffered a late-season collapse in 1996 and missed the playoffs.

“I always heard that guys there were nervous to be around me because I was always so ready to play,” Collins said. “Maybe I expected too much from them. With these guys, I’ve tried to relax a little more and have more fun, but at the same time keep that intensity.”

One thing hasn’t changed: “I do not have a doghouse, never have,” Collins said. “If you do something careless and something needs to be said, I say it. I’ve had arguments with players, but I don’t hold grudges. If players think you do, then they’re worried about what I think instead of just playing.”

Collins’ reputation was built on a series of emotional outbursts, on the field and in the clubhouse, but the Angels have found him to be as much a calming, stabilizing influence.

“He doesn’t panic when we lose three or four in a row, and he doesn’t get too high when we win seven in a row,” closer Troy Percival said. “His whole persona has been very consistent. You can be terrible one day and he’s still the same person, always ready to go.”

Collins is a stickler for details. If a player misses a cut-off man or doesn’t take an aggressive turn around first on a single, he’ll let that guy know. Fundamentals weren’t just stressed in spring training--their importance was drummed into players’ heads.

He designates plenty of authority to his coaches, especially Marcel Lachemann, who handles the pitching staff; Rod Carew, who handles the hitters; and third-base coach Larry Bowa, who handles most of the baserunning, but no mistake goes unnoticed--or unchallenged--by Collins.

It has been that way since the beginning of the season--every little thing, every single inning, every single game is important--and it’s the reason Collins hasn’t had to make any major adjustments now that the Angels, picked to finish third in the division, are battling Seattle for the West title.

“It’s crunch time now and you’re going to see a different side of everyone in the next two months,” Salmon said. “But I don’t think you’ll see a different side of Terry. Everyone says you’ve got to turn it up a notch--he doesn’t have another notch to go to.”

Collins is about as energetic as managers come. An admitted workaholic, he usually gets to the park about noon for a 7 p.m. game, works out and shags during early batting practice, and he often pitches batting practice.

In spring training, the 5-foot-8, 160-pound pepper pot participated in rundown drills and pickoff plays.

“His enthusiasm and his perseverance have definitely rubbed off on the whole club,” Angel shortstop Gary DiSarcina said. “[Last Thursday night] was a perfect example. We were down [to Chicago] by nine runs and didn’t give up, we came back. We’ve also lost a lot of tough games, and he’s kept his composure.”

And his sense of humor.

“He can take a joke, too,” DiSarcina said. “He’s not a my-way-or-the-highway type. A lot of managers keep their distance from you, they don’t want to get too involved, but he’ll come to the back of the plane and talk to guys. He doesn’t have that stiff-arm mentality. He’s not afraid to take some ribbing, and that’s one reason guys have been so relaxed.”

Collins has only two set-in-stone rules: Be on time, and play hard. And one unwritten rule: Have fun.

“This is a long, tough grind, and if you’re not willing to laugh it’s going to be an even longer season,” Collins said. “We’ve tried to have some fun here, but when the game starts you separate the foolishness from the seriousness.”

Can a manager get too close to his players, though? Is there any danger in the guy calling the shots just being one of the guys sometimes?

“As long as they know I’m still the manager, I have no problem joking around with these guys,” Collins said. “It’s not like it’s that way all the time. I pick my spots.”

He couldn’t have picked this one any better.

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Angels on the Upswing

Number of games the Angels are ahead of last season’s pace (through 114 games):

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YEAR (Place) W L GB 1997 (2nd) 65 49 -- 1996 (4th) 52 62 13

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