Joseph N. Bell -- The Bell Curve

This is my annual baseball column.

It got off to a rocky start last Sunday when my wife asked me what I

was writing about this week. I told her “baseball,” and she asked, “Why?”

I explained as patiently as I could that the 2001 Major League Baseball

season was just underway, and no really devout American would ask why,

under such circumstances, one would write about baseball. She said she

thought I should tell my readers up front that what followed would be

about baseball so they could skip to the bridge column or the letters to

the editor.

Since it was clearly useless, I didn’t point out to her that baseball

has become a virtual religion to a whole range of double-dome types from

George Will to David Halberstam because it represents a microcosm of

life, and is full of intellectual nuances. But I feel no need to defend

baseball here, so if you share these subversive views that my wife does,

you should bail out at this point.

For those who are left, I’d like to start with a social comment that

all of us share. When you pay your electric bills in the coming months --

which we have been told are going to be something on the order of 80

percent higher -- you might want to ponder the fact that Angels are

playing in a place called Edison Field. This came about in the euphoria

of deregulation three years ago when Edison International decided to use

some of the excess cash it didn’t return to its stockholders to buy the

Edison name on a ballpark once known as Anaheim Stadium.

So, even though there is no line item on your electric bill indicating

that a portion of it will be invested in “Edison Field,” you could be

helping the Anaheim Angels to buy a winning pitcher when you pay your

electric bill -- which may not be warming to you.

Personally, I feel that if the Disney Company is so impoverished that

it is willing to contribute to jacking up my electric bill by selling the

name on its ballpark, it should at least invest the money it receives in

a pitcher with more promise than Pat Rapp.

Which brings us, finally, to the 2001 baseball season. I should

probably point out that I’m not invading the territory of the Pilot

sports writers. Their coverage doesn’t include the Angels, but I can

write about them as long as I have some sort of vested interest. And I

do. I own a third of half of a season ticket and, every month, pay my

electric bills, at least part of which -- I’m certain -- must go to

Edison International Field of Anaheim.

The Angels may be the only club in baseball that didn’t improve itself

in some manner in the off-season. It acquired two banjo-hitting minor

league shortstops, a pitcher that even the Chicago Cubs gave up on and

another pitcher that can only win if his teammates give him a half-dozen

runs. If this crop of newcomers -- dictated by Disney’s refusal to

compete for top free agent talent -- turns into winners, I will happily

defer to general manager Bill Stoneman as a certified genius.

The one addition to the Angels that may turn all this around was also

a discard -- a 38-year-old first baseman named Wally Joyner who was ready

to retire until surgery took Mo Vaughn out for the entire season. Joyner

decided to give it one more shot if he could make it as the regular first

basemen. Apparently he has -- and I see a real bonus for Disney here. It

would make one hell of a movie if Joyner could lead the Angels to a

pennant this time around.

The script writes itself. This decent, wholesome kid in his early 20s

catches fire with the Angels, captivates its fans, inspires “Wally World”

and makes all kinds of points -- both on and off the field -- for the

Angels until he is traded away at the height of his skills. After a long

and productive career with other teams, he is released and determined to

retire to his family -- until Vaughn is hurt. Then he agrees, mostly out

of the goodness of his heart, to come back to the place where it all

started to lead his team to glorious victory. The final shot is a

close-up of the same cherubic face as the 20-year-old, but now framed by

the bald head and the lines of a long career.

The 2001 Angels have the same fine outfielders, third baseman, catcher

and -- hopefully -- second baseman. They lack a shortstop and dependable

starting pitcher. But I’m not going to miss Vaughn. I can’t count the

number of times I saw him strike out with a man on base last year. His

figures were misleading because he batted behind the most prolific hitter

in baseball, Darin Erstad. He had an unparalleled number of opportunities

to drive in runs.

The way I see it, Joyner will put up better numbers with the same

opportunities. He can run faster too.

So all we need for that Disney script to be reflected in real life is

for three of those young Angel pitchers to turn into instant aces. With a

third of half of a season ticket, I ought to be able to get into at least

one World Series game.

* JOSEPH N. BELL is a resident of Santa Ana Heights. His column

appears Thursdays.