Former Li'l A's coach remains feisty

By PAUL GUTIERREZ
THE SACRAMENTO BEE

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RENO -- Seventy people are in the stands at first pitch as temperatures tease 100 degrees while smoke from the California wildfires wafts through the "Biggest Little City in the World."

So even though it's Baseball Bingo Night and pizzas are prizes at Peccole Park, the harsh elements make a late showing for Reno Silver Sox fans acceptable. Especially since it's hotter on the all-artificial turf field (only the pitcher's mound is dirt, with runners sliding into brown-colored carpet on the basepaths).

It's been 20 years since "Bull Durham" made the minor-league experience romantic and cool in one glorious celluloid swoop, nearly 21 years since Jeffrey Leonard made National League Championship Series history. But here, on the University of Nevada campus, the paths of grassroots baseball and the artist formerly known as Hac Man have converged, even if this is not where you'd expect to find a former major league star plying his managerial trade.

Just don't say that to Leonard, who also went by the handle of Penitentiary Face.

"Grassroots? Grassroots?" the former Giants slugger, 55, said incredulously a few hours before a game against the Yuma Scorpions, his voice rising with every indignant word. "What, does the level of play in this league so disgust you that you call it grassroots? Who told you it was grassroots?"

Leonard, in his first year managing in the independent Golden Baseball League, is in full Hac Man mode, the same way he was in 1989, when he returned to the Bay Area as a member of the Seattle Mariners. A young Sacramento Bee sportswriter approached him that day and dropped the name of longtime Giants beat writer Nick Peters on Leonard in hopes it would break some ice.

"(Forget) you," came Hac Man's reply, "and (forget) Nick Peters."

Shocking? Sure. But that's part of his game. The same truculent act of intimidation that worked so well for him in a 14-year big league career highlighted by his being the first, and thus far, only member of a losing team to be named MVP of an NLCS, is just that -- an act.

Because just like in '89 -- when he returned to the crestfallen reporter after batting practice, put an arm around him and said munificently, "Oh, you mean Nick Peters. Yeah, yeah, what do you need, man?" -- Leonard calmed and broke into several smiles when told "grassroots" was a compliment. Then again, he probably already knew that.

"He looks like he's going to be a killer," laughed Reno general manager Curt Jacey, "but he's just a big teddy bear."

One that made his name with four home runs in the first four games of the Giants' 1987 NLCS loss to St. Louis and marked every dinger with his "one-flap down" jaunt around the bases, one arm dangling as he ran.

He played the role of villain to the hilt, enjoying ticking off opposing fans, opposing teams and even his teammates. Paging Will Clark.

All of which makes Leonard's most recent managerial turn somewhat of a head-scratcher. Somewhat.

Leonard cut his coaching teeth in the A's system, managing Oakland's instructional team in Arizona in 1996 before moving on to become Class-A Modesto's first-base coach and hitting instructor that same year. He managed the Modesto A's in 1997 and Double-A Huntsville in 1998.

Along the way, he mentored A's youngsters Eric Chavez and Miguel Tejada.

"Those are my sons," Leonard said as he pulled a pair of Tejada's batting gloves from his locker and a Chavez mitt, gifts of thanks from the 2002 American League MVP and the six-time Gold Glove third baseman.

The A's philosophy changed in 1998 with Billy Beane's rise to general manager, and Leonard moved on.

In 2000, he managed the Sonoma County Crushers of the now-defunct Western Baseball League and has since worked the community college ranks at Antelope Valley College in Palmdale.

Still questioning his love for the game?

"I was taught to lead by my father," Leonard said. "I realized that you don't manage men; you lead men. You manage an office, a locker."

And with that fierce independent streak still burning bright -- how many other managers do you know who wear their cap backward? -- he's not holding his breath to land a big league coaching job, let alone one as a manager.

"Can I do it? Yes, I know I can," he said. "Will I get that opportunity? Probably not."

And if the opportunity never comes, Leonard is just fine dealing with the national pastime at the grassroots level.

"It brings joy to a small town, pride that everyone can embrace," Leonard said. "It provides a stage to show that you're not done, whether you've been hurt or screwed or whatever.

"I'm not going to beat myself up over my life. If that's what's holding me back, so be it. I'm content, man."

It doesn't get any more grassroots than that.