Brooks Robinson

Jim Henneman - Pressbox 10/27/09

Three times during their respective Hall of Fame careers -- all in the same season -- Brooks Robinson came close to bringing Earl Weaver to tears. It was only fitting then, that during Monday Night's classy tribute, "An Evening With Brooks Robinson," it happened a fourth time.

It's safe to say, it won't happen again because the fundraiser for the Babe Ruth and Sports Legends Museum and the American Cancer Society almost certainly is the last time the "Original Oriole" allows anyone to throw a night in his honor.

"I've had enough adulation," he said many times during the course of the evening. "My heart won't take any more."

As one of those called on to pay tribute to Brooks, Weaver had difficulty containing his emotion after slowly making his way to the stage. "When I was [managing] in the minor leagues, I could tell he was going to be a Hall of Fame player because of how hard he worked," said Weaver. "He worked every day doing whatever needed to be done to be a great player.

"But when I got to be manager of the Orioles," Weaver said, pausing to control emotions that only rarely betrayed him in the dugout, "what I realized was that Brooks wasn't coming to work every day -- he was coming to play baseball. He just loved to play the game. He wasn't coming to work, he was coming to play."

Weaver admits he was close to tears the day he told Brooks he was coming out of the lineup -- almost certainly for good. "When I called him into my office he was nothing but class personified," recalled Weaver. "He said, 'Skip, do what you have to do.' I knew how much it hurt him, because I knew how much he loved to play the game, but he was, as always, a true gentleman about it."

That was in early April 1977 and it wasn't long after (only a few days in fact) Brooks tested Earl's tear ducts again, this time, as it turned out, with something of a farewell present. Inserted into the game as a pinch-hitter in the 10th inning of a game that was all but in the record book as a loss, Brooks fouled off a half-dozen pitches before hitting a three-run, game-winning home run, providing a stunning exclamation point to his incredible career.

It was one of the few times in his entire career with the Orioles that Weaver left the bench to join the on-field celebration. He would later call it the single most memorable moment of a career that included four pennants and one World Series championship.

The third Brooks-induced breakdown occurred later that same season and Weaver was already sweating it out weeks before he had to make a call. Rick Dempsey was about to come off the disabled list. Terry Crowley, who had been summoned from Rochester to take his place on the roster, was hitting up a storm. And the Orioles, surprisingly in the midst of a pennant race that would go to the last weekend, faced a critical roster move.

The Orioles were in Cleveland several weeks before the decision had to be made and Weaver was already agonizing over how to break what many would consider unthinkable news -- that Brooks, who actually was on the roster as a player-coach, would be released to make room for Dempsey. Earl, having already gone through the emotional trauma of telling Brooks he was being benched, clearly didn't want to be the one who had to deliver this message.

"You can see what's going on," he told me during a postgame session with his coaching staff in the hotel lounge. "Why don't you speculate on what's going to happen?" It was a suggestion that would lead to the worst disagreement I would ever have with Earl -- and the only one I ever had with the late John Steadman, then-sports editor at the News-American who was a whole lot more than just a boss and mentor during my career.

"I'm not writing it unless you or [general manager] Hank [Peters] tells Brooks first," I told Earl. "Brooks deserves more than to get this news over the phone after Connie [Brooks' absolute Hall of Fame wife] reads it in the paper. If you tell Brooks what's going to happen, I'll write it. But I'm not doing it before that, and I better not read it anywhere else, either."

Well, you can imagine where this one is headed. A week or so later, the Sun's Ken Nigro speculated about the possibility of Robinson being released to make room for Dempsey -- and I was livid when I went to the park that night.

"Has anybody talked to Brooks?" I asked Weaver in the dugout after batting practice. The answer, of course, was no, and I was not a happy camper, which, to his credit, Weaver understood.

That didn't make me -- or Steadman either, for that matter -- feel any better. In the newspaper business the so-called "exclusive" story is the ultimate, so naturally we had a little discussion about how Nigro got it and I didn't. When I told him the story, Steadman wasn't sympathetic. I can still hear his words: "In this business, you can't look a gift horse in the mouth," Steadman said. "When you get a story like that, you have to run with it."

The only thing I could say was: "I understand, but I would do the same thing again," and we agreed to disagree.

It was probably the only philosophical difference we ever had. He understood my feelings, but thought I made the wrong decision. To this day, I understand Steady's position, and we are still in disagreement. I'm glad I never wrote that story.

Ultimately, of course, Weaver had to break the dreaded news, which for a third time in the same season left him emotionally drained. Brooks was an established star long before he became manager and Earl was always appreciative of how he had been accepted by the team's veteran players. But in this instance, it made his job that much more difficult. And it showed.

Weaver and I long ago got over our little spat, which really wasn't hard, considering our emotions were driven by the mutual respect we have for Brooks. Perhaps that is why, for some reason, "An Evening With Brooks Robinson" provided some closure to that little debate we had 32 years ago.

As Earl (No. 4) was paying tribute to Brooks (No. 5), I can personally attest he wasn't the only one in the house with a damp cheek.