Plain Dealer sportswriter Bill Nichols, a baseball coach on the sandlots of Lakewood, recently put on the uniform of the Batavia Trojans to be a coach of the Indians' lowest minor league team and chronicle the experiences of the youngsters getting their first taste of the professional sport. This is the second of his reports.

'ORGANIZATION MEN' ARE INDIANS' LINK TO DEVELOPING STARS OF FUTURE

byBill Nichols

It never will be confused with an executive suite, but many executive decisions are made in manager Rick Colzie's office in the corner of the Batavia Trojans' clubhouse at Dwyer Stadium.

When Colzie closes his door, it's as though E.F. Hutton was spreading its financial gospel. The players listen. In fact, they can hear almost every word. The office wall stand only eight feet high. So what is said behind closed doors still carries out and over the walls to the waiting ears of the players.

Naturally, the players on the Cleveland Indians' Class A rookie league affiliate in the New York Penn League want to know about their future, which often is plotted right in this little office.-not much bigger than a shower stall.

As manager, Colzie, 28, is trying to develop young talent, win some games and impress the Indian's' front office so that he too can move up the management ladder.

Colzie, brother of former Ohio State and now Miami Dolphins football star Neil Colzie, is not the sole decision-maker. He is one of a few who provide input to Bob Quinn, the Indians' farm director in Cleveland.

Colzie's staff includes Luis Isaac, who has been in professional baseball for 16 years, and Jack Cassini a 40-year baseball veteran who is an Indians' roving coach.

The link between Colzie and Cleveland for the first two weeks of the Trojans' season was Dan Carnevale, the Tribe's superscout.

These are organization people, men who never made it to the major leagues as players, but are solid baseball people who spend their adult lives in the game.

John Jakubowski, The Batavia general manager, acts as advertising salesman, publicist, administrator and head of park maintenance. He is a one-man gang.

Colzie, from Miami, Fla., played with Tacoma, Waterloo and Chattanooga in 1979. In fact, he arrived at training camp this year as a player. Two weeks before camp closed he was offered the job of managing Batavia.

Does he regret giving up the game as a player? "No, I'm through as a player," he answered. "My career is in management.'

Then, looking at the sports pages of the Batavia Daily News, he pointed at the Kansas City-Minnesota box score. "Look at this box," he said. "I played against this guy. I played against this guy. I played with this guy. Damn, I can still play this game.'

But will he?

"No," he repeated, catching himself. "This is where it's at now."

Colzie, soft-spoken and articulate, chooses his works carefully. An intense man, he never walks anywhere he can run. He sprints to home plate to exchange lineup cards before a game and dashes to the third base coaching box each inning.

He is a tireless worker during practice. He may throw as many as 500 pitches in a single day of batting practice. Or, he may suddenly do 30 quick pushups while Isaac or Cassini are instructing the players.

Colzie constantly lectures the players on having the proper attitude. He wants everyone in the game mentally, whether he is in uniform or not.

The next day's pitcher charts the game. If he botches the chart, Colzie gets after him. Pitchers become as involved charting pitches as throwing them.

At one point in the home opener June 17, a 16-10 victory over Jamestown, the visiting Expos had a man on second with one out. Colzie yelled out to his players, "Get two."

I said, "Skip, they don't have anyone on first."

Colzie took out a piece of paper and wrote himself a note: "A $5 fine for the manager.' After stuffing the note back in his jacket pocket, he said, 'If I don't stay in the game, how can I expect the players to do it."

Colzie doesn't scream at his players, but he is firm. When he is real firm, his voice goes up an octave.

Isaac, 33, a Latin, is not nearly as tense as Colzie. He is something of a free spirit who has made a life for himself in baseball.

"I was a great catcher," he says, "but my hitting was horsefeathers."

What would he do if he were not in baseball? "Baseball," he answers without a blink. "My dad's a millionaire and I'm an only son."

Isaac has spent three years with the Pittsburgh Pirates' organization and 13 with Cleveland.

One winter while managing in the Puerto Rican Winter league, he was forced to do some catching. "I was hitting about .110 and one night a fan yelled to me, "Isaac, are you the manager?" I nodded, yes. he came back, "Then bench yourself." I could only laugh."

Isaac's main responsibility fortunately, is the pitching. He decides the rotation, warms up the pitchers and works with them constantly.

Cassini, in his early 60's, the other regular coach in uniform while I was there, is a character, too. He played minor league baseball from 1940 to 1955 and batted over .300 several times. He was an infielder who prided himself on his ability to run the bases.

Cassini stole 52 bases in 54 attempts when he was with Tulsa of the Texas League in 1947. he was runner-up to Al Rosen in the batting race that season , too.

Isaac dubbed Cassini 'Cactus Jack" because cactus can get old and never look it. Carnevale calls him "Optimistic Jack" because of his rosy outlook.

"I see something good in very game," said Cassini.

Cassini is easily spotted. He always wears the old all-red Indians uniform. He also wears the regular blue baseball socks, but instead of loops, he has red material sewn in to look like a red undersock.

Cassini nearly always had his red uniform on except one Sunday morning at poolside of his motel. He wore a bathing suit, but still had the Indians cap on.

Cassini would lecture on base running, then hit perhaps 150 grounders to one player. And he saw everything.

Carnevale normally scouts the Major League teams, but he spent more than two weeks with Batavia studying the talent and reporting to Quinn.

Carnevale has been in baseball since 1937. He started as a shortstop but turned to coaching, managing and scouting when he could no longer hit a curve. A great storyteller, he gives the impression that he has no compassion for his fellow man, especially if he can't run, hit and throw better than most.

I dubbed him "Mr. Warmth."

One day during batting practice, Don Nicolet, a 21-year-old outfielder, was hitting one line drive after another, prompting Carnevale to say, "He's a good two o' clock hitter, but they start throwing curves at three.' Nicolet was released the next day.

"At this level they are inconsistent performers," Carnevale says to the youngsters. "We (management) have to have an abundance of patience. Generally, I'm pleased with this group."

A report after every game is called in and mailed to Quinn. Every player is evaluated daily.

With all eyes on them, the Trojans often play as though they are walking on eggs. Carnevale's presence makes them jittery.

Colzie tells them to relax. So does Isaac. Carnevale just watches. But, during a game, when he calls Colzie over to the backstop to tell him something, 40 pairs of eyes shoot in that direction. It is E.F. Hutton all over again.

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