Just a touch of Brian in the night.

 

We don't need the latest edition of Anthony Volpe to be Reggie. All we need is for him to be Brian Doyle.

Doyle was a Kentucky boy, drafted in 1972 by the Texas Rangers, who had bounced around their farm system for five seasons, until Texas traded him to the Yanks along with Greg Pryor—destined to be another journeyman middle infielder—for Sandy Alomar, Sr., in 1977.

By then, Brian Doyle was best known as the younger brother of Denny Doyle who, with his quintessentially Boston name, had gone to the Red Sox in 1975 and boosted the Sawx into the World Series, hitting a completely unexpected .310 in 89 games...before receding into the wallpaper of mediocrity that was the rest of his major-league career.

(Bill Lee later blamed Denny for making an error and failing to complete a DP that would have ended the sixth inning of Game 7, with the Sox still holding a 3-0 lead. Most other people blamed Bill Lee for being a horse's ass and throwing an eephus pitch to the next hitter, Tony Perez. But that's another Boston trauma story, heh-heh-heh.)

Brian didn't look capable of conjuring up even those 15 minutes of fame (and infamy). A decent but not spectacular glove, he could and would play anywhere in the infield. A slap hitter, he never hit more than 4 home runs in a minor-league season, generally batted around .250. 

Early on it looked as though he might have some speed, but his base-stealing ability quickly diminished and then was gone. During his call-up to the bigs in 1978, he attempted all of three steals, and was thrown out every time.

That call-up came about because the Yankees, stumbling through the first half, came apart physically (as well as psychically, under Billy Martin). Doyle filled in as he could, but did not provide much. 

Used mostly as a late-inning pinch-runner or defensive replacement, he managed all of 10 hits in 54 plate appearances—every one of them a single. He also drove in no runs and drew no walks, making his batting line a statistical anomaly:  .192/.192/.192. 

Then came his moment. The Yanks held a reed-thin, one-game lead over the Red Sox, in their epic comeback from 14 1/2 games back, going into the last weekend of the regular season. They were hosting Cleveland, which would finish a distant sixth that year, but in the Friday night game they were wasting a terrific pitching performance from rookie Jim Beattie, trailing 1-0 going into the bottom of the 8th (Sound familiar?)

Cliff Johnson led off the inning with a walk against former phenom David Clyde. Fred Stanley ran for him, and Mickey Rivers, playing the forbidden dance of small ball, bunted him over. Then Willie Randolph hit a high chopper to third. He beat it out—but pulled the dreaded hammy racing to first.

It was Brian Doyle's moment. Maybe it was in the genes somehow. Maybe the Doyles were like certain, monocarpic flowers, that bloom only once, at night, under an exact phase of the moon, then never again.

Doyle went in to run for poor Willie. The Yanks pulled it out as Thurman, Reggie, and Sweet Lou Piniella hit three straight singles (Those 1978 Yankees could beat you big and beat you small.)

Doyle alternated at second with Chicken Stanley for the last two games of the season, the heart-stopping playoff up in Boston, the four-game ALCS win over Kansas City. He had 2 singles in 7 at-bats vs. the Royals, drove in his first major-league run, drew his first major-league walk. Steady, but not spectacular.

The World Series looked to be much the same. Doyle started twice, and had a single in the first four games.

Then, Brian Doyle bloomed. 

In Game Five, he went 3-5, with a walk, as the Yanks lined 16 singles and beat LA, 12-2, without so much as hitting a home run. In Game Six, he was 3-4, including 2 RBI, and his first major-league double, which tied the game at 1-1. The Yanks were never headed, wrapping up the Series with a 7-2 win.

The World Series MVP went to Bucky Dent, as well it should have, Bucky batting .417 with 7 RBI, and fielding brilliantly. But Brian Doyle finished at .438, turning 4 DPs in the field, and making no errors.

That's all we need out of Anthony Volpe now. No, not .438, but steady, error-free play in the field. Make the plays you need to make, stay within yourself, bang a few timely singles, turn a DP or two, and it's all good. 

That's it. Just a touch of Brian Doyle in the night. Do that, and we will sing your praises down the years.