‘Roid Rage? Nope, Must Be Poppy-Seed Withdrawal

So Sunday, The Times’ Bill Plaschke quotes Dodger catcher Jason Phillips in the newspaper, saying he plays “paycheck to paycheck supporting his family” on a yearly salary of $339,000.

It’s such a stupid comment that Miss Radio Personality goes on our weekly father/daughter gabfest and starts reading Plaschke’s column to the audience, telling everyone that Plaschke is her favorite Times columnist.

I would think the guy who paid for her Notre Dame education and who just filled her car up with gas would be her favorite columnist, but the kid is laughing and saying, “Plaschke writes the funniest stuff.”

I like to see my daughter laugh, because I know what her days are like working as an accountant. So I took Plaschke’s column to the Dodger clubhouse Monday with the intention of asking Phillips to say something else really dumb, so maybe I could get her to give Page 2 a try.

I’ve talked to Phillips previously, so I know he has it in him to say something dumb most any day of the week, but to show him he could really do it, I pointed to his comments on Bud Selig’s steroid plan in Plaschke’s column.

Phillips agreed that they were his comments, and then he became enraged.

“I’ll show you my check,” he snapped.

“I’d be more interested in seeing your bills,” I said, “to see why you can’t make it on $339,000 a year.”

He stood up, stepped toward me, leaned into my face and began shouting, “I came from dirt, a piece of ...” and that was funny, because he was born in La Mesa down by San Diego, which is probably two or three steps up and a few miles away from Santee, the dump where I raised my family.

Phillips continued screaming, a crowd gathering to see whether this might be the day when he finally had something intelligent to offer, but once again only gibberish came out of his mouth. “I’m sorry,” I said, “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

Phillips began blubbering; I got a little chill, recalling the good old days with Kevin Brown, Chad Kreuter and F.P. Santangelo.

“Where’s Plaschke?” he bellowed, apparently looking for his gibberish translator before turning his anger back on me. “Why weren’t you here Saturday night?”

I told him I was writing about someone who had died, who also could not be at Saturday’s game, and that really set him off.

“Get him out of my face; get him out of here,” he screamed to a Dodger public-relations guy, while leaning into my face -- closer, I might add, than the wife has been at any time in the last month.

The Dodger PR guy stepped in and said Phillips “didn’t want to talk.” That was obvious -- he just wanted to yell.

Jeff Kent arrived, and put his arm on my shoulder. He said, “The kid has a game to prepare for,” which was odd because Phillips the kid, who is 28, wasn’t in Monday’s lineup.

Kent asked me nicely to get out of Phillips’ face, and when I pointed out that it was Phillips who was putting the moves on me -- I kind of hope the wife reads that -- Kent said, “You’re leaning on his locker.”

When you’re 54 years old, you lean on things whenever you can. Another year or two and Kent will understand.

“This is his workplace,” Kent said, and I told him I had something in common with Phillips, because more than three hours before a game it is also the media’s workplace. I started to tell Kent I had done nothing more than show Phillips his own stupid comments, but then I realized I wasn’t exactly dealing with Nobel Peace Prize winner Henry Kissinger here.

I backed away from Phillips, and Phillips followed, yelling some more. Even Kent gave up and walked away.

“I thought you didn’t want to talk anymore,” I said. “I wish you’d make up your mind because you’re starting to confuse me.”

Phillips began cursing: “Every [bleeping] day, every [bleeping] day.”

I suggested he try speaking in complete sentences in the future, and the Dodgers’ PR guy interrupted to say there were a lot of other players in the clubhouse who would be more than willing to talk to me.

I hate it when PR guys lie.

*

I NEVER did get the chance to ask Phillips about his stupid quote in Plaschke’s column about having to work in a Burger King if he tests positive for steroids because he ate “five poppy-seed muffins.”

If I’m making $339,000 a year and struggling to support my family, I’m willing to swear off poppy-seed buns while I’m playing baseball. But that’s just me.

Maybe that’s why Phillips is mad, forced to swear off the poppy seeds, which could explain why he has thrown out only two of 18 runners trying to steal on the Dodgers. What would’ve happened had I asked him about that?

I guess I could check with him before tonight’s game.

*

AFTER PHILLIPS’ tantrum, I went to Washington’s clubhouse to check on former Angel Jose Guillen. You can’t beat fun at the old ballpark.

Guillen was actually a delight, at one point saying, “People in baseball don’t like to hear the truth.” Oh, really?

*

NATIONAL MANAGER Frank Robinson, a 34-year Laker season-ticket holder, said he cleaned out a closet and found two tickets and parking for a Laker game in 1967 that cost him $13.50.

Robinson refused to call for Phil Jackson’s hiring, saying, “I don’t think he should have ever left.”

*

A WEEK ago Ric Bucher wrote a byline story for ESPN.com saying Jackson and Kobe Bryant were “scheduled to meet in Los Angeles.”

That was last week, so I called Bucher to find out how the meeting went. There was no meeting, he said, and, he added, he didn’t write the ESPN.com story.

I told him about the story, his byline and even read it to him, and he said, “I didn’t write a story.”

After the recent Peter Gammons episode, forget the bylines, there’s no telling who writes the stories anymore on ESPN.com.

*

T.J. Simers can be reached at [email protected]. To read previous columns by Simers, go to latimes.com/simers.