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Show . The Bullpen by ii John Schulian i; Two years ago, Utah's Steve Radulovich, then a sophomore, started building his future with a Louisville Slugger. "Here's a kid who can really hit!" marveled the major league scouts who saw him perform. The only way a pitcher could have stopped him in those halcyon days was with an elephant gun. And even then, he would have been odds-on to go two-for-four. When the Redskins traveled to Phoenix to battle Arizona State for the 1965 Western Athletic Conference title, Radulovich played the Sun Devils' Rick Monday, now of the Kansas City Athletics, to a standstill. Showed 'em Different "Radulovich doesn't look big enough to hit one out of a telephone tele-phone booth," claimed the Arizona Republic. But the kid from Utah showed 'em different with a variety of line drives. He showed a lot of other people as well. He opened more eyes than a bottle of No-Doz when he played for the LaMesa, Calif., Collegians that summer. The scent of money was strong then. You look at some of the ' guys who get bonus money and you have to wonder if it was their mothers who signed them. Compared to Radulovich, they look like so many Tugboat Annies standing beside Raquel Welch. In a Big Hurry More and more, it appeared that Radulovich was going to earn the nickname "Moneybags" in a big, big hurry. The New York Yankees drafted him immediately after his sophomore year, made their offer and were turned down. Last year, the Cincinnati Reds went through the same process. Somehow, things have changed since then. Radulovich's old mastery with the bat has vanished, at least temporarily. Pitchers no longer think of throwing him the resin bag instead of the ball. Infielders no longer make sure their life insurance is paid up before they face him. Outfielders no longer hail cabs to chase his majestic drives. All the Time Hitting has become a sometimes thing for Radulovich. Not so long ago, it was an all-the-time thing. Baseball people have a name for the quicksand the lean Salt Lake native is struggling in. They call it a slump. And a slump is a miserable thing. All a hitter in one can do is swing the bat and pray. ' This home-plate paralysis has been creeping up on Radulovich Radulo-vich slowly. Last spring, he had his troubles. But more summer larruping at LaMesa indicated that he had returned to his old ways. That hasn't been the case so far this year. The old power isn't apparent. Neither is the old batting average. A Smile is Rare Radulovich is too much of a gentleman to let the hard times rub his emotions raw. Instead, he has become more quiet than he normally is. His smile is rare. As he sits in front of his cubicle in the Derks Field dressing room, he looks as though someone has taken his best friend away from him. If a booming bat can be called a "best friend," maybe someone has. In the process, Radulovich's magnificent future in baseball is losing its gilt edges. His only consolation is that" he still has a chance to recover all its splendor. splen-dor. To do this, he must finish the Current WAC campaign like Silky Sullivan coming down the homestretch, beginning with this weekend's Wyoming series. Cross your fingers. |