Polygameist

It's officially spring, which means that the games count now. So ...

Vero Beach at Viera. Trolley-Dodgers 11, Nationals 5.

It may be the last taboo. Even the most conservative, infield-values-oriented manager has thought to himself, "If having one all-star secondbaseman is so nice, why not have two, like they did in biblical times? If we're all consenting players, what would be so wrong with that?" And then he starts thinking of all the chores a second secondbaseman could help with -- a 4-4-3 double play; just imagine it! -- and of course he thinks it must be pretty wild to have two secondbasemen swinging away deep into a night game.

But of course that's just the fantasy.

The reality, as teams from Utah once learned before they banned the practice of playing with more than one secondbaseman in order to gain admittance to the Union in 1896, is much messier.

Because as hot as the manager thinks it might be to have two swinging secondbasemen, they want his attention, not each other's. It's only natural. So the manager has to segment his time between them if he wants to keep them at second base, so in the end they have an easier time but his chores are doubled. If he sends flowers to one he has to send exactly equal flowers to the other. If he puts one in the lineup Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights, he has to put the other in the lineup Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday nights, and then find a way to split Sundays between them. And if the manager is performing one night, the other secondbaseman will know it, and become jealous if he doesn't perform the next night.

There's just no letup for a manager with two secondbaseman. Sure, maybe in biblical times one manager could satisfy two secondbasemen equally, but in these modern times it just never works. A manager will always favor one secondbaseman over the other -- usually his first secondbaseman, no matter how young and hot his second secondbaseman is -- and so to make more time for his first partner the newcomer gets sent to left field or something and then the spurned secondbaseman starts making trouble and passive-aggressively demanding attention by maxing out the credit cards or provoking the neighbors or going 0-12 in the WBC. Then all the manager's extended fielders have to take sides and it's just recrimination and jealousy and ugliness all around.

And that's pretty much how it's gone in Washington's attempt at polygamey, bringing the hot young Fonzie Soriano into the stable, committed relationship between manager Frank Robinson and his secondbaseman, Jose Vidro.

"Fonzie, I need you to play left field. This family needs you out there and in the lineup," Frank said yesterday before the game against the Dodgers of Vero Beach.

"You never gave me a chance!" Fonzie shouted. "You always put Vidro first, and you always will. You promised you would play us equally!" And then Fonzie threw his teacup and his saucer, frisbee-style, at Frank, but missed wildly, and the china shattered against the clubhouse wall. Fonzie is, after all, a crap fielder.

Vidro looked on in uncomfortable silence, desperately wishing he were somewhere else.

"Fonzie, I love you both equally. I really do. But this is a hard time for this family. We're losing every game. You know you're my favorite at the plate --"

At which point a stunned Vidro turned and stormed out of the room, blushing.

"Jose! Wait! Dammit. Look, Fonzie, you know how hot you are with the bat, but Jose is more experienced fielding second base, and this team needs that experience right now. You'll get your chance. But in the meantime, I need you to help out in left field. Please. Do this for me."

A look of purest loathing crossed Fonzie's face, and he choked back tears. "You already take me for granted. You think you can order me around like you're the king and I'm some harem girl! This is exactly what you promised wouldn't happen. I hate you!" And Fonzie stormed out, slamming the clubhouse door shut behind him. He turned and tried to throw his glove against the door's glass panel, hoping to shatter it into as many pieces as his heart, but the throw came up short and his glove just flopped against the doorsill.

"You can't just walk out on me!" Frank shouted at Fonzie's back when he opened the door and picked up the glove. "We've got a solemn contract!" Fonzie didn't respond. "You, why, you! If you're not back here and playing left field by Wednesday, I'm going to seek an annulment! You won't get a dime of my money, and nobody will want to take on an ungrateful second-hand castoff like you! You'll be all alone!" But by then Fonzie was gone. Frank slammed the glove down and called little Ryan and Brandon into his room.

"Kids, your manager and Fonzie are having an argument, and he's gone away for a little while. But this is between us, not you, and I know Fonzie still wants to be your teammate ..."