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One of the best catches in Phillies history brought Tony Barron decades of pain, but he would do it again

The catch keeps Tony Barron's name alive in baseball and also left him with a pinched nerve in his neck.

Tony Barron makes a diving catch in right field for the Phillies in 1997.
Tony Barron makes a diving catch in right field for the Phillies in 1997.Read moreJerry Lodriguss

Tony Barron often returned home from work hunched over, his back throbbing in pain. He found ways to ignore the discomfort — the lingering effects of diving head-first 25 years ago onto the unforgiving turf at Veterans Stadium — while he worked. But there was no way to avoid it when he was home and struggling to walk.

Doctors suggested healing his two pinched nerves with a fusion, but Barron declined. So he blasted his back with a hot shower each night, waiting for it to straighten itself out. The pain, Barron said, was always there. He simply got used to it.

And that was the price he paid for making one of the greatest catches in Phillies history.

“I don’t regret it,” Barron said. “I’m glad that it happened because people recognize me because of that. It keeps my name around.”

There was no time for Barron to think about his long climb to the majors — the decade in the minors, the spring as a replacement player, the prospects who sped past him — as he sprinted through the outfield.

He was a 30-year-old rookie for a last-place Phillies team with just 57 games left in the season. But finally, he was a big leaguer and there was a line drive screaming his way in a game against the Cardinals on July 31, 1997.

Playing right field, Barron raced toward the gap in right-center, chased down the ball, dove with a full extension, and reached his glove into the air. He made the catch and smacked into the artificial turf as if he was belly flopping into a pool. Barron’s face crashed into the ground, the team’s trainer rushed from the dugout, and the baseball somehow remained lodged in his black glove.

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“It felt like concrete,” Barron said. “Grass would have been nice. Just dirt would have been better. It was like when I landed, I just stuck. It didn’t give anything. That turf might have been a couple inches thick, but underneath that was just concrete.”

One of the greatest catches in franchise history was performed by a forgotten outfielder whose major-league career ended that September after just 58 big-league games. The catch left Barron with a pinched nerve in his neck, a pain that was not enough for him to be placed on the disabled list but eventually forced him to retire.

Perhaps Barron, who never returned to the majors after the 1997 season, would have been able to stick around a little longer had it not been for that catch.

“That’s just part of the game,” Barron said. “You’re in the moment and I want to do everything I can to help the team. If that’s laying out and sacrificing my body to get an out for a pitcher, that’s what I do. It’s not like I’m thinking about what’s going to happen. It’s just the moment that I’m trying to make the catch and whatever happens, happens.”

A second-half surge

The Phillies’ 1997 video yearbook highlights just one game — the season-opening win at Dodger Stadium — before skipping to the second half of the schedule. And there was good reason, as the Phillies lost 61 of their 85 games in the first half before playing .571 ball after the All-Star break.

Terry Francona was a first-year manager, Darren Daulton was traded in July, Scott Rolen was the rookie of the year, and Curt Schilling led the majors with 319 strikeouts. Their second-half record (44-33) was the third-best in the National League, but it didn’t matter much because of the hole the Phils dug themselves in the first half.

“We had some pretty good players on that team,” said Ruben Amaro Jr., an outfielder. “They weren’t bad players. Our pitching got better. The actual level of talent offensively wasn’t terrible. We had good players.”

Garret Stephenson, acquired a year earlier from Baltimore, had a 2.57 ERA in the second half, and three players — Rolen, Rico Brogna, and Mike Lieberthal — hit 20 homers. Midre Cummings hit .303 after being claimed off waivers in July, and Barron, promoted two weeks later, hit .286 along with making that catch.

“I’ve seen guys dive for catches and make them look better than they are when you don’t really have to dive or you semi-slide or something,” said Mickey Morandini, who hit .295 in 1997, his highest over nine seasons with the Phils. “But on that play, I remember he like dove up. He didn’t dive down. He dove up. When he hit that turf, there was no give. He just hit the turf and bounced straight back up. I can only imagine the pain that went through his body. It was a tremendous play.”

Years in the minors

The Dodgers drafted Barron in the seventh round in 1987 out of Willamette University, a small college in Oregon. He played seven minor-league seasons with the Dodgers, stole 114 bases in his first three seasons, and hit .295 over two years at triple A. But that wasn’t enough for Barron to reach Los Angeles.

“It was so tough for anyone to make it with the Dodgers unless you were a high-round draft pick or just labeled a five-star athlete,” Barron said. “I always went out there, performed, did what I was asked, and put up the numbers. To see some of the guys who came through there who may not have had as good as numbers but were labeled ‘prospect’ or ‘can’t miss’ would go right by me. It bothered me for a little bit, but then I realized, ‘As long as I have a position and I’m playing every day, then I have a chance. I still have a chance.’”

His next chance came in 1994 with the Mariners, the team he grew up rooting for in Tacoma, Wash. He spent the majority of the season in double A while the major-league season was shortened by a players’ strike. The strike stretched into the following year, forcing big-league teams to field spring training rosters of players who were not yet in the union. Barron, then 28 years old and entering his ninth season of pro baseball, signed again with Seattle as a replacement player.

“Looking back, I kind of felt strong-armed into doing it,” Barron said. “They said if I don’t do it, I’ll get released, and by then I had a family to look out for. I pretty much panicked and said, ‘What am I going to do if I don’t do this? I’m going to get released.’ But I should have just had confidence in my game, knowing that there were other teams out there who liked me and I would’ve been picked up.

“I was just looking at, ‘Man, I’m out of a job. What am I going to do? Is this the end of my career? Am I going to have to find a regular job?’ I regret doing it, but it was something I did and I have to live with it.”

Reaching the big leagues

Barron nearly started the 1995 season in the majors before the MLB and players’ union struck a deal just before opening day. Barron played nine games with Seattle’s triple-A team before signing with the Expos as a free agent.

He spent the season in the minors before finally getting his call in June 1996. The Expos told him it wouldn’t be long because he was just replacing an injured player. And it lasted just one at-bat — a pinch-hit strikeout in the fifth inning — but Barron had reached the majors.

“I’m disappointed that I couldn’t stay or stick around, but I’m grateful that I even made it there,” Barron said. “A lot of people don’t. Sometimes, I see the way the game is being played now and the players they’re bringing up are so young and so early and I’m thinking, ‘Man, I wish I was playing in this era, maybe things would have been different.’ Back then, you had guys who stuck around forever.”

The feelings of the players’ strike — which canceled the 1994 World Series — were still raw and Barron carried the “replacement player” label with him the rest of his career. He wasn’t allowed to be in the union and players weren’t eager to fraternize with him. He wonders how much that spring with Seattle affected his career.

“There were a few players with the Phillies who weren’t too happy with me for doing it,” Barron said. “But I just kind of stayed to myself, played my game, and said, ‘Hey, I’m here to help the team and I’m a good baseball player.’ There was no ill-will intent when I did that. I was just trying to keep my job. I probably could have stayed in the major leagues with the Phillies or someone else if I didn’t. That was always like a black eye on my resume.

“I knew the type of player I was. I was in the minor leagues for a while and probably considered expendable. There were a lot of young guys coming up and my career was probably on the later half. I lay in bed sometimes thinking about what would’ve happened if I didn’t. Would I have had more time in the big leagues or would I have even had that chance with the Phillies? Maybe I would’ve stayed with the Mariners longer?”

Coming to Philly

Barron signed with the Phillies before the 1997 season, thinking he had a chance to crack the roster and stick around for more than just one at-bat. He was proved right as the Phillies promoted him in July after trading Daulton to the Marlins. Barron was leading triple-A Scranton-Wilkes Barre in homers and RBIs when he got the call.

A week later, he was sprinting across the turf at Veterans Stadium after Gary Gaetti hit a liner to the gap.

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“I knew I had a good beat on and knew if I had to catch it, I would have to stretch out for it,” Barron said. “Once I got it and I was coming down I put my hands out and was just preparing for it. I knew it was going to hurt but the main thing was, ‘Don’t lose the ball. Hold onto the ball.’”

Curt Schilling, who was on the mound that night, said after the game that it was “probably the best catch in right field that I’ve ever seen.” Amaro, a pinch-hitter that night, said it was a great catch that had to hurt. The full-extension was impressive enough, but the South Philly turf added another layer because it was notorious for wrecking havoc and shortening careers. Barron was another victim.

“It took a toll on your body,” Morandini said. “I’m not complaining about the turf though because it was really conducive to my game of hitting line drives and ground balls. I probably got a lot more hits than I would have playing in Wrigley Field for 10 years with that slow grass. But it was hard. ... You had to live with brush burns from diving and the 140-degree heat during the summer on day games when you could see the heat coming off the turf. I remember wearing metal spikes and going into the dugout and putting our feet in ice buckets because our feet were on fire. It was not an easy surface to play on.”

Walking away

Barron returned to triple A the next season before playing four seasons in Mexico. He was 35 years old and still feeling the pain from that catch. The Phillies hired him in 2003 to be a minor-league hitting coach for the Lakewood BlueClaws, but Barron lasted just one year. His family was on the other side of the country. It was time to go home.

He got a job working for Coca-Cola and lives just outside Tacoma with his wife, Susan. His daughter, Lauren, lives in New York City and his son, Derek, is a professional golfer who played the 2017 U.S. Open. Barron finally took care of the pinched nerve last year when doctors were able to replace the disc instead of a fusion.

“If I slept on it wrong, it would bother me or if I picked up something wrong, it would be going down my arm. I’d have a knot in my back near my shoulder blade. I just kind of dealt with it for 20 years and then finally I said, ‘I have to see what I can do,’’’ Barron said.

“My relief and pain was gone the next day. It got it off the nerve and free. Every once in a while, it still gets stiff and tight from sleeping. Everyone gets that though. It’s nothing like it was since that happened.”

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Barron is still reminded about the catch when he opens fan mail or attends a minor-league game in Tacoma. He downplays it. It was just a catch, he tells his friends when they bring it up. He passed quickly through Philadelphia, but that catch carved him a place in Phillies history. It may have shortened his career and brought him decades of pain, but Barron would dive on his face again if he meant he was making an out.