Brett Butler was jilted by baseball, and it hurt. But he's over\the pain, and now he's\BACK WITH HIS TRUE LOVE.

Byline: Tim Brown Daily News Staff Writer

In a time for baseball when it is uncool to admit to failure or joy, Brett Butler is the game's enduring geek.

When the rest of his teammates are in bed, he is in a far batting cage at Dodgertown, teaching rookies and minor leaguers how to stay in the game. And when most of the players go home, he is in the clubhouse, talking baseball to anyone who will listen - to the security guard, to the clubbies, to the writers, to the children waiting outside the trainers' room for their fathers.

He praises the Lord and stands out in front of the players' union and runs hard after fly balls that don't rate a glance in Barry Bonds' world. He doesn't hang around camp, he buzzes around it, chattering into any available ear. He laughs and talks to fans as if they were actual human beings and even remembers some of their names.

His high school coach used the occasion of the annual baseball banquet to scoff at Butler's vow to play college ball, 21 years and 2,243 major-league hits ago. And Butler even laughs at that, because all along he knew that baseball was his game, that it would treat him well because he loved it so. Sure enough, he turned out to be an All-Star, a five-time .300 hitter and just about the most maddening, pesky leadoff batter in the game.

He figured baseball must love him back, too, because he played in the World Series. He played even though he was 5-foot-10 on his tiptoes, and still made millions of dollars doing it. When the big lugs made headlines for big home runs and attitudes to match, Butler scored the runs that made them so popular. Their runs batted in were his mad dashes from second base. Their numbers counted on his sacrifice bunts.

For all that happiness, for a career's worth of that success, 1995 hit Butler from his blind side. The devotion that made him strong, that made him a player, also made him vulnerable. When things crumbled, Butler nearly did so as well, as much from surprise as from the actual blow.

Baseball, his game, could have been setting up Butler all along. Thing is, Butler never would have believed it.

Even now, having been jilted and called back, he doesn't believe it. Can't believe it ever could have turned on him. Only Brett Butler could have fallen so far, because only he had fallen so hard.

Fresh again and nearly recovered, Butler sat in front of his locker, his hands locked behind his head and his legs stretched in front of him. He is nearly 39 years old. The spike of gray hair that for years stood just off-center and above his forehead has company now. He recalled 1995 the way a child might recite his alphabet.

"The hardest year of my life, emotionally," he started. "An emotional roller coaster."

The order, again, Brett, please. And he began counting fingers.

"Well, it started with negotiations," he said. "Being involved in negotiations. And then being told from that point that you're selfish, greedy, all you want is more money, when in fact I had nothing to gain from that. I go from there, I get dumped (by the Dodgers), my mother develops brain cancer. No, I'm sorry, I sign with the Mets, then my mother develops brain cancer, she dies in August, I'm traded back, the replacement player scenario, booed in front of 50,000 people in Los Angeles, faxes out the kazoo where people told me the kind of person they thought I was, and then my grandmother dying at the end of the year."

At the end, his eyes were red and glassy. It's not completely behind him.

"There's always going to be my mother," he said. "But, other than that, by nature I'm a forgiver. That's my character. I think I can fix things and sometimes that gets me into trouble. My honesty, at times, gets me into trouble."

Butler signed with the Mets last April 11, then considered not showing up. He wanted to retire. Baseball, he felt, had turned on him. A family vote - they have had one every year for the past three winters - recommended his return to the game. His wife, Eveline, insisted upon it.

"Your character is as a fighter," she told him. "You've always been a fighter. Go prove it."

He hit .300, despite three hits in 24 at-bats against the Dodgers. He hit .345 after the All-Star break. He had 19 bunt hits. He stole 32 bases. On the day he was traded back to the Dodgers, Aug. 18, he doubled, tripled and had two RBI against the Mets.

A little more than a week later, the Dodgers purchased the contract of Mike Busch, a former replacement player. Though Butler was not alone in his criticism of the move, he was all but alone in expressing them publicly.

"I regret the way I handled it," he said. "I think I could have been more clear on the fact that some of the statements I made were on behalf of the union, that this is a union statement, not a Brett Butler statement. People stand for the underdog and rightfully so. I understand that."

He should, because that has been Butler all these years. It was his way. It was why he belonged. It was why, when his 8-year-old son, Blake, asked him not to go to spring training this year, he hugged him and said goodbye. He had to. The game is still with him. And, again, he is with the game.

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Photo (color) The Dodgers' Brett Butler is happy now, but a year ago he was thinking about retirement. Associated Press