HATCHING A NEW CAREER; DODGERS FARM HANDS LAUGH, LEARN FROM MANAGER MICKEY.

Byline: Eric Noland Daily News Staff Writer

At the end of a turn in the batting cage, after trying in vain to pull the ball, the young power hitter finally goes with an up-and-away fastball and smokes a liner into left field.

``Arrgh!'' comes the mock-anguish cry of the batting-practice pitcher, who is also the manager, who is also Mickey Hatcher. ``No, you're not that good.''

With that, as the hitter is walking out of the cage, the pitcher lobs a brushback toss in his direction, connecting with the young man's shin on a short hop. The hitter grabs his leg and wheels in surprise, and the pitcher, the manager - Hatcher - barks through a suppressed grin, ``Next time you hit one like that off me, I'll put one in your head.''

And the youngster bursts into laughter.

The incident, played out recently on a wind-swept, minor league ball field in San Bernardino, captures the essence of Mickey Hatcher, the former Dodgers utility man and resident fun-lover.

In a few short seconds, he offered a young player encouragement and reinforcement of past instruction, without doing so overtly. He gently made certain that an ego wasn't getting too puffed up. And he did it all with the lightest of touches, with unrestrained humor that was his defining trait during a 12-year playing career.

Mickey Hatcher, manager.

Wait a minute. Hatcher in charge of impressionable young baseball prospects? What's that clubhouse like? Can any of these kids be expected to stop laughing long enough to learn something down there in Single-A?

``You look at the bloopers,'' says outfielder Luke Allen - the guy plunked in the batting cage - ``and it seems like he's on every one of them. He was one of the characters of his day. Like the time he crawled home.''

Oh, yeah, that was a good one.

Dodgers coach Mike Scioscia says his personal favorite is the time Hatcher removed the phone from manager Tom Lasorda's room at Vero Beach, Fla., and then, after Lasorda had gone in, looped a rope around the doorknob and tied it to a nearby palm tree. Lasorda, trapped for hours, nearly heaved a chair through the window to get out.

Lasorda's favorite: The time Hatcher stole ``my beautiful blue pants and cut the legs off them and cut the seat out of them and raised them up a flagpole in Orlando.''

Writers recall Hatcher's ability to deliver a daily colorful quote. He slid headfirst into third base on a dramatic play: ``I started late and was afraid I was going to overslide the base, but fortunately my face hitting the bag broke my progress.'' And the time he was called on to pitch in a Dodgers blowout loss: ``I felt pretty good warming up in the bullpen - except for the changeup I threw over the fence.''

Mickey Hatcher, manager?

Well, yes. And it seems to be working well. Extremely well, by many accounts.

Primarily because the public perception of Hatcher barely scratches the surface of the man. Sure, he has fun, but this is a guy who also approached the game with unbridled enthusiasm. And in Single-A, where he is in charge of a lot of teen-age prospects as manager of the Dodgers' San Bernardino Stampede affiliate, exuberance and a sense of humor might be the best way to temper the homesickness, the stinging reality that baseball is suddenly a job and the distress of a 1-for-29 slump.

Hatcher's goofball demeanor, says Stampede pitching coach Charlie Hough, ``sometimes comes across as a guy who doesn't care. It's actually just the opposite. He cares tremendously.

``The importance of things is not lacking. Sometimes the ability to put behind you and laugh about a bad result is an important part, especially at this level, because these kids make a lot of mistakes. He points them out; however, the kids come out of them learning something rather than fighting them.''

Besides, easily forgotten behind the ready grin is the amount of fight in Hatcher.

Dodgers first baseman Eric Karros, who had an injury-rehabilitation stay at San Bernardino early this season, nodded and said, ``When I was down there, and there was a time to get after it and get on guys, he definitely does that. He's not one of these guys where you're just going to get away with murder. But he doesn't get on guys in a demeaning way. He gets them to respond.''

As a player, Hatcher was a prohibitive fan favorite in Los Angeles - in part because of his playful manner, but also because he wore so much zeal on his sleeve. This was the 5-year-old T-baller hiding out in a man's body. Run to first base after drawing a walk. Crash into the short fence chasing a foul pop. Careen around the bases with comic abandon.

``I didn't know if I was going to play one year or two years or three years, but I was going to give all I had between the lines,'' said Hatcher, who came up with the Dodgers in 1979, was traded to Minnesota two years later, and rejoined the Dodgers in '87, contributing heavily to L.A.'s '88 World Series championship before retiring following the '90 season.

``I was going to make it fun for me, and I was going to make it fun for my teammates. It takes some of the pressures of the game off.

``And yet I didn't like to fail. I always believed that I was very competitive. You have to have that fighting mentality. . . . Even though I enjoyed it and had fun, I knew when the serious parts were.''

Now his commission is to get the San Bernardino players to strike the same balance.

When one of his catchers was throwing sidearm to the bases during a recent pregame workout, he called out, ``What is that?'' and mimicked the throw in exaggerated pantomime.

When a youngster recently struck out on a slider in the dirt against the Lancaster JetHawks, the kid returned to the dugout and angrily decreed, ``I'm not going to swing at that pitch the rest of the night.'' Hatcher's response: ``Would you like to bet $5 on that?'' (Hatcher was $5 richer by game's end, but the player is hitting .308 today.)

``When my guys get ticked off, I don't mind,'' Hatcher said, ``but when they throw a bat or slam something, that's a different story. You do it the correct way. You don't come back and put your head between your legs and be ticked off and fight yourself. Here's a pitcher out there who just got you out, and he's doing something else to another batter and you're not watching. So you're not teaching yourself anything.

``I tell these kids, `I have no problems with making errors in the game. We'll talk about certain situations. But when you can't hustle on and off the field, when you stop playing the game hard, that's when my veins will stick out of my neck. That's when you'll test me.' ''

Hatcher certainly left nothing to chance in his playing days. His overachievement resulted in a solid career average of .280. In the '88 World Series against Oakland, he batted .368 in a utility role, and his two-run homer in the first inning of Game 5 accounted for the series-winning RBI.

Scioscia, a teammate then, recalls that as the Dodgers' makeshift lineup was anxiously preparing to face such pitchers as Dave Stewart, Bob Welch and Storm Davis, Hatcher would pace up and down in the dugout, a bat in his hands, saying, ``Let's go! Let me at this guy.'' And he wasn't even in the lineup. For all of the starters, tension was accordingly eased.

San Bernardino outfielder Jeff Auterson, who grew up in Riverside, was 10 years old during that series. He says he idolized Hatcher during those Dodgers seasons, not because of the hijinks, but because of the hustle. ``He never went out there and lollygagged a ground ball,'' Auterson said. ``He ran hard every time. People enjoy watching that.''

The Stampede players seem to enjoy doing it.

The other day, Hatcher arrived early at the ballpark, as usual. A doubleheader the night before had ended after midnight, but today at 2:30 - more than 4-1/2 hours before game time - there were already a half-dozen players on the field, in uniform, getting in extra work.

Hatcher smiled with satisfaction.

A while later, a kid homered out of the batting cage. ``I can beat that with three swings,'' Hatcher called out. ``I'll take that,'' the kid shot back.

The manager bounded to the bat rack, grabbed a helmet, borrowed a pair of gloves. He bustled into the cage, where three hacks produced nothing. He asked for a fourth. Wham! The ball disappeared high over the left-field fence.

The kid barely looked up. ``Wind-blown,'' he said.

Yes, they're learning.

CAREER HIGHLIGHTS

Ever-ready: During a 12-year major-league career, he played five different positions: left field, right field, third base, first base and pitcher.

Steady bat: Career average was a respectable .280. Twice batted above .300 - .317 in '83 and .302 in '84, while with Minnesota.

Stunt men: While a reserve with the Dodgers in '88, he developed a sense of pride among the bench players and came up with this nickname. In World Series that year, he went 7 for 19 (.368), with two home runs, a double and a series-high five RBI.

Post-playing career: Coached for the Dodgers at Triple-A Albuquerque, coached in the major leagues with the Texas Rangers and worked with the Dodgers' Class A club at Great Falls, Mont., first as hitting coach and later as manager. Moved on to San Bernardino this year.

--- Eric Noland

CAPTION(S):

4 Photos, Box

Photo: (1--Color) Former Dodgers prankster turned San Bernardino manager Mickey Hatcher, left, works with outfielder Luke Allen before a recent Single-A game in Lancaster.

Jeff Goldwater/Daily News

(2--3) no caption (Mickey Hatcher)

(4) ``Sometimes (he) comes across as a guy who doesn't care. It's actually just the opposite. He cares tremendously.''

- Charlie Hough

San Bernardino pitching coach, on manager Mickey Hatcher (pictured)

Courtesy of the San Bernardino Stampede

Box: CAREER HIGHLIGHTS (See Text)