SALMON CONTINUES TO PUT WORST FOOT FORWARD.

Byline: KEVIN MODESTI

When it comes to pain, Tim Salmon is the strong, silent type. Not even the neighbors in the Angels clubhouse are sure what's going on in that foot of his.

``He doesn't talk much about it,'' said Jim Edmonds, who dresses within whispering distance of Salmon.

``Only if you ask, `Hey, how's your foot?' '' said Gary DiSarcina. ``And then it's a pretty short conversation.''

My Left Foot is a short subject in Salmon's discussions with reporters as well. He declined an interview request before the Angels hosted the Baltimore Orioles Friday night. A visit to the doctor, to make an adjustment in a protective device in his shoe, had made him late for weight lifting and he was in a hurry.

Which might have been a problem if, for example, you were planning to write about Salmon's heroic efforts to stay in the Angels lineup despite a torn ligament that makes simple running a pain. Except that on this topic his teammates are be more than willing to talk. They'll say more about Salmon than he ever would.

``Inspirational - to see him play as hard as he does with what he has,'' DiSarcina said.

``I think for some guys it would be a lot to ask. Not for him,'' manager Terry Collins said of playing in pain.

``He epitomizes an old-school ballplayer,'' said Darin Erstad, of whom the same is often said.

In a bygone era, an injury like Salmon's would have been called a ``sore foot.'' Just as the pitchers' injuries that we know how as rotator-cuff and ulnar-nerve damage were simply sore shoulders and sore elbows. Doctors didn't know enough to cure them and players didn't have the security to do anything but keep playing.

These days, an MRI tells them Salmon's problem is something called a strained plantar fascia, that being the strip of bacon that stretches from heel to toe and supports the arch. It tells them the ligament was 20 percent torn in April, and is 70 percent torn now.

It doesn't tell them how much it hurts, or why Salmon, 29, is playing when most guys would being limping around on the disabled list.

One answer is that pain thresholds vary. Mark McGwire, Marty Cordova, Mike Scioscia, Carlton Fisk, Rex Hudler, Will Clark and basketball's Scottie Pippen all have had some version of this injury; some could play with it, some couldn't.

Another answer is that, as a practical matter, Salmon discovered that resting and pampering the foot didn't help. He sat on the disabled list for 17 days in April and May. He took frequent days off. He tried not to run hard. The tear only got worse.

Now, he figures, he might as well go hard and if the ligament comes apart he'll deal with that then. Angels trainer Ned Bergert said the result would be - here's a medical term we all understand - a fallen arch. Salmon might be out of the lineup for weeks or, knowing him, keep playing.

And a third answer is that Salmon is a 30-homer, 100-RBI, .290-batting cleanup hitter and the Angels need him - even if the right fielder is restricted to designated hitter and his 1998 stats (15 homers, 44 RBI, .264) are subpar.

``His presence is huge,'' said Erstad. ``I don't care what his numbers are. He's Tim Salmon. He brings something to the team that nobody else can bring.''

``He could hit a home run from a wheelchair,'' DiSarcina said.

The Angels have thought about what happens if the time bomb in Salmon's foot explodes. Plan B could mean a trade for the Colorado Rockies' Dante Bichette or Ellis Burks. Or it could mean using Todd Greene as the DH when he returns from shoulder surgery.

For now, the Angels just want Salmon in the lineup. They cross their fingers when he has to run hard on artificial turf and when he chooses to stretch a single into a double in a blowout.

``We'll yell, `No! No! No!' '' DiSarcina said. ``He doesn't listen. But that's the way he is. He only knows one way to play.''

He's a leader by example. Or should we say he's the sole of the team?

CAPTION(S):

Photo

Photo: SALMON