Hillman has big ideas for turning around the Royals

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So what’s the moral of the story? Hillman will be whatever the situation demands. That’s his gift. He gives himself entirely to the moment, to the team, to the need.

“Trey Hillman doesn’t matter,” Trey Hillman says, uncomfortably speaking in the third person. “Trey Hillman is only as good as those players and this organization. Believe me, I don’t think I’m any smarter than anyone else. I’m just trying to develop relationships and help our team play its best baseball.”

Then he shrugs and, without warning, goes back to his mistake.

“You know something?” he asks. “I can’t believe I sent those guys to the wrong field. It’s funny, isn’t it?”

03|06|08

Hillman goes over to the reporters, and he knows what they’re going to ask. He has to know. He has just berated his players for 15 minutes in full view, in front of a big crowd that was filing out of the stadium. He then spent 10 minutes talking to team veteran Mark Grudzielanek, apparently about the lecture.

He knows what the reporters are going to ask … and he knows that he’s not going to tell them anything. “If I’d wanted you to know (what it was about), I’d have invited you guys over there,” he says. Someone might have said: “Well, you sort of did invite us over by having it right on the field where we all could see it.”

But the conversation goes no further. When another question comes up about it, he grumbles, “Done.” And he refuses to answer anything more about it.

His players, on the other hand, will have plenty to say about it. Some of them think this is a Mickey Mouse thing to have that conversation in front of everyone. It isn’t very professional. Commentators would have plenty to say about it, too. Some think it’s great; others think stuff like that should be handled in private. It’s a silly controversy, but hey, spring training is all about silly controversies.

The interesting question is: Did Hillman want to create a controversy? He doesn’t often make rash moves — he’s a planner. He must have wanted to make an impact by gathering all his players right after the game, with everyone watching, and telling them plainly that he will not stand for base-running blunders, will not tolerate a lack of effort, this gets to that respect-for-the-game creed that is at the heart of everything Trey Hillman believes.

And yet, as soon as the lecture ends, he clearly does not want to talk about it.

“We’re still learning about Trey,” one member of the Royals organization says. “I thought getting after the players was great. I thought he got their attention. But is it a one-time thing? Is it something he will do all the time? How will he handle bad times during the season? I don’t think we will know until we get there. In many ways, Trey is still a mystery man.”

02|20|08

Trey Hillman is talking with his family through his computer screen. Video conferencing kept him sane in Japan, and it keeps him going now. Every morning, through the power of Skype, they meet. Trey’s wife, Marie, son T.J. and daughter Brianna are dressed and ready for the 7 a.m. get-together. Brianna has her hair up. T.J.’s hair is not quite school ready.

“You need to comb your hair, son,” Trey says.

“Yes, sir,” T.J. says.

At some point, George Brett walks into the office, and Trey introduces him over the computer screen to the family (“I want to introduce you to a Hall of Famer, T.J.,” Hillman says). At another point, Trey goes around and asks each of the three to fill him in on what happened since they last talked. Hillman says he often feels guilty about what he’s missed.

The conversation stops and starts, as long-distance conversations tend to do when someone is away from the family. After 15 minutes, they hang up.

“Did you see the board I put outside?” Hillman asks. “It’s a place where everyone can put photos of their wives, their children, their girlfriends, their dogs, whatever. I saw that John Buck put up the ultrasound picture of his unborn twins.

“I want a family atmosphere here. I want people to know each others’ kids and wives. It’s a long season. We’re going to be in this thing together for a long time. I want …”

He stops there. Hillman wants a lot of things. Too many things to list. There’s no telling yet how successful Trey Hillman will be, but there’s no doubting that he will not stop. He cannot stop. He excuses himself to take his first of two or three showers for the day (he takes a second shower after the daily workout, sometimes a third after going to see the minor-leaguers play). But before he goes he says, “Hey, I have a song I want you to hear.” He goes to his computer and presses a few buttons.

“We’re going to become a better baseball team today,” he announces, and he goes to the shower leaving behind the soulful voice of Aretha Franklin singing “Respect” on a loop, again and again and again.

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