"Today's no different than any other day," Don Mattingly was saying. "I just want to play the game and talk about the game. It's all I' ve ever wanted to do. I don't want to argue with anybody. I don't want to fight with anybody. I don't ever try to argue with the facts of the season. All I can say is, there's a lot of season to go. I' m willing to put it all on the line the rest of the way. Then judge me. If I deserve to be raked at the end, go ahead."

It was an hour before the June 28 game between the Yankees and Tigers. Mattingly had just attacked an infield workout as if he were still 22 and trying to make the team. He took ground balls after the rest of the Yankee infielders were back in the clubhouse. Now he was sitting at his locker, the corner locker that once belonged to Sparky Lyle and Dave Righetti and Ron Guidry and now belongs to him. Another day in an elegant Yankee career, a career that is more than his last 150 at-bats, was beginning for one of the best people to ever sit in this room.

He is no longer the best player in the room. That is Paul O'Neill now. Mattingly is still one of the most important. If you don't know that, you don't know anything about his team's character, or its personality, or what makes it work. It means you know nothing about the Yankees. No matter how much you want to act like a Yankees insider. No matter how easy a target Mattingly seems right now, open to all kinds of shots, cheap and otherwise.

Mattingly's batting average is .265. He has one home run and 17 RBI. It is not the first slow start of his career, although it is suddenly treated that way. There was once a season, in 1988, when Mattingly went 124 at-bats into the season without a home run. He was at .262 after a comparable period in 1993. He was at .250 after 200 at-bats in 1992. He was younger then and did not have any problems seeing the ball.

Suddenly it is not supposed to matter that Mattingly spent half the season battling a virus that attacked his eyes, made it difficult and sometimes impossible to pick up both spin and speed. Buck Showalter was forced to sit him sometimes against left-handers, against whom Mattingly sometimes could not pick up the ball until it was on top of him. It forced Mattingly to change his stance and his swing.

He does not make any excuses for the way he has hit. He does not talk about his eyes any longer. He has never cared about what was written about him or said. He has always been better than that. He is certainly better than his owner. Publicly George Steinbrenner talks about "Donhie" Mattingly as if Mattingly were one of his children. And privately Steinbrenner whispers that Mattingly cannot do the job anymore. It is typically gut-less of him, predictably two-faced.

Here is the game, just so you will understand it over the rest of the season: Steinbrenner does not want to resign both Wade Boggs and Mattingly after this season, at least not at their current salaries. Boggs and Mattingly make about $8 million between them. Steinbrenner isn't too worried about the public relations damage if he lets Boggs go. But he doesn't want to be the one with Mattingly. He wants it to be somebody else's idea. And he is thrilled at all suggestions that Mattingly might be through.

And Mattingly cannot be bothered by any of it. He is starting to see the ball and hit the ball. He is still looking for a clear shot at October.

"I'm not going to cry about why this happened or why that happened, because that's not my way," Mattingly said. "It's never been my way. It's too late for me to change now. It's only been 150 at-bats, that' s all I'll say. I feel like there's plenty of time for me to end up where I want to be, where I want our team to be. I feel I'll be strong enough and healthy enough to get there."

Mattingly is off to a slow start. So is Danny Tartabull. But there are some differences between them, the most noticeable being this one: Tartabull does everything but beg out of the lineup. Mattingly, even when he can't see, is always begging to get in. In the Yankees home stand before this one, there was a meeting late on a Fright night with Steinbrenner, Gene Michael, Showalter and the Yankees coaches. When Showalter came back to his office, there was a message to call Mattingly, no matter what time the meeting finished.

Randy Johnson was pitching the next afternoon for the Mariners. This was at a time when Showalter was still worried about sending Mattingly out against any left-hander, much less Johnson, who is as tall as the upper deck and throws harder than anyone.

Showalter called Mattingly, who said, "Put me in there tomorrow."

Showalter told him no.

"I can see well enough," Mattingly said.

Showalter told him no again. And says he will never forget the offer.

"If he got hit in the head during that stretch, I would never have been able to live with myself," the manager said. By Mike Lupica

Copyright 1995 by Indianapolis Business Journal.