Now safe at home, Twins coach vows to manage his stress better

How close did Twins coach Rick Stelmaszek come to dying?

"I had the whole cut-your-clothes-off, put-the-wife-and-kid-in-a-separate-room, receive-the-last-rites deal," he said this weekend from his Chicago home. "I lost two days. I woke up the third day, and I didn't know where the first two had gone."

Two weeks ago, following two seizures while at home, Stelmaszek almost lost his life, and the Twins almost lost the longest-tenured coach in franchise history.

Stelmaszek, 59, has coached for the Twins for 27 years. His title is bullpen coach, but that's like calling Bill Gates a computer salesman.

"Stelly" runs spring training, much of the team's clubhouse operation during the regular season, and the bullpen during games. More important, he's been a consigliere for managers Tom Kelly and Ron Gardenhire, and a father figure for catchers from Tim Laudner to Joe Mauer -- or any player needing a kind word or a kick in the rear.

It was Stelmaszek who broke a bat over a desk in a meeting with mercurial catcher A.J. Pierzynski, when Pierzynski was floundering in the Twins' minor league system. It was Stelmaszek who, while working with Tom Kelly in instructional league when they were both minor league managers, told Kelly he'd like to see the short, skinny center fielder in the lineup, thus positioning Kirby Puckett to quickly make an impression on the manager with whom he would win two World Series.

In a business marked by constant change and staggering amounts of money, Stelmaszek has been the fixture who signs whatever contract is put in front of him.

"Our lifestyle, every time you turn around, it's, 'I'll meet you in the bar.' I want to prove to myself that I can do without it."

He's got plenty of motivation to change his lifestyle. One moment he was sitting in his TV room on the south side of Chicago. The next thing he remembers is lying on the floor, hearing a fireman ask if he was OK.

Stelmaszek looked up and managed to grunt, "No."

He was rushed to the hospital, where last rites were administered to him. "I've got to watch myself from now on," he said.

In the grand tradition of Kelly's "even-keel" method of navigating the ups and downs of a 162-game season, Stelmaszek has always appeared unperturbed by even the toughest losses. He admits, though, that the stresses of the season -- constant travel, uneven sleep, the pressure to win -- brought him to the doorstep of death.

"I really thought the word 'stress' was overused in our society, a word for doctors and pharmacists, but they tell me it's the No. 1 killer and that's where I've got to change my ways. I can't let this stuff bother me. When you're laying on your back thinking you're dying, you realize there's more to life than a stupid ballgame.

"The game can chew you up. Some guys show it. The guys who don't, it's chewing them up inside."

Kelly said coaches are taught to swallow stress. "The one thing we always wanted to do -- the coaches, the manager, the clubhouse people -- was, each day, come in with a smile on our face," Kelly said. "We insisted on everybody having their heads up and a good look on their faces. We had some lean times, and we thought that was important in the clubhouse.

"Sometimes, when you're trying to do that, maybe your own situation goes unnoticed a little bit."

Kelly met Stelly when they played in the New York Penn League in 1968. Both wound up managing in the Twins' minor leagues and moved up to the big league staff as coaches.

"We've got a lot of stories."

Stelmaszek vowed to fly to spring training on Feb. 16 to resume his duties. Not everyone in the Twins organization is sure he'll be up to it.

"Well, I just talked to Stelly, and he sounded good," Kelly said. "I think this is a rally-around type of thing. Everybody will do their part to help him, but he's got to do his part, too. He's a grown man. He knows what's going on. He needs to buckle down a little bit. He can do that.

"We'll keep an eye on each other. We've done it before, we can do it again."