Dodgerland

by Michael Fallon

  Underneath the relief, however, as one might imagine of any team managed by Tom Lasorda, the Dodgers also fully expected more success in the second half of the season. “We’re . . . extremely confident,” Lopes continued. “We’re playing better ball than either San Francisco or Cincinnati right now and I don’t think the All-Star break will hurt our momentum. We have the best depth, defense, pitching and hitting in the league. If we can avoid the injuries that hurt us in the first half, we should win it.” Reggie Smith agreed with the team captain. “We know we have the better ball club,” he said, “and all we have to do is go out and prove it. To be only two back with all the injuries we have had is a very good sign. We’ve talked all year of that feeling of being in control of a game, of feeling we were born to win, the feeling we had all last year, and now we have it again. . . . We all know we’re the better team and now I feel we’ve plugged the gaps, spiritually and physically.”22

  The roiling relief, and sense of purpose, among the Dodger players and coaching staff was given an assist by the All-Star break. For one, the game was managed by the manager of the defending National League champion—that is, Tom Lasorda of the Los Angeles Dodgers. Plus, the National League’s team involved a large contingent of six Dodgers—starters Steve Garvey and Rick Monday and reserves Ron Cey, Tommy John, Dave Lopes, and Reggie Smith. Despite some minor controversy over National League manager Lasorda’s favoritism in choosing so many of his players as reserves,23 several Dodgers were catalysts of the National League’s seventh straight Midsummer Classic victory, 7–3, over the American League.

  Dave Lopes, playing as a reserve, got a hit and an RBI in a big four-run eighth inning for the National Leaguers, while starter Steve Garvey recorded two hits. His first, a clutch two-out single in the third inning, knocked in two runs to tie the game. And his second, a lead-off triple in the eighth, started the winning rally for the National League. What was even more amazing about the Dodger first baseman’s performance is that he did it with twenty-two stitches in his chin, from a gash he had suffered a few days before the All-Star Game. “When I went into third on the triple,” Garvey said after the game, “I think I popped a stitch. But I’ll take a popped stitch for a triple anytime.”24 Garvey was named the game’s most valuable player, the second time he had been so honored.

  With the Midsummer Classic success of Garvey and Lopes, and the news that a number of Dodger regulars who had been suffering from one ailment or another were now healthy, Lasorda and his team prepared themselves a successful stretch run. Little did anyone know, however, how wrong his assumptions would prove to be over the next month, perhaps the most troubled month for the Dodgers since before the days of Leo Durocher—so troubled that everything, the entire house of cards, nearly came crashing down on August 20.

  24

  The Grapple in the Apple

  I am the most loyal player money can buy.

  —Don Sutton

  Steve Garvey is not sure whether he wants to be a first baseman or a Pope. He’s so goody, he goes out behind the barn to chew gum.

  —Don Rickles on Steve Garvey

  The dog days of late July and early August can be a difficult stretch for baseball teams. After more than one hundred ball games, afflictions of all sorts—aches, nagging strains, general exhaustion, and frustration—are common, even as the deepest and steamiest heat of middle-American midsummer settles over the land. What’s more, as August progresses, and moods and bodies break down, players can see more and more, off in the distance just over the horizon, the promise of the looming off-season—a time when players get to join their families, take vacations, go on long hunting and fishing trips, and so on. It’s no wonder that July and August are very often the make-it-or-break-it point for so many borderline teams. As of late July in 1978, while the Dodgers felt the deep malaise of summer, it was clear that the season could go any direction for Tom Lasorda’s boys.

  A Sunday day game on July 23, 1978, was a perfect example of the crushing weight of the dog days of baseball. Before the game the Dodgers held their annual Old-Timers Game festivities. Up in Walter O’Malley’s chairman’s box, former manager Walt Alston and Mayor Tom Bradley joined Dodger greats Sandy Koufax and Roy Campanella to watch star players of old—some from the Dodgers, some from rival teams—return to the field. In the game Frank Robinson crushed a Larry Sherry pitch for a home run, Maury Wills stole a base, Willie Mays made a basket catch, Duke Snider made a heads-up base-running play, and so on. The Old-Timers Game would be just about the last thing Dodger fans got to cheer about that day, as the Dodgers then lost the regularly scheduled game to the Cardinals, 2–0. The tone of the loss was set early on in the top of the first inning, when Bill Russell and Dusty Baker collided in shallow left field as both pursued a pop fly that had been hit by Cardinals shortstop Garry Templeton. Though Baker managed to hold onto the ball to record the out, both players, after tumbling to the field, were removed from the game with facial cuts and bruises. After the collision the Dodger lineup failed to provide any sort of spark against St. Louis’s starter, Pete Vukovich, collecting just three hits in the loss.

  In early August Dodger inconsistency continued. The team won five straight games against Chicago and Pittsburgh, briefly moving into a tie for first place with San Francisco. But then a six-game losing streak to the Pirates, Padres, and Giants between July 30 and August 4 dropped the Dodgers to a low point in the standings—four and a half games behind the first-place Giants. Mired in third place the team was actually closer in the standings to the Padres, who were just four games behind the Dodgers in fourth place. Team tension mounted and began to show itself in unexpected ways on the field, in the clubhouse, and in the comments and actions of members of the team. Tom Lasorda’s explosion back on May 14, over the loss to Dave Kingman and the Cubs, was still being talked about, especially now that the Dodgers seemed to be coming apart. “I don’t think it’s right to make a big deal of it,” Lasorda said at a sportswriters luncheon on August 9. “The guy couldn’t have caught me at a worse time. I was very upset. . . . Sure, I say words around the clubhouse that I don’t say anywhere else, like most people. But I’ve been married 28 years and my wife and children have never heard me curse around the house. I just don’t think it’s fair to do this.” Despite his protestations “the Tape” had circulated around the country since that day in May and remained a hot topic in discussions about the Dodgers. That is, the Tape was, according to sportswriter Scott Ostler, “the first outward hint that just maybe the one, big, happy Dodger family that won the National League pennant the year before was not, after all, baseball’s version of the Osmonds. More like the Cartwrights the morning after a hard night in the saloons.” He went on to suggest that Lasorda was suffering a season-long “sophomore slump.” “On more than one occasion,” Ostler wrote, “Lasorda exploded at reporters, including one who dared suggest in print that Lasorda’s relations with the press were deteriorating.”1

  To be fair Lasorda’s tension in 1978 likely had an easy solution: putting an effective lineup on the field. Lasorda’s regular players continued suffering nagging injuries. Almost all of his starters, with the exception of Garvey and Cey, had missed some playing time. Among the worst cases was Yeager, whose stints on the disabled list left a gaping hole in the middle of the defense. Rick Monday struggled with more back issues. Reggie Smith missed several stretches to leg and shoulder issues. So if Lasorda seemed preoccupied, impatient, and more explosive than usual, his frustration at least had a source.

  Still, Lasorda’s struggles to communicate extended beyond his relations with the media. On August 13, after a critical pennant-race match against the Giants, Rick Monday pulled aside several team reporters to let it be known that he was upset with a lack of communication from his manager. The issue was, on a day when right-handed pitcher Ed Halicki was scheduled to start for the Giants, Monday had assumed he would start in center field. This was despite the fact that his injuries had slowed him down and caused him to slump
somewhat after the success of the first part of his season. As Lasorda watched Monday got in line and took his place during pregame batting practice with the other starters. Lasorda said nothing, but after batting practice Monday learned that Bill North was listed on the lineup card as the starting center fielder. “I just wanted to know what was going on,” said the center fielder, visibly agitated. After the story was published, Lasorda called Monday into his office for a closed-door “discussion,” which reportedly involved much yelling. “We had a good conversation,” said manager Tom Lasorda of the event, “discussed a lot of things, and I think we’re both very happy. He loves to play and there’s nothing wrong with that.”2 Monday, for his part, would not say much about the discussion.

  Despite the air of frustration around the Dodgers, after August 4 the team again clawed its way back into the race. Following the streak of six straight losses, the Dodgers won seven straight, mostly as a result of stellar pitching by the team’s starting pitchers. By August 10, remarkably enough, Los Angeles had climbed back into a tie for first place with San Francisco. A day later, after beating the Giants at home, the Dodgers had inched ahead in the race. Though they held only a half-game lead over the Reds now, it was the team’s first division lead since May 11. But things remained tense. “We look forward to playing the Dodgers more than anyone,” said the chief Dodger hater on the San Francisco squad, John Montefusco. “A lot of guys here really hate the Dodgers. You hear guys here say, ‘We don’t care who wins the pennant, as long as it’s not the Dodgers.’ We’re sick of the Dodgers and Hollywood. They’re always on TV and you see (Dodger manager Tom) Lasorda on TV all the time. . . . I’m not saying the Dodgers don’t play tough baseball. They do. But last year, every time you turned on the TV it would be the Dodgers playing somebody. It was just sickening.” Other players, including some Christian-leaning players who took offense to Lasorda’s “Big Dodger in the Sky” references, agreed with Montefusco. “It’s just kind of the air they bring,” said Giants third baseman Darrell Evans. “They always seem to be pretty cocky and expect things to happen their way.”3

  After their brief taste of first place the Dodgers lost two straight close games at home against the Giants—3–2 on August 11 and 7–6 in eleven innings on August 12—and fell back into second place. From there it was a back-and-forth footrace. On August 18 after four straight road wins, the Dodgers were back in first place by a tenuous one-game margin. After a loss on August 19, the tenth of the season for Don Sutton, the team remained in first place. Then August 20 arrived. The Dodgers were in New York for an evening game against the Mets. And in the visitors’ clubhouse at Shea Stadium, something happened that changed the tone of the entire season.

  For the Dodgers August 20 began just like any other day, as players prepared for an afternoon rubber match against the Mets. A day earlier, commentators had noted, during a nationally televised day game at steamy Shea Stadium, several Dodger players seemed on edge in an 8–4 loss against the Mets. Reggie Smith had flared up during an argument at second base in the first inning. Lee Lacy had argued with Mets shortstop Tim Foli during another play at second base, even to the point of charging him (he was restrained by Dodger pitcher Don Sutton, of all people). Smith later argued with Mets catcher John Stearns and home plate umpire Terry Tata over a call on a play at home. Tom Lasorda joined in with Smith. “They blow up easily,” said Tim Foli of the Dodgers after the game, a sentiment with which John Stearns fully agreed. “They’ve been down all year and come back, they’re working hard, it’s hard to relax.” When asked about the blowups, Smith shrugged. “I don’t think we’re on edge. We’re just an aggressive team. We’re not going to be intimidated by anybody. I’d rather be on edge and in the pennant race than in last place with nothing to look forward to but the end of the season.”4

  Despite Smith’s denials, in light of what would happen on August 20, the events of August 19 revealed a team at a kind of breaking point. To understand the state of the team we should start with what was known, by fans and followers of the team who were not privy to the goings-on inside the Dodgers’ clubhouse, about the two players who would figure in the events at Shea Stadium. Let’s start with Don Sutton: As anyone who had followed the Dodgers over the past few seasons was aware, Sutton was not the happiest of Dodgers. On numerous occasions the veteran pitcher had expressed his feelings that he was not often accorded his due (as the longest-serving Dodger player), even as he had no appreciation for the traditions of the Dodger Way. Sutton’s conflicted nature was often remarked upon. According to fellow pitcher Burt Hooton, Sutton had “about as complex a personality as anyone I’ve ever met. He’s a very generous individual who’ll talk to anyone while the rest of us just say ‘Hi’ and keep going. At the same time, he’s an extremely competitive person.” In fact, Sutton could be an acerbic teammate, quick to cut off at the knees anyone who challenged him. And his teammate for many of his years with the Dodgers Bill Russell agreed with both assessments. “Don’s the kind of guy you either like or you don’t,” said the always easygoing Russell. “But he speaks his mind, and you’ve got to respect that.”5

  As a result of all of these character traits—his iconoclastic individualism, his disdain for lip service and PR, and, most of all, his often prickly personality—Sutton was, among Dodger supporters and followers and even his teammates, either actively disliked or generally avoided. Few of his fellow players got to know him. “I don’t know that anybody here was ever that close to Don,” said Ron Cey, “but then I could say the same thing about myself. So much of our lives is public, you keep certain parts private. One moment you feel you know and understand Don, the next you don’t.”6 Still, even as Dodger fans and followers, as well as his fellow players, found it difficult to embrace the pitcher and his abrasive ways, they did appreciate Sutton’s success and competitiveness over his long history with the team.

  In direct opposition to Sutton, meanwhile, was the Dodgers’ polite, seemingly All-American first baseman, Steve Garvey. Though a polarizing figure among many of his fellow Dodgers, Garvey was well liked by fans and team followers. To them Garvey seemed like a gentleman among the hordes. He even once served as a batboy for the team. On a team that thrived on image and tradition and hokum-filled narratives about the good old days of yore, Garvey was a nearly perfect package. Of course, it was inevitable that the clash of values represented by the two poles, Sutton and Garvey, would eventually come to a head in a real and explosive way. And on August 20, before the final game of a three-game series at Shea Stadium, it finally did.

  The actual steps leading to the clubhouse explosion are fairly clear and straightforward. At the same time, however, it’s difficult really to discern the reasons that Sutton did what he did and why exactly he felt it necessary to force an inevitable showdown with his teammate. While many Dodger players seemed to be baffled by Garvey, uncertain by his refusal to go out and drink with the boys after games, and convinced that his public persona as a straight-shooting paragon of virtue was too good to be true, they appreciated his contributions on the field. But not Sutton. Three days before the blowup, while the Dodgers were in Philadelphia, Sutton had been interviewed by Thomas Boswell of the Washington Post. Boswell, who had just seen the Dodgers dismantle the Phillies for a sweep in the defending Eastern Division champion’s ballpark, was marveling about one particular aspect of the team from Los Angeles: the lack of attention paid to the Dodgers’ right fielder, even when he was busy beating the pants off the home team. When Reggie Smith hit his twenty-sixth home run of the year over the right-field fence in cavernous Veterans Stadium, Boswell noted, Phillies fans “emitted only a resigned groan.” As Smith crossed home plate for what would be, essentially, the winning run, “his greeting was tepid, grudging applause.” Just who was this man, Boswell seemed to wonder, who was so dangerous to opposing teams yet so unknown to fans of the sport? “Who is the best-known and richest right fielding Reggie in baseball?” Boswell asked. “Reggie Jackson of New York, certain
ly. But who is the best Reggie? Probably Reggie Smith of the Los Angeles Dodgers—that unique star who is superb at the game’s five fundamentals. Smith can run, throw, field, hit for average and hit for power.”7

  Boswell speculated at the reasons that Reggie Smith was such an unknown factor on one of the best teams in the National League. “On a team of gung-ho Angelenos, Smith is the doubting Dodger, the born skeptic who fancies solitary scuba diving, chess and gourmet cooking while watching the baseball scene with a whimsical, aloof sidelong glance.” As Boswell pointed out, Smith had hit five home runs, and was batting .500, in his last five games. Reggie himself admitted to Boswell that this season had been a “difficult year . . . much harder than last year. We haven’t had the power production from others, so a lot has hinged on me. Right now, I’m on a streak. It’s like riding a surfboard. . . . You have to know how long to ride that wave when to pull out. In my last streak, I was too stubborn, I waited too long to go back to basics and get my swing in order from Square One. I should have backed off sooner.”8

  At this point Boswell, naturally seeking some validation for his theories on Reggie Smith, sought out the one player on the team with a similarly skeptical reputation. That is, Boswell sought out Don Sutton, and Sutton chose this precise time to unload. What happened next, in normal circumstances, would give any team pause, perhaps causing a meeting to air out grievances and relieve tensions. For the 1978 Dodgers, stuck as they were in the midst of a seemingly endless up-and-down loop, when the team daily failed to live up to the expectations it had set for itself, what followed turned the team upside down. “This nation gets infatuated with a few names,” Sutton said to Boswell.