Dodgers: 20 years ago today

By Ron Rapoport

There was champagne in dark green bottles and Chinese food in cardboard boxes. There was lasagna and a kiwi and a strawberry tart. There were mushrooms and brown rice and broiled chicken.

There were interviews and phone calls and wall-to-wall hangers-on lining the Sinatra wall and the Rickles wall and the wall in between.

It was an hour after the last out and Tom Lasorda was having a party. He was wearing a Dodger-blue T-shirt and white uniform pants with matching shaving cream sprayed all over his face. The Dodgers had just won the pennant. All was right with the world.

"Hey, Tommy, what time tomorrow?" shouted Rick Dempsey, walking into Lasorda's spacious Dodger Stadium office clad in nothing but a towel.

"Take the day off," Lasorda shouted back. "Take the whole freaking day off."

Mike Marshall sat at Lasorda's desk. He was on the phone.

"Yeah, mom, they had it in the paper already," Marshall said, looking at the headline that said "Dodgers Win" in the Daily News extra that had been passed around the locker room as the game was ending. "It was like Dewey beats Truman. Well, just go back to the gift shop. Get the shirt that says, 'National League Champions.' "

"We're going to play the underdog," Lasorda said to nobody in particular of the World Series that begins Saturday against the Oakland A's. ''We're going to play Goliath again."

"Yeah, mom," said Marshall. "We're going to play Goliath one more time."

Lasorda was on the phone now. He had just received the obligatory call
from a colleague. It was the kind of call baseball people love to get but hate like poison to make. The colleague was Mets manager Dave Johnson.

"Thank you so much, Davey," Lasorda said. "It was a beautiful series. We'll have lunch. Let's have lunch in Oakland like we did that time. Thank you for calling. Thank you so much."

Restaurant. A restaurant for a party. Lasorda knew just the one. It's the one with his name on it in Pasadena.

"Yeah," said Marshall as the manager made the arrangements on the phone. "Remember the time in Montreal when he said there would be six people and he came in with 23? 'Yes, Mr. Lasorda, we're ready for your party of six.' And then 23 people come in behind them."

Orel Hershiser III drank a beer and took this in. He is the father of the man who had just been named Most Valuable Player of the 1988 National League playoffs. He was talking about Mike Scioscia.

"What a series he had," Hershiser said. "Look at his batting average. And what about that home run in New York."

Somebody mentioned his son the pitcher.

"You went a long way with him," Hershiser said to Lasorda. "I thought you were going to bring Howell in."

"I was going with him until he proved he couldn't get anybody out," Lasorda said. "The son of a ----- wants to pitch Saturday. Saturday."

Lasorda's voice was noticeably hoarse and weak. A season's worth of talking and shouting and cajoling had taken its toll.

"He's going on the Tonight Show tomorrow and he doesn't have a voice," somebody said.

"He doesn't need it tomorrow," said Hershiser. "He doesn't need it till Saturday."

CBS wanted Lasorda at 2. CNN wanted him at 1. A private room at the restaurant. No, a private room, all right? It has to be a private room. The whole team is going to be there. Arrangements. Tickets. Travel. Wives. Oakland. Let it wait a day. Why can't it wait a day?

"Bill Russell, he wants to have a meeting tomorrow," Lasorda said of the Dodger coach. The blue T-shirt was off now and so were the white uniform pants. The only thing he was wearing was the shaving cream on his face.

"Let them have a day off," he said as he made his way to the shower. ''All we want to do is savor the fruits of victory. What a freaking team."

The door opened. Dempsey, fully dressed now, stuck his head in.