100 Things Dodgers Fans Should Know & Do Before They Die (24 page)

66. Eric Gagné—Fact or Fiction

If, in the end,
The Eric Gagné Story
became at least in part a novel, a memoir rooted in more fantasy than we had been led to believe, than what a novel it was.

And if it wasn't a novel, then...wow. Just wow.

Welcome to the jungle! We got fun ‘n' games!
Electric. Dodgers fans weren't just swept up by the result, they were taken with the show, a show that evolved into Gagné emerging from the bullpen to piercing sounds of Guns ‘n' Roses. After beginning his career as a starting pitcher with strikeout potential but inconsistent performance, Gagné was thrust into the role of bullpen closer mainly because no more obvious alternatives existed for the Dodgers in 2002. And just like that, Clark Kent turned into Superman.

With a fastball that approached 100 miles per hour, setting up a changeup that could break your wrists, and a curve that dropped down from heaven, Gagné left hitters like cats flailing at a piece of string. “Oh, yes!” the usually collected Vin Scully exclaimed after one Gagné close-out. “Oh my gosh, what a pitch! That's amazing! That's not fair.”

It wasn't just pitching. We're talking sensory overload. A rock concert in a bullet train. The first eight innings were the warmup act. Gagné was the main event. And yes, it's true: Dodgers fans stayed in their seats—or rather stood up in front of them—until the very end of the game to see it.

For three seasons—each of them coincidentally totaling 82
1/3
innings—Gagné struck out 13.3 batters per nine innings while allowing barely half that many base runners. His ERA those years was 1.79. In 2003, when he won the Cy Young Award, he allowed 12 runs the entire season. He set a major league record with 84 consecutive saves, though that almost makes him sound too robotic. The force was with him.

It was too good to last forever, that much you knew, though it ended all too soon. Starting in 2004, injuries began to sideline him. He pitched 15
1/3
innings total for two remaining years of his Dodger career. In 2007, he had something of a renaissance with the Texas Rangers, but then fell apart following a trade to Boston.

And then, as some suspected, Gagné was too good to be true, or entirely true, anyway. Following the 2007 season, the Mitchell Report investigating the use of performance-enhancing substances by major league players named Gagné as a recipient of two shipments of human growth hormone. For many fans, this rendered Gagné's accomplishments null and void, on the theory that they rested on artificial and illegal stimulants. On the other hand, despite the general refrain in the media, several studies have shown that HGH does not help improve an athlete's performance—and, of course, if Gagné were using HGH, so were some of the batters he was facing.

Different minds will review
The Eric Gagné Story
in different ways. For those who experienced him, the memories still exist. When you close your eyes, you can still feel them. It's your choice what you do with them.

 

Mike Marshall

Though he was a pitcher, Mike Marshall practically became an everyday player for the Dodgers in 1974. He went to the mound for a major league record 106 games, averaging nearly two innings per outing. At one point, he appeared in 13 consecutive contests, picking up victories in six of them along with two saves, pitching 26
2
/
3
innings in those two weeks with a 1.69 ERA. Marshall finished the season with a 2.42 ERA (141 ERA+) and won the NL Cy Young Award.

Marshall later completed his doctorate in exercise physiology (in fact, he once said that he played professional baseball to pay for his college expenses) and insisted that he had methods that would increase the durability and resiliency of pitchers, but his approach has been found too extreme for the mainstream.

 

67. Team Trolley

The story that explains the origins of the Dodgers team name usually leaves out one important detail: why the name stuck.

First, here's the story…

“Trolley lines crisscrossed Brooklyn with little plan or forethought,” Glenn Stout writes in
The Dodgers
. “An elevated train line dumped fans near the park, but to reach the stands they were forced to cross several sets of railroad tracks that sent electric trolley cars from Greenpoint to Coney Island.

“The newfangled contraptions proved a challenge for both drivers and pedestrians, neither of whom seemed to realize that the added weight of the mechanized cars made them much more difficult to stop than the horse-drawn variety. The result was carnage. Accidents became daily occurrences. Barely a week went by without one or more Brooklyn residents meeting his or her demise by trolley, and countless more were maimed. As such, surviving Brooklynites began to be known as ‘trolley dodgers' for their skill at cheating death.”

But as we also know, about a dozen nicknames have been associated with the team since it began play in the 19
th
century. That's because teams didn't set their nicknames in stone in the early decades of baseball—in fact, they didn't even always choose them, leaving the labels to the whim of the press covering the team. Often, the press simply played off the name of Brooklyn's manager at the time. Almost from the moment Wilbert Robinson took the helm of the team, for example, the
Brooklyn Eagle
began calling the team the Robins, and did so through the end of his tenure in 1931, although Stout notes
New York Sun
editor Joe Vila banned the name in 1926 over a spat with Robinson.

The pattern had been set back in the 1800s, when fans might know the team at any given moment as Ward's Wonders (after John Montgomery Ward, 1891–92), Foutz's Fillies (Dave Foutz, 1893–96) and even more prominently, the Superbas, because manager Ned Hanlon had the same last name as a group of performing brothers whose crowning production was titled “Superba.” Superbas actually stuck for years after Hanlon left the scene (managers Patsy Donovan, Harry Lumley, and Bill Dahlen apparently lacking sufficient cachet).

Use of the Dodger name overlapped some of these, as did a nickname that was popular throughout the 1890s: the Bridegrooms (or Grooms), which actually came into use in 1889 after a winter that saw several Brooklyn players find wedded bliss. And still more names popped up during the infancy of Brooklyn baseball—Infants, for one, along with Grays (after the color of their uniforms), Kings (after Brooklyn's home in Kings County), and even one that appropriated a nickname for Brooklyn itself, the Church City Nines.

“Dodgers” survived all these alternatives to become the official choice, appearing on team jerseys by 1933, in time for it to fend off what might have been a Brogdingnagian challenge by “Bums,” inspired by Willard Mullin's unforgettable series of cartoons about a mythical, hoboesque Brooklyn fan. Players and managers would come and go, but the trolleys hung around, making it hard for the Dodgers moniker to lose its appeal even if Brooklyn's denizens sidestepped the streetcars with more success.

The Los Angeles Grooms or Superbas might have been fun to root for—those Brooklyn newlyweds or multitalented Hanlon brothers are worth remembering fondly. But there's just something irresistible about being linked over a span of more than 100 years with fans who put their lives at risk just to see a ballgame, who invested their well-being in a team, as Vin Scully might say, destined to break your heart.

68. Ode to Joy

The next best thing to witnessing a no-hitter is reading what people had to say about it. Here are some joyful quips and eloquencies culled from the 10 Los Angeles Dodgers no-hitters.

 

“One time, after the eighth inning, John Roseboro said something about throwing a curve when I get behind a batter. I said, ‘Heck with the no-hitter, let's get the game over.' And Gabby said, ‘Let's get it.'

“I was almost sure I'd lose it. I figured a ball would fall in or something like that. Richie Ashburn's foul down the left-field line in the ninth really put a lump in my stomach.”

—Sandy Koufax, June 30, 1962

 

June 30, 1962

Sandy Koufax

No-hitter—0 for 4

—Blackboard writing from Dodger teammates in front of Koufax's locker, teasing that he was a no-hit pitcher on the mound and at the plate.

 

“Speaking of O'Malley, it is Walter's custom to tear up a no-hit pitcher's contract and give him a new one calling for a $400 raise. That bonus will keep Sandy in alpaca sweaters until at least the Christmas holidays.”

—Los Angeles Times
sportswriter Frank Finch, May 11, 1963

 

“I was supposed to leave [my parents] tickets for the game. But I forgot.”

—Koufax, May 11, 1963

“I was in Washington on business and hadn't heard anything about it. So I turned on the radio for the 11 o'clock news. The announcer said, ‘Sandy Koufax has done it again. He's just pitched the third no-hitter of his career.' Right away, I just had one question: Did he win it?”

—Dodgers pitcher Don Drysdale, the day after Koufax's third no-hitter (June 4, 1964)

 

“I never saw him throw as hard as he did the last time I was up. He threw one ball right past me, and I was waiting for it.... This guy could drive you to drink.”

—Cubs third baseman Ron Santo on Koufax, September 9, 1965

 

“He lay in a hospital bed 10 weeks ago, looking up at a bottle that dripped glycerine into his veins. He stood on the pitchers' mound at Dodger Stadium Monday afternoon, staring out of the shadows, and there was ice water in his veins.”

—
Times
writer John Wiebusch on Bill Singer, who pitched a no-hitter July 20, 1970, less than two months after being hospitalized for hepatitis

 

“In the first inning. Any time I get the side out, I think no-hitter.”

—Jerry Reuss, June 27, 1980

 

“That's great, now maybe we'll see another no-hitter.”

—Fernando Valenzuela, after seeing on TV that former teammate Dave Stewart had thrown a no-hitter for Oakland earlier that day, June 29, 1990

“It was the first time [Kevin] Gross, 31, has allowed fewer than three hits in a game in his nine-year major league career. It was the first time he has won a game in five weeks.... The only thing more improbable was that his magical night was saved by shortstop Jose Offerman, who leads the majors with 32 errors but did not miss either of two tough chances in the late innings.”

—
Times
sportswriter Bill Plaschke, August 17, 1992

 

“We were trying to be cool about it, acting as if nothing was happening. I thought we were home free until Rocket [pitcher Ismael Valdes] couldn't control his enthusiasm. Finally, I just said, ‘Rocket, shut up, will you?' “

—Dodgers outfielder Chris Gwynn, July 14, 1995, on the bench during Ramon Martinez's no-hitter

 

“You kidding me, there was no way I was going to let the ball drop. I was going to run that ball down. I would have dove on the ground. Leaped against the fence. Jumped over the wall. That ball wasn't dropping on me.”

—Dodgers outfielder Todd Hollandsworth, who made his first career start July 14, 1995

“Throwing a no-hitter at this place, he should be canonized on the spot.”

—Dodgers catcher Mike Piazza, on Hideo Nomo's no-hitter at hitters paradise Coors Field in Colorado, September 17, 1996

 

 

Brooklyn No-hitters

Tom Lovett / June 22, 1891 / Brooklyn 4, New York 0

Ed Stein / June 2, 1894 / Brooklyn 1, Chicago 0 (6 innings)

Mal Eason / July 20, 1906 / Brooklyn 2, St. Louis 0

Nap Rucker / September 5, 1908 / Brooklyn 6, Boston 0

Dazzy Vance / September 13, 1925 / Brooklyn 10, Philadelphia 1

Fred Frankhouse / August 27, 1937 / Brooklyn 5, Cincinnati 0 (8)

Tex Carleton / April 30, 1940 / Brooklyn 3, Cincinnati 0

Ed Head / April 23, 1946 / Brooklyn 5, Boston 0

Rex Barney / September 9, 1948 / Brooklyn 2, New York 0

Carl Erskine / June 19, 1952 / Brooklyn 5, Chicago 0

Carl Erskine / May 12, 1956 / Brooklyn 3, New York 0

Sal Maglie / September 25, 1956 / Brooklyn 5, Philadelphia 0

69. Dodgertown

On July 1, 1954, Dodgertown Camp for Boys opened at the team's six-year-old training facility in Vero Beach. As vice president of O'Malley Seidler Partners and former Dodger director of broadcasting and publications Brent Shyer notes, nearly 200 kids came from all over the country—some of them guided by 16-year-old camp counselor Peter O'Malley—not just for baseball, but also tennis, basketball, swimming, and fishing, before going to sleep at night in the very barracks where Brooklyn heroes like Pee Wee Reese and Jackie Robinson had slept earlier that year.

You could make a case that in those early years of Dodgertown, when the organization's roster reported for duty in March's precocious Florida warmth, the place had a decidedly summer camp feel. No doubt, more than one player wrote home outlining their sufferings.

“It wasn't too pleasant,” outfielder Duke Snider once recalled to Shyer, who conducted a series of interviews with former Dodgers about the facility. “You had to walk through these vacant lots and there were paths, but there would be snakes. You'd always take a bat with you just in case you needed it. I went after a ball when the main ballpark was over by the airport, and there was sort of a ditch in left and right field and it had all grass, big bladed grass, and a ball got in between the left fielder and myself and we went over for it. I started down the ditch to get the ball, because it was in play, and there was a snake down there right by the ball. The guy got an inside-the-park home run! I wasn't going to go down and get that ball.”

At the same time, the precedent-setting facility, which prioritized training a ballclub like no other, also became a full-fledged home away from home.

 

 

 

The “Dodgertown Camp for Boys” in Vero Beach, Florida, was a popular summer all-sports camp, inaugurated in the summer of 1954, as a way to further utilize their spring training site and fulfill Walter O'Malley's desire for year-round activities. For $500, each boy aged 12-16 was instructed in baseball and many other recreational activities while living on base where the Dodgers players normally resided during training.
Photos courtesy of www.walteromalley.com All rights reserved.

 

“All the minor leaguers dressed in the minor league clubhouse, which was very small,” first baseman Wes Parker said. “It was partitioned off into separate rooms that were extremely small. We all dressed together maybe 15–20 of us, shoulder to shoulder. You hardly had enough room to stretch and put your arms up to put on your jersey. It was cold in there. They had I think electric heaters, but it didn't matter, it was cold, very cold. Air didn't circulate well.

“The funny thing is, you started to love it.... I think it was a beautiful setup that there weren't distractions because guys would have gone out. As it was, we had our focus completely on baseball because there was nothing else to do, nothing else to think about.”

Added former Dodger traveling secretary Bill DeLury: “Years ago, after dinner, we had what looked like a huge hotel lobby, and it had a canteen in it for soda pop and ice cream. It had a pool table and players would go in there and play pool and ping pong. It had a juke box. That's all they had. There were no TVs in the rooms. There was no heat in the rooms. You stayed in this huge lobby with 300, 400 or 500 people. You told stories and it was very interesting.... I listened to stories from Roy Campanella, (Don) Drysdale, Carl Furillo, Duke Snider; you can go on and on.”

Born through the initiative of Bud Holman, who sought the Dodgers as a post-World War II occupant of the former U.S. Naval Air base, the frequently upgraded Dodgertown evolved into spring training's paradise, an unsurpassed locale for players to gear up for the coming season and for fans to kick back and soak in their team along with the Florida sunshine. There are countless Dodgers fans for whom the quintessential Dodger experience was not in Chavez Ravine, but following Manny Mota on his bicycle from the corner of Vero Beach's Don Drysdale Avenue and Vin Scully Way to a game at Holman Stadium. From business conferences to fantasy camps, Dodgertown was a destination in and of itself.

In March 2008, the Dodgers bid Dodgertown a somewhat acrimonious farewell, playing a truncated schedule there while gearing up to move to a new spring training home in Glendale, Arizona. It is a ritzier complex, and perhaps most importantly, much easier for Los Angeles fans to visit than the cross-country flight and hours-long drive for a trip to Vero. There's little reason to think that the change hasn't been good for the Dodgers and their fans on many levels. Nonetheless, there's something a little sad, even heartbreaking, about leaving summer camp behind, snakes and all.

“Basically when I look back, it is as if I stood in one place and thousands of players, coaches, managers, and newspapermen went through and I was there watching this big parade,” Vin Scully said. “And so, in all honesty, there is no single other place in the world that holds more memories for me than Vero Beach.”