He was a man bigger than life. It's a great expression, but few can pull it off. Tommy Lasorda did.
I can't think of a time when I didn't know who Tommy Lasorda was. I grew up north of San Diego during the 1970s, so my childhood baseball memories of course include him as the Dodgers manager (a job he began at the end of the 1976 season (after a few years' stint as the Dodgers' third base coach). He managed there for 20 years (!!), and even as I grew older, he remained a favorite through those years (as did Lou Piniella - but that was later, after I'd moved to Washington and he was managing the Mariners. Hard not to love Sweet Lou.)
What I never knew - not until I wrote the baseball novel, that is - was that Tommy Lasorda had some of his managing roots in my adopted hometown of Spokane, Washington, and the Spokane Indians minor league club here. He managed the Indians team (Class AAA at the time) from 1969 to 1971. Baseball American named his 1970 team the best minor league team in the second half of the 20th century. That team posted a 94-52 record (26 games ahead of its closest division competitor), and swept the Hawaii Islanders - who had won 98 games that season - in the final PCL championship.
On that 1970 team roster was Davey Lopes, Bill Russell, and Steve Garvey - virtually the L.A. Dodgers' entire outfield from 1973 through 1980. (The Dodgers' third base man Ron Cey played in Spokane in 1971). Bobby Valentine was on that 1970 team, as was Bill Buckner. Charlie Hough pitched. In total, the players would go on to account for 23 World Series appearances, 21 All-Star selections and one National League MVP award (Garvey, in 1974).
"The other teams hated us, no doubt about it," Bobby Valentine is later quoted as saying. "Tommy was louder than any other manager, and we were better than any other team."
Three Tommy Lasorda quotes (of which there are many):
"The difference between the impossible and the possible lies in a person's determination."
"There are three types of baseball players: those who make it happen, those who watch it happen, and those who wonder what happens."
"I bleed Dodger blue and when I die, I'm going to the big Dodger in the sky."
When I wrote the Indians' 1946 story, my life became intertwined with Tommy Lasorda. It was not a two-way street. I never met him - though I did get a quote from him for my "Until the End of the Ninth" book jacket, as he was friends with my publicist and gave Milt the nod to include the quote from him.
When he let me use the quote for a second edition (this time with a small publishing house), I imagined him picking up the new copy from Milt, nodding like "glad she's getting somewhere with the story," tossing the book somewhere else, and not worrying about it again.
I've been grateful for the endorsement.
I wonder about his years here. He was a young manager, getting his feet wet, gifted with what soon was seen at the major league level as an amazing managerial talent. Did he kick up dirt in Spokane? Did he yell at umps? (I'm sure he yelled at umps.) Did he wonder if he would make it?
I worried about him when he got heavy. I was happy when he lost weight. I cheered for him - the least I could do, as he'd been cheering for me. But I was a cheerleader long before that.
I have the story of the bus crash, and the 1946 men, in screenplay form. I'd hoped it would be a film by now. I wanted the chance to pick up the phone, or see him in person, and say, you may not remember me, but thank you for keeping the faith and lending me your name while I got from there to here.
Now I'll never have that conversation with him. When I heard of his passing, I felt so sad. I'd lost a hero. I'd lost a cheerleader. I think I lost a would-be friend. And the world? The world has lost one of the greats.
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
No comments:
Post a Comment