Walking Eagle and the Team That Flys High

When I moved away from Michigan--Mad Mike, Beyond Silverdome--the last thing Tiger manager Sparky Anderson said was: “Say hello to Walking Eagle for me.” Walking Eagle is not an Indian; he is a Dodger. He is Tommy Lasorda, manager of the Dodgers, who is called Walking Eagle by the great white-scalped warrior of Detroit because: “He’s so full of it, he can’t fly.”

Making fun of Lasorda has become part of the national pastime. He is Tommy Lasagna, the man with the golden gums. He is Jay Johnstone with a pillow stuffed beneath his shirt. He is Frank Sinatra’s personal paesan and Don Rickles’ personal hockey puck. He is the man with the best-selling biography, a book with an “Acknowledgments” section only slightly thicker than James Michener’s “Hawaii.”

With all this tommyfoolery, what fails to get proper recognition is the good work Lasorda has done as Dodger manager. He never seems to be acknowledged as a baseball brain, the way Earl Weaver, Billy Martin and Anderson have been. Yet in eight seasons as top dog of the Dodgers, he has won his division four times and has been in three World Series. This year, with a team that looked unpromising in springtime, Lasorda has led the Dodgers to a big lead in the National League West.

I wonder if people appreciate how successful ol’ Tommy Lasagna has been. Maybe if he were just another of those drab characters whose idea of excitement is to drool tobacco juice on his jersey, Lasorda might get more respect as a manager. Instead, he is thought of in many quarters as a little blue Smurf who can’t wait for the game to end so he can go have lunch with Vic Damone or something.

After Saturday’s game with the Cubs at Dodger Stadium, Lasorda was hustled off to a helipad, stuffed into a copter and transported to Edwards Air Force base, where he was guest of honor at the Officers Club. Ladies and gentlemen, Walking Eagle flies.

At nearly the exact moment Lasorda was preparing to become the second biggest Dodger in the sky, his Cub counterpart, Jim Frey, was flying off the handle. The Dodgers had just beaten Frey’s Cubs for the third straight day, so Frey was hot. He went into a rage, using language that would have made Richard Pryor blush.

Cleaning things up a tad, what Frey said about Lasorda’s Dodgers was: “They’re on a streak! The sock stuffers are on a streak! They need a funky hit, the funky ball finds a hole! Or they hit it off the end of the bat and they get a funky hit! Whenever they need a hit, they get a funky hit!

“Well, good luck to ‘em! That’s nice when you’re in a streak like that! We hit the funky ball and they’re diving all over funky Los Angeles catching our gosh dang balls! The sock stuffers are living in fertilizer over there! Put that in the funky paper and let those funky ashtrays read that fertilizer! They think they’re the greatest funky thing that ever happened! They’ve had more funky luck in the last three days than I’ve seen! And good luck to ‘em! I hope we have a streak like that!”

Luck did begin to change Sunday, the Cubs winning, 9-2, and Frey felt better. His outburst, though, was wonderfully reminiscent of Lasorda’s famous “What Did I Think of Kingman’s Performance?” filibuster of a few years ago, when a silly fellow asked the Dodger skipper what he thought of a Dave Kingman home-run thunderstorm.

Lasorda couldn’t wait to find Frey before Sunday’s game.

“I’m gonna have to wash your mouth out with soap,” Tommy told Jimmy. “After all, this is a family game. I’m gonna send that (newspaper) clip to your mother in Cincinnati.”

Later, Lasorda said he could relate to the frustration that boiled over. “Those things can happen to a manager--believe me, I know. You know, us and the pitchers are the only baseball guys whose livelihoods depend on wins. A third baseman hits 40 home runs and still gets his money. A pitcher’s gotta win and a manager’s gotta win, and I been both.”

Lasorda feels particularly good about this season’s success. He has had to gamble (moving Pedro Guerrero, believing in Greg Brock, playing musical third basemen), and he has had to do patchwork due to injuries (Alejandro Pena, Mike Marshall), and he has been forced to abandon players who seemed indispensable in April (Steve Howe, Al Oliver). “The guys never lost their desire, never squabbled, never jumped on one another,” Lasorda said, “and they never tried to blame their manager.”

That’s why--so far, at least--Tom Lasorda has not yet turned into a vulgar volcano the way Jim Frey did over the weekend.

“Bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep, bleep,” Lasorda said Sunday.

“There. Now when they read the paper, nobody’ll know if I cussed or if I really said ‘bleep.’ ”

Oh, what a funky manager he is.