“People seem to write a lot about my eating. I don’t know how it started, but at least they associate me with something that’s worthwhile.”

Tommy, do you eat differently depending on how the team’s doing?

“What happens with me is that when we lose I’m so mad that I eat a lot. . . . Then when we win I’m so happy that I eat a lot. . . . Then when we get rained out I’m so mad that we’re not playing that I eat a lot.”

So began Dodger Manager Tommy Lasorda, baseball’s designated great eater, on his philosophy about food.

Asking one of America’s famous talkers to converse about his favorite off-field subject is like asking Tip O’Neill about Boston politics or Ed McMahon about a certain St. Louis beer. Lasorda lectures from a wealth of knowledge and is the kind of guy who teammates say can make sparks fly from forks.

The discourse was offered recently between frequent bites of Chinese and Italian food at a hastily arranged pregame meal in Lasorda’s Dodger Stadium office--a prestige destination for Los Angeles-area takeout orders.

The office, which is adorned with more photos of celebrities than sit in the files at MGM studios, is a citadel for good eating. And when you drop by Lasorda’s headquarters for a bite, there is a certain reverence due the moment. Certainly, it’s not every day one can nosh with the mealtime version of “The Natural.”

The man whose picture appears on restaurant walls in virtually every major city in the nation readily admits he has never met a meal he didn’t like. For that matter, there haven’t been that many restaurants he’s forsaken.

Once asked what was the worst meal he ever had, Lasorda was quick to reply: “Fantastic.”

This man’s affection for food is total and his endurance is legendary. During the lean years in the minor leagues he became the king of the cheap, all-you-can-eat smorgasbords. In fact, that era may have been the launching pad for the consumption notoriety he now enjoys.

Lasorda looks back on the buffet days and warns that he is writing a second book to complement his current offering, “The Artful Dodger.” The work in progress is a sort of public service and concerns maximizing food intake.

Some of his yet-to-be-released buffet tips include only eating the main courses, piling the plate from the edges toward the center and not drinking too much.

“Oh, yeah. . . . Another thing is I used to (stop eating) a lot of times and not because my stomach was full. (The reason was that) my arms got tired. So, I suggest that you bend your arms at the wrist rather than the elbow. That way you won’t get tired,” he said while demonstrating the technique with the same intense concentration he’d devote to teaching a rookie pitcher the slider.

When Lasorda fulfilled a lifelong dream and became manager of the Dodgers in 1977, the pre- and post-game meals became a fixture in the manager’s office. Dodger players who have spent time on other ball clubs say there is nothing in professional baseball like Lasorda’s raucous stadium snacks.

The ritual is sandwiched in a day that begins for the players about three hours before the game with an early workout and sometimes ends eight or nine hours later.

Lasorda claims that his fondness for the likes of veal parmigiana is secondary to his concern that his team gets enough to eat.

“I do it primarily for the players (because) I want them to have a bite to eat. I like it when they come into my office and are able to relax with me. . . . When we lose, we kind of drown our sorrows (in food). I like to see my players really get something to eat before the day is over.”

Honorable intentions aside, the gregarious and loquacious Lasorda has attained celebrity as much for his eating prowess as for his significant managerial accomplishments (four times manager-of-the-year and three World Series).

Stories abound from those who have witnessed one of his dinner table gatherings and, thus, can recount the many memorable incidents, such as the evening he ordered pasta for dessert.

There was also the time in Atlanta a few years ago after a 7-1 loss to the Braves when an upset stomach limited his postgame appetite to only two plates of chicken and rice.

Another classic moment occurred when he was being interviewed about the death of a colleague, and in the midst of waxing eloquently about the man’s accomplishments, yelled to a clubhouse attendant, “Where’s the (bleep) in my (bleeping) chili?”

Then there’s the seafood restaurant episode when Lasorda ordered four dozen oysters on the half shell and proceeded to polish them all off--as an appetizer.

On yet another occasion, before a game in Philadelphia against the Phillies, a sore throat was bothering the great eater and it limited the pregame meal to a “half-dozen hot peppers, a heaping bowl of linguine and a king-size hoagie.”

Ah, linguine.

That is the one food Lasorda puts above all others when it comes to the dishes that make his dinner-table playoffs.

“I love linguine. . . . You know, when a lot of sportswriters want to take a manager out . . . and get . . . information on the team, they feed the manager a lot of drinks. All of a sudden his tongue becomes loose and he tells everything.

“Well, see, the writers can’t do that with me because I don’t drink. So, what they do is take me out and get me a plate of linguine and all of a sudden my tongue becomes very loose. That’s how they get all that information. . . .”

Indeed, sportswriters have colorfully chronicled Lasorda’s exploits throughout the years and are as much responsible for the food-lover image as the 48 oysters. For instance, Lasorda’s age was described last year by one reporter as “57 years of ravioli and spaghetti” and another speculated that he was the only guy to have flunked out of a pasta detoxification center.

The Dodger manager shrugs off characterizations such as “Tommy Lasagna” by saying, “People seem to write a lot about my eating. I don’t know how it started, but at least they associate me with something that’s worthwhile.”

Watching Lasorda in action in the office is a multimedia event. He barks orders on the phone, then quickly changes tone and makes polite requests for tickets, he fires off quips in Spanish with outfielder Pedro Guerrero and signs autographs for the publicity office all while finessing an egg roll or savoring an Italian sausage.

He can never be accused of not having style, and Lasorda’s enthusiasm at the plate is contagious. Although an aficionado of fine food, Lasorda doesn’t get any nearer to the stove than the refrigerator.

“I’ve never cooked a meal in my life. I don’t cook. I don’t like to cook, I just like to eat,” he said. “My wife (and I) have been married 35 years. She learned a long time ago that there’s only one way to a man’s heart. I don’t know who coined that phrase, but it is apropos to my home.”

When Lasorda plays cleanup at the table he becomes the maestro of a meal, juggling wildly entertaining stories around a multitude of courses. Catcher Steve Yeager said that if Lasorda had his way he’d take his position at the dinner table in the morning and stay all day.

Pitcher Jerry Reuss volunteered that Lasorda’s eating habits haven’t changed much over the years except for the fact that the Dodger manager “sits farther out from the table now.”

“The guy has eaten off the greatest plates in this country . . . and other countries for that matter,” Reuss said.

For Lasorda, the marriage of baseball and food is one that is tossed in heaven like an angelic Caesar’s salad. In fact, no other sport seems as suited to a personality borne of food. Hot dogs, peanuts and beers are as much a part of this game as double plays, strikeouts and home runs.

Having the national pastime as a forum for the past eight years, there is nowhere Lasorda goes that he isn’t recognized. And these days his appetite always precedes him. So, his presence is an extreme compliment to restaurateurs, who rarely present him with a tab.

“You know what it is? A lot of people in this country are just dying to feed me, my coaches, my trainers and my ball players. So, consequently we do everything we can to make them happy,” he says.

Asked whether there were any cities on the National League road circuit with cuisines Lasorda found especially exciting, he named, in no particular order: Chicago, New York, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, St. Louis, Montreal, Houston, San Francisco and San Diego. (The omission of Atlanta and Pittsburgh could create a scandal for the restaurant industry in those cities.)

East Coast Swing

Lasorda often invites his battery of assistant coaches to dinner when the team is on the road. Third-base coach Joe Amalfitano said that although the great one likes at least some food in all cities the Dodgers play, the East Coast swing “is really something.”

“We go to a lot of restaurants that serve us family style and they’ll bring all the dishes at once, and of course, everyone orders a different dish,” Amalfitano said. “Well, Tommy will insist that he has to taste each dish first to make sure it’s not poisoned. . . . No one enjoys food as much as he does.”

Batting coach Mark Cresse, a frequent Lasorda dinning partner, says the man puts on the “darnedest display of pasta eating that I’ve ever seen.”

Cresse recalls the time when several team members joined Lasorda for dinner and were presented a six-person serving of linguine with clams.

“He can handle any kind of hot pepper. So all of a sudden he pours an entire jar of those crushed red peppers on (the pasta). And no one else can eat the linguine because it’s too hot. So, he ate it all by himself.”

Frenzy in Chicago

Cresse singles out Chicago as the place Lasorda’s penchant for food seems to reach a frenzy.

“When we’re in Chicago, it’s like we’re living to eat,” Cresse said. “We can’t wait to beat the Cubs so we can go for the good chow and eat like kings. . . . Once Lasorda is out of the clubhouse he says, ‘Hey, let’s go for the food.’ ”

Another Dodger player said that Lasorda is so dearly fond of Chicago’s restaurants that he has dinner reservations for every night the Dodgers are visiting the Cubs until 1993.

The red pepper incident notwithstanding, Lasorda is known for his ability to share the wealth of a particularly well-made lasagna.

“The one thing about Tommy is that he has to have mountains of food . . . but at least he shares,” says team clown, author and utility outfielder Jay Johnstone.

Lasorda demonstrated his generosity recently when the discussion turned to seafood. At the mention of the word oysters, he quickly ran to his private refrigerator and pulled out a gallon of exquisite raw bivalves. Within moments, several dozen of the prized Louisiana oysters were efficiently consumed.

However, Johnstone said he and team captain, Bill Russell, are concerned about Lasorda’s intake and try to correct some of his dietary choices.

“Tommy’s on a seafood diet. Whenever he sees food, he eats it. Really though, we try and make him eat salads and no greasy foods, things like that. But there’s one problem,” Johnstone said. “He carries spare forks in his pockets and tastes food everywhere he goes.”

Johnstone said his real fear about Lasorda is that if he keeps eating at his current pace he would begin to look like Dodger catcher Mike Scioscia.

Join in Repast

Sure enough, while Lasorda was enjoying a slice of barbecue pork during an interview, he yelled out for Scioscia to join him in the repast.

“Come on, sit down and eat. . . . Hey, look at this, the guy’s got his eating gloves on . . . I like that,” Lasorda said, thoroughly enjoying Scioscia’s lunges at mostaccioli while attired in batting gloves.

So, how did all this get started? And how is it that Lasorda is as famous for his appetite as his distinctive figure marching out to the pitcher’s mound?

Well, the camaraderie of the dinner table, which envelops the entire team at times, is not one simply sprung from appetite. This “love-to-eat” strategy is an exclusive Lasorda design.

“Many, many years ago, when I was youngster growing up, we used to drink some canned milk, I think it was Carnation. And on the can it said ‘contented cows give better milk.’ Well, I have that philosophy about ballplayers. I think that contented ballplayers give better performances.

“In the years I’ve been here, I try to let my players know how much we appreciate them and how much we enjoy all the good things they have done for the organization. . . . That’s why after the game is over, if I can have them come into my office, sit down and have a little bite to eat and talk about the game and discuss any problems they might have, then that’s (great and) the reason for (all the food).

Family-Type Atmosphere

“I believe in the philosophy of the family-type atmosphere . . . where the manager can sit with players, talk with them and eat with them. . . . That’s why you see all of this.”

Lasorda explained further that he was warned by baseball veterans upon being hired as manager not to fraternize with his players over dinner because he would have a difficult time disciplining them during crises. He has not followed the advice. The Dodger skipper pointed out that in his own family, which holds meals to be special events, there is still discipline when needed.

“This is the foundation, I think, for a good ball club--when everyone gets along together and everyone puts forth from their heart. The family that eats together is happy and a team that is together (eating) all the time is (also) happy.”

At this point, the great eater rose from his desk, began walking out of the office and then stopped to give one quick glance over at the remnants of that once-substantial pregame meal.

Although his heart may have secretly longed for yet one more mouthful of stir-fried asparagus with beef, he shunned the table and bounded off to the field to observe batting practice.