New Uniform, Same Old Slide

There were several awkward moments Wednesday evening at Pedro Guerrero’s homecoming, including the awkward grand finale in the second inning.

The night’s honored guest at Dodger Stadium slid into second base, jammed his left ankle and limped off the field and out of the game. It was one of those trademark Pedro semi-slides, a wanna-be of a slide.

This kind of slide was probably what Dizzy Dean had in mind when he coined the word “slud” as a past-tense of slide.

Guerrero’s maneuver was half-slide, half-thud--a slud, podnuh.

The game continued, but Pedro’s exit ended a semi-festive, semi-warm, semi-confusing welcome-back party.

A little background:

The Dodgers traded Guerrero to the St. Louis Cardinals last August for pitcher John Tudor. The Cardinals were deep, deep in fifth place in their division; the Dodgers were headed toward the World Series, and Guerrero was semi-seething, especially after the Dodgers voted him only half a share of their championship money.

In spring training, Guerrero went out of his way to rip the Dodgers, especially General Manager Fred Claire and Manager Tommy Lasorda.

“They treated me like a dog,” was one thing Guerrero said.

“I treated him like a son,” was one thing Lasorda said in response.

Who was right? It’s confusing; it reminds me of the Walt Disney movie where Fred MacMurray’s son turns into a dog, with much hijinks and much blurring of the traditional societal roles of sons and dogs.

The Dodgers planned long ago to honor Pedro his first time back in Los Angeles, and to their credit, the organization didn’t scrap the plan when Guerrero woofed at them.

The situation grew stickier last week when the Dodgers played in St. Louis and Pedro made no apparent attempt to talk to Lasorda or soften the criticism.

Now we take you to Dodger Stadium and the soap opera that unfolded before Wednesday’s game.

First, Guerrero backed way off his hard-core, anti-Dodger comments.

“I probably was out of my mind,” Guerrero said, shortly after arriving at the park. “You guys (reporters) have to realize we are human beings. . . . One thing I can probably guarantee, people who know me, if they say I say a lot of things that I don’t mean, they probably be right. We all human, we have the right to make mistakes, to get upset.

“I probably was wrong a lot of things that I say. I never said the organization treated me bad. I was upset when I got traded, I had an opportunity to be in another World Series, but it seem like they don’t care.”

Regarding the upcoming pregame ceremony, Guerrero said, “I realize it is something special for me, I really appreciate it, especially after I say whatever I say. I probably was wrong.”

As for Lasorda, the Dodger most deeply hurt by Guerrero’s remarks, Pedro said, “I feel bad I didn’t get to talk to him (in St. Louis). I won’t forget the many things he did for me, even though I did (forget them). He treated me like a son, yes, I admit that.”

Now we move out to the batting cage and relay Guerrero’s words to Lasorda, who is not mollified.

“I want him to tell me that,” Lasorda said, grimly, staring at the action in the cage. “He knows where I am, he’s the guy who made the statements.

“Ask him how many times he came into my office and used my phone. Ask him how many times I threw him curveballs (in batting practice). Ask him who put him in the lineup.

“I was hurt by what he said, it really hurt me. I loved him, I took care of him, I gave him his chance. I didn’t deserve that.”

Would Lasorda participate in the pregame ceremony?

“I’m not gonna do it.”

But stay tuned.

Minutes later, Guerrero ducked into the Dodger dugout, trotted up the tunnel and entered Lasorda’s office. With ex-general manager Al Campanis serving some sort of mediator role, Lasorda and Guerrero met for about 20 minutes.

“He apologized to me,” Lasorda said. “He said he made a mistake, that’s it. I’m happy he came in, talked to me, explained his feelings. I have to accept that. He was man enough to come in here, I’m man enough to accept it.

“It’s over with.”

“Until you dust him,” one sportswriter said, and Lasorda chuckled.

The pregame ceremony itself was semi-awkward. Since it was held 15 minutes before the game, most of the 34,000 fans hadn’t yet left their homes. However, dozens of people stood behind Pedro at home plate, as if he were going to sing lead for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

The few thousand fans greeted their returning ex-hero with a mixture of cheers and boos.

Various organizations presented Guerrero with gifts, including a Caribbean meal on a serving cart, and one of those stereo boom boxes that are a plague on civilization.

Lasorda didn’t speak. He hung near the back of the pack at home plate, but he did hold Pedro’s daughter, Ashley, treating her like a granddaughter.

Fred Claire, whose baseball acumen and fielding ability had been impugned by Pedro, said a few kind words and presented Guerrero with a framed collection of photos from his Dodger career.

Pedro spoke briefly, thanking, among others, “Tommy Lasorda, for giving me the opportunity to play every day for the Dodgers.”

He also said, “I want to thank my ex-teammates.”

But only one or two of his ex-teammates--Alfredo Griffin was one--came down to the Dodger dugout to watch the festivities. It’s safe to say there was a dry eye in the Dodger clubhouse.

Guerrero led off the second inning with a single, raising his batting average to .303. Then he slud into second base, then limped to the locker room, perhaps to tune in Vinnie on the boom box and start in on that Caribbean feast.

In keeping with the spirit of the evening, the meal by then was probably semi-warm.