Another Order of Strawberry

Darryl Strawberry has just stroked a thigh-high, fat-of-the-bat, silver-platter baseball between the flagpole stanchions backing Dodger Stadium’s center-field fence, a 400-foot poke. As it passes cleanly through the uprights like a field goal at a football game, it puts the Dodgers on top of San Diego by one run and keeps them on top of Atlanta, momentarily, by one game.

All seems well.

Darryl is doing it. Doing whatever it takes. Showing why he makes whatever it is he makes.

But soon, much like the stitching on the baseball crushed by Strawberry, everything unravels. San Diego scrapes together one run, then another run, then another. A worm-wiggly bunt here. A misplayed ball there. A misthrown ball here. A frog-hopped ball there. There is not much the Dodgers can do about it, not unless they can get Strawberry to the plate again with about six or seven men on base.

A park employee passes out a souvenir baseball cap commemorating Dodger Stadium’s 30th anniversary. Suddenly, it occurs--no, really sinks in--that this could be it. That there might not be another baseball game played on these premises for more than six months . That this could be the end.

I place my order: More Strawberry. I realize that I am not willing to wait until next spring for Darryl to return. I want to see more. He is just getting rolling. Every swing is an interesting thing. He is in the groove, in the mood, in a zone of his own. He is prepared to carry the Dodgers, if they are prepared to be carried. His intent is to carry them back home.

I watch him with wonderment. From Sunday through Wednesday, in the baseball season’s final week, I have now been witness to a game-winning single by Strawberry the first night, followed by three moon-threatening home runs as the man goes about confirming why he is still, from Orange County to the Big Apple, the man.

Yet, I also watch this wondering. Wondering how soon any of us will be able to experience the anticipation and pleasure of watching Strawberry step to the plate at Dodger Stadium again.

Will it be in a seven-game playoff against the Pittsburgh Pirates that would not bring the Dodgers back to the West Coast until a week from Saturday? Will it be in a one-game playoff against the Atlanta Braves a few days from now, on a Monday night when the Georgia boys stand every chance of being seriously jet-lagged?

Or will it be April 6, 1992, against the San Francisco Giants?

There is nothing the Dodgers can do now except play and be played. Some of their truest, bluest fans are moping around, accusing the Cincinnati Reds of lying down and dying before the Atlanta Braves, but that is utterly ridiculous for a number of reasons, not the least of which is this: Why would the Reds bother scoring six runs in the first inning Tuesday if they intended to take a dive?

No, let’s not lose our cool, for which we Californians are famous. Just because the Braves are maddeningly winning does not mean that anyone else is deliberately losing. And just because the Dodgers are not by themselves in first place at the moment does not mean that they will not be there come supper time Sunday.

But they are in danger, make no mistake about it. They could lose this thing by three games, if they aren’t careful. Everything is going Atlanta’s way now, from the advantage of the home field to the advantage of opposing a Houston Astro lineup that would have difficulty winning a World Series in Williamsport, Pa.

The Dodgers are putting forth a brave (if you’ll pardon the expression) front. Their ambition, however, was to travel to San Francisco for the weekend with a two-game cushion atop every airline seat, so that back in Atlanta, the Braves would be feeling so tight that every time they swung a bat, their armpits would squeak.

Now, I am sorry to deliver the bad news, to be the town crier. Don’t murder the messenger, but the pressure is on the Atlanta Braves no more. The pressure is on the Los Angeles Dodgers, who no longer can call themselves the leaders or consider themselves the favorites. They can squawk at this assessment if they wish, but it is true. The Dodgers are underdogs now, like it or not.

Dead, no. They still have the pitching to win this thing. They still have the hitting to win this thing. Eddie Murray’s working on his second 2,500 hits. Brett Butler’s trying to play an entire season without an error. Kal Daniels is part of a murderers’ row that Strawberry is personally inviting to play truth-or-dare.

And that is the one other thing the Dodgers still have going for them: Darryl. He is the one who can make it happen now. He is the one who can show them the way to go home.