This Hurt Goes Only Cleat Deep

I guess on “Dave Dravecky Day,” a baseball player cannot treat a defeat like the end of the world. Not when a former player is riding around a stadium in a convertible, waving to the crowd with the one arm he has left, now that the cancerous one has been amputated.

Tom Lasorda, too, knows something about losing something more important than a game of baseball. His son was taken from him in the midst of 1991, an irreplaceable boy of summer, which is reason enough that the Dodger manager will never forget this particular season in the sun, its joys, its sacrifices, its injustices, or where and how it came to an end.

“I don’t mean it to sound morbid,” Lasorda said here Saturday, “but right now, I am really broken-hearted.”

So were all the faded blue men of the Los Angeles Dodgers, in varying degrees, some of whom took pride in a job well done, some of whom took umbrage at jobs done by others, some of whom took pains to defer or accept responsibility, some of whom took the opportunity to applaud the Atlanta Braves on a job better done, on being the National League West’s champions, on doing to the Dodgers what so often the Dodgers had done unto others.

Catcher Mike Scioscia said he understood completely why so many others had found the Braves so appealing.

“They were David,” he said. “And we were Goliath.”

So unpopular were the Dodgers, sentimentally or otherwise, among baseball fans or players not their own, it was all some could do to resist suggesting that opponents ganged up on them. Darryl Strawberry, for one, lashed out as “unprofessional” and “a bunch of jerks” those who admittedly tried harder--or tried at all--to bring about the downfall of the Dodgers, while even Lasorda wondered aloud about a favoritism toward the Braves expressed--if not demonstrated--by principals who are contractually and spiritually obligated to try hard against everybody.

Then again, the Dodgers also had reflections in their own mirrors to examine.

Their heads, at times, were not inside their caps. In the last week of the season, when total concentration has never been more in need, there were such sights as Juan Samuel tagging at second base and speeding to third against San Diego--with two out; as pitcher Roger McDowell grabbing a grounder and zipping it to home plate for a force play--with two out; as Kal Daniels, in Saturday’s meaningful game, never budging from third base on a grounder to the third baseman--with two out.

There were physical mistakes, too.

Strawberry overshot the cutoff man, Samuel, with his throw from right field on Will Clark’s triple Saturday, which led to San Francisco’s first run. Gary Carter twice double-clutched on stolen bases, unable to make a throw, and twice stood braced at home plate while Giant runners, both beaten there by the baseball, scored without need of a slide.

On a day when the Dodgers needed to be at their absolute sharpest, they permitted two runs to score on a fly ball to left field that was caught. This is the play that, trust us, will never be spliced onto that continually updated Diamond Vision highlight film featuring Eddie Murray’s “excuse-me” single, Eric Karros’ ball to the wall, Mitch Webster’s liner to left and all of those other memorable home movies from 1991.

It is senseless to dissect a 162-game schedule play by play, to wonder whether Scioscia could have blocked the plate more successfully than Carter, or whether the Dodgers would have lost ground to the Braves had their regular shortstop or ace relief pitcher remained healthy, or whether a team that wins 92 games and loses fewer than 70 should be remembered as a winner or a loser.

Carter’s attitude was the healthier one: “I gave it all I had,” he said. “That’s all any of us can do.”

Still, from a competitor’s standpoint, it was no more pleasant losing this game for Carter than it was calling the pitch 10 years ago this month that Rick Monday of the Dodgers put into Olympic Stadium’s seats to put Montreal out of the World Series. On one play Saturday, a throw that short-hopped Carter backed him far enough from the plate that he failed to tag Willie McGee until it was too late. On another play, Carter one-handed a ball and Clark kicked it free.

But he was trying. He was trying so hard, he nearly ran headlong into the Giant dugout wall while catching a foul, and of those plays at the plate, Scioscia generously volunteered that Carter handled those tricky throws better than he would have himself, the kind of remark that makes one further understand why teammates appreciate having Scioscia around.

Scioscia also said: “All you can ever hope to do is get into a pennant race, and we did that. That’s why I’d like to publicly congratulate the Atlanta Braves for what they did. They came out and won the division--we didn’t lose it. The Braves are a classy bunch of guys, and I am as glad for them as I’m sad for us.”

Sadness is where you find it, and the Dodgers will deal with theirs. They know in their hearts that other teams, other players, take satisfaction in their failure. Even the Giants, who in the end eliminated them, believed that any day that began with a tribute to Dravecky and ended with the capitulation of the Dodgers could be classified as a very well-spent day.

Lasorda, who knows the difference between baseball heartbreak and real heartbreak, would say only: “If I was San Francisco and I finished 20 games behind, I don’t see why I’d be happy about anything.”