The Fans Forgive. Forget? No Way

Baseball is back. The Dodgers are back. All’s right with the world.

The Dodgers played their home opener Friday night in Dodger Stadium before a noisy sellout crowd.

As you already know, if you read the sports pages or watch TV, the Dodgers beat the Atlanta Braves 9-1, giving themselves a 3-0 start on the season.

The playing field was beautiful after its long rest. The grass was a rich green, the base paths unblemished. The sky was dark, threatening rain. “Looks like it might rain,” I said on our way to the stadium.

“No, it won’t rain,” my wife said. She knows about things like that. Of course not a drop fell.

Before the game, as usual, a mixed group of high school bands played “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” and the Crenshaw High School chorus sang “The Star-Spangled Banner.” A corps of old Dodger employees were introduced, including Roger Owens (Roger the Peanut Man), who has been throwing bags of peanuts to fans throughout the stands for years, almost without a miss. (Some fans think Roger ought to be part of the bullpen.)

We fans didn’t know what to expect. But the crowd was well-behaved. Apparently all was forgiven. The only boos came when an umpire called a Dodger batter out on a third strike. (Actually, it was a ball.)

Tommy Lasorda was back, trotting out to second base to protest an umpire’s call. As usual, he retreated without success, looking slightly overweight as he trotted back to the dugout.

I went to the game with my wife, my son Curt and his friend, George Seidel. We sat at the club level near owner Peter O’Malley’s box. Three exuberant high school-age girls in white sweat shirts sat in a nearby box, screaming for the home team. They seemed to typify the enthusiasm of the whole crowd.

At the seventh-inning break, the girls joined the crowd in singing the unofficial national anthem, “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” Most of us know the words better than we know “The Star-Spangled Banner,” which we had already sung.

When O’Malley emerged briefly from his box, the three girls surrounded him, asking for his autograph. Each had a ball. O’Malley obliged and the girls went shrieking back to their box. The new Dodger generation.

Later my wife happened to go to the women’s restroom when the girls were there, still chattering about their autographs. “Who signed the balls?” an older woman asked.

“Pete O’Malley,” one of the girls answered.

“Mr. O’Malley is no Pete,” my wife told me she said. She knows the man. “It’s Peter O’Malley.”

“ Peter O’Malley,” the girl said, chastened.

It turned out the girls were students at Huntington Christian School in Huntington Beach. The Dodgers’ future is assured as long as they have fans like them.

The game makes its own heroes. Everyone was feeling the loss of Brett Butler, the Dodger outfielder and leadoff man, but a kid named Billy Ashley did fine in the outfield and at bat as well, hitting a double to the fence, a sacrifice fly to deep center and then a three-run homer that went out of the park.

To get into the spirit of the evening I had a beer in the first inning, and later my son brought me a Dodger Dog with everything on it. Nothing really tastes better than a hot dog at the ballpark. While I was eating it my wife pointed out that I had got my nose in the mustard. I read in the next morning’s paper that a picket line had been formed at the main gate, with disgruntled ex-fans protesting the greed of both owners and players in the strike. However, I was unaware of the demonstration and sensed no note of disaffection in the crowd of 51,181.

As if the fireworks provided by the 9-1 victory over the Braves weren’t enough, a spectacular fireworks display followed the game. Half the crowd stayed throughout the show, moving out on the field but not standing on the dirt running paths.

I did not understand the strike. I was not sympathetic to either side. I tend to agree that greed was the motivating factor for players and owners alike. But baseball has such a hold on most American people that we seem willing to forgive and to take it on almost any terms.

I am glad the game is back. I hope the Dodgers go on to win the pennant and then the World Series. What is America without a World Series?

But I’m warning both sides. I don’t believe I can forgive another strike, and I think millions of fans feel the same. From now on, it’s got to be “Play ball!”

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Jack Smith’s column is published Mondays.

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