Hard Part Now Is Managing Life

Another day in no-manager’s land.

Tom Lasorda stands in the Dodger Stadium press dining room, five floors up from his former team, a thousand miles away.

It is the fifth inning of a game against, who was that again? Does it matter?

Lasorda is not watching it. He is not watching anything. He stands in the dining room, alone, looking spiffy in his sport coat and sweater vest, looking lost.

A waiter comes by with a tray full of little cups of ice cream. They are destined for a group of VIPs somewhere.

“Boy, that looks good,” Lasorda says to the guy. “You know, I would like a little bit of that. Not a full cup, just a very little bit.”

Two months ago, Lasorda asks for something like that, somebody brings him a gallon, tells him to keep the spoon.

This kid pauses only long enough to look at Lasorda as if he just asked for a ride to Mars.

Who is this guy, anyway? say the kid’s eyes.

Another day in no-manager’s land.

Tom Lasorda is in his new office, on the side of the stadium complex that houses the business people, the wrong side.

The room has the approximate dimensions of a long and narrow closet. Lots of white paint and harsh lights. No windows.

Lasorda is beginning to hang pictures from his cozy clubhouse office. But all those faces that looked so joyous five floors below--Ted Williams, Sandy Koufax, Hank Aaron--look strangely old and tired here.

Friends who visit him sit in a chair at the far end of the closet and look the same.

“I gave up a lot,” Lasorda admits. “A lot.”

But did he have to give up this much?

That is a question worth asking as the Dodgers complete their first month in 20 years without Lasorda as manager.

Whether you believe he should still be managing--and most folks don’t--is irrelevant.

What matters is what has happened since his strongly encouraged retirement.

Despite his outward bravado, Lasorda is not handling it very well.

Despite their acclamations, the Dodgers are not making it any easier.

At times it seems they are so happy to have him off the bench, they have forgotten he is still in the house.

“It has been hard to get adjusted,” Lasorda says. “Here I am, not in uniform . . . it’s unbelievable.”

As are other things.

Lasorda has not once complained about his post-retirement life. Yet longtime onlookers have watched him and cringed.

Example: He doesn’t even have a place to sit during games at Dodger Stadium.

He could watch from the stands, but he would be swamped and never see a pitch. He could share a box with Peter O’Malley or Fred Claire, and sometimes he does, but that’s sort of like being a guest in your own house.

Lacking his own spot, he mostly wanders around the press box.

The other day he actually wandered to its edge and yelled up at some kids making too much noise in the upper deck.

Wonder if that will be in his Hall of Fame speech?

Example: While other top Dodger officials have offices overlooking the field, this new vice president works in the cubbyhole of an accountant.

He spends several hours a day there answering letters and setting up appearances. Guests will take one step inside and wonder, just how far has he fallen?

“Least I have an office,” he said. “Think about the poor guy who moved out so I could move in.”

Example: No other Dodger receives more mail, yet Lasorda still does not even have an administrative assistant.

“Look at this stuff,” he says, pointing to several full boxes of letters. “This has been overwhelming.”

And to think that Lasorda has spent most of his working days biting the bullet for the sake of his bosses.

He has scolded those who claimed he was forced out, even though he really didn’t have a choice.

He has strongly backed owner O’Malley and Vice President Claire, even though he would still be managing if they had insisted.

He has avoided any discussion of new boss Bill Russell. When he takes the elevator to the field, he turns right toward the visitors’ clubhouse, never left toward his own.

Not once has he visited his old office, now freshly painted and cleansed of his memory. Not once has he talked to a player.

“I will not be a distraction. I want to be as far removed as I can,” Lasorda says.

The Dodgers are fortunate he has chosen this path, instead of one that could have divided the fans and players, turning the championship race into a month of turmoil.

All it would have taken is a whisper.

“Tommy has been unbelievable through all of this,” Claire says. “He’s handled it extremely well. I think that all of the things involved with his retirement will eventually sort themselves out.”

Sooner than later, it is hoped.

The Dodgers need to move Lasorda’s office to the baseball side. Give him a view of the field where he once treated them to a view of greatness. Now.

To leave him with the business people is to announce to the world that he was a marketing guy, not a baseball guy. Even his biggest critics must agree he was both.

Hire an administrative assistant for him. Now. Or is he really not a vice president?

And begin plans to build a stadium box for him. If O’Malley can spend $250 million on a football stadium, he can certainly drop a few bills on a place where baseball’s ambassador can do his best work.

“They better be carful,” says one longtime Lasorda friend. “If they don’t treat him decent, he’ll unload on them.”

It will never happen. Lasorda will never publicly rip the Dodgers. For reasons ranging from loyalty to longtime insecurities, he can’t. He’ll probably never work anywhere else either.

When it comes to dealing with their most famous personality, the Dodgers have all the power, all the leverage.

The true heart of the organization will be revealed by what they do with it.