Silence Is Golden for These Dodgers

First day in Dodgertown this spring. Like returning home. Or so you think.

Drive down newly renamed Tommy Lasorda Lane. Stop to chat with Peter O’Malley as he rides past on his bike.

Listen to the kids from Dodgertown Elementary sing the national anthem. Watch the Dodgers defeat the Detroit Tigers while wearing green caps in honor of St. Patrick’s Day.

Visit the clubhouse, listen for the shouting, the boasting, the annual tales of practical jokes.

Hear nothing.

Think, “Wait a minute, something is wrong.” Look around for somebody to come howling out of an office, somebody to start shouting arrogantly at a club employee, two players to start screaming at each other over a basketball bet.

Hear nothing.

Walk up to Mike Piazza, long hair, deeply tanned, more muscles than Arnold, best in baseball. Maybe he’ll brag about taking the West?

“This team still has some problem areas,” he says quietly. “For me, this season is still wait and see.”

Walk up to Eric Karros, fat new contract, undisputed team leader, radio star. Ask him to make promises about challenging the Braves.

“Hey, in the last two years, we’ve won as many playoff games as the Pirates,” he says, shaking his head. “What can we say?”

Walk up to Bill Russell, new field boss. Ask what has happened to the carefree springs of Dodgers past? The fun, the swagger, the attitude?

“This,” he says, shrugging, “is business.”

Two weeks before the start of the regular season, it appears a wondrous thing has happened to one of baseball’s most bewildering teams.

The Dodgers no longer sound like the Dodgers.

The Dodgers sound like, well, like the Braves.

Confident, but cautious. Smart enough to know that what can go wrong, will. Looking no further than April 1 and the Philadelphia Phillies.

“Mature,” says Russell. “Great on paper, but asking each other, ‘What are you going to do on the field?’ ”

The Dodgers of recent years prepared as if they were going out to play.

These Dodgers are going to work.

The Dodgers of recent years danced into the season.

These Dodgers stalk.

Walk up to Todd Hollandsworth, ask the obvious question. The one that comes with having been named rookie of the year--he’d better get used to it--the sophomore jinx.

He is not amused.

“Technically, this is my third year,” he says. “That’s how I answer that question.”

Baseball’s spring circus has become a football camp. Sweating players walking stiffly to lockers, whispered small talk. Lots of stares. No promises.

“A quiet camp,” Karros says. “A quiet, quiet camp.”

The Dodgers are loaded, but they know that is not good enough.

The Dodgers have apparently answered all of their off-season questions, but they know that the real test has yet to be taken.

They have struggled early in each of the last two playoff seasons. Those struggles have worn them out by October.

They know this cannot happen again. Their confidence must become conviction, and it must happen this month.

“Our approach needed to be different, and it is,” Karros said. “We have to do well at the beginning of the season. We have to be ready now.”

Two weeks before opening day, and game faces are everywhere. Faces resembling that of their new boss.

In his first spring, using the same routine as retired manager Tom Lasorda, Russell has left a very different imprint in the clubhouse.

“The players know there is a time for fun,” Russell says.

But this ain’t it.

“Not a lot of horseplay around here,” Hollandsworth says. “Not a lot of messing around.”

They are thrilled about the comeback of Brett Butler in center field.

But they know better than to fully trust it.

Butler is the same slash-and-sprint leadoff hitter that the Dodgers missed so terribly down the stretch last year. He is still running down balls in center field and spouting inspiration from the bench.

On his midseason birthday, though, he will also be only the fourth player in major league history to play regularly in center field at 40, and the first since Willie Mays.

Butler had made a living wearing down opposing pitchers with long counts. By midseason, will those long counts have worn him down?

Will Butler’s struggle against both age and cancer leave him enough strength to handle a stretch of 38 games in 39 days before the All-Star break?

“The question is still, can Brett play the whole year?” Piazza says.

They are thrilled about the emergence of second baseman Wilton Guerrero.

But they know better than to fully trust it.

Guerrero, who wears his socks high, as did Delino DeShields, and the number 30 once worn by Jose Offerman, figures to overcome those potential jinxes and become a competent No. 2 hitter. He makes contact, and he is the fastest player in the organization.

But will he improve in the field, where he is currently struggling in only his second season at second base? Ninth inning, one-run lead, bases-loaded, two-out . . . will he turn the double play?

“There is a lot of pressure on him, so we’ll have to see,” Piazza says. “One of the traits of a championship team is having lesser-known players come through in the clutch. We need that here.”

The Dodgers are thrilled about Raul Mondesi’s affection for his new spot in the batting order. As the No. 3 hitter, Mondesi is already playing like an MVP candidate.

But they remain cautious.

“As long as he can stay patient and realize that guys like [John] Smoltz and [Greg] Maddux aren’t going to lay it in there for him, he’ll be fine,” says Reggie Smith, the Dodgers’ patient hitting instructor.

Consecutive embarrassing playoff appearances have apparently taught these Dodgers. A new manager has apparently set them straight.

For once, everybody else may think the Dodgers are better than the Dodgers think they are.

This is good. In March, the guy talking the loudest is the guy with nothing to say. In March, silence is the sound of champions.