No Piazza Delivery

Somewhere, maybe in Miami, maybe in New York, Mike Piazza will conclude his dogged, bridge-burning crusade and become, finally, the major leagues’ first self-made $100-millionaire.

But in Los Angeles, where he flirted with a popularity known only to Sandy Koufax and Fernando Valenzuela before him, Piazza’s Dodger career will now be remembered for its contradictions as well as its contributions.

Piazza the Dodger was, at once, the embodiment of the old-school East Coast sweat-of-the-brow work ethic . . . and 1990s West Coast what’s-in-it-for-me? self-absorption.

His legend had it that he was unwanted by the Dodgers at first, a nondescript 62nd-round draft choice who had nothing handed to him and built himself into an all-star through hard work and relentless training in the weight room.

Yet, he was anything but underprivileged. His father was rich enough to bid to buy the San Francisco Giants and build young Mike his own home batting cage, and his first Dodger manager also happened to be a kindly old family friend, Tommy Lasorda--an advantage Jose Offerman, say, never had.

Piazza was the best offensive catcher of his era, and arguably of all time, twice runner-up for National League most-valuable-player award.

Yet with Piazza behind the plate and in the middle of the lineup, the Dodgers failed to win even a single playoff game.

He was regarded by many outside the Dodger clubhouse as a team leader and a charismatic lightning rod, yet a former teammate, Brett Butler, criticized him this spring for selfishness and others bristled when Piazza blamed the Dodgers’ 1997 struggles on the club being too ethnically diverse.

He was a fan favorite, the Dodgers’ most popular player of the ‘90s, yet he was booed at home games this season after rejecting the team’s roughly $80-million offer to re-sign him.

He is a probable Hall of Famer, long regarded as a Dodger “untouchable,” yet the team traded him Friday to the Florida Marlins less than two months into his sixth Dodger season.

Then again, because of these contradictions, Piazza came to symbolize and epitomize the Dodgers of the 1990s, for better and worse.

On paper--that dread phrase that taunts so many Dodger fans spring after spring after spring--Piazza may well be the greatest hitting catcher who ever played. His batting average is higher than Mickey Cochrane’s. He is averaging more home runs per season than Johnny Bench, Yogi Berra or Roy Campanella, and more RBIs than Bench, Bill Dickey or Carlton Fisk.

In 1996 and 1997, Piazza made serious runs at becoming the first catcher since Ernie Lombardi in 1942 to win a league batting championship. In 1996, Piazza’s .336 average was eclipsed only by Tony Gwynn’s .368 and Ellis Burks’ .344; in 1997, he raised that mark to .362 and finished third behind Gwynn (.372) and Larry Walker (.366).

He was rookie of the year in 1993, most valuable player of the All-Star game in 1996 and runner-up to Ken Caminiti and Larry Walker in the 1996 and 1997 National League MVP balloting.

Yet . . .

Piazza played in six postseason games as a Dodger and took the collar, losing them all, 0 for 6, while batting .250 with three RBIs.

That would have been the postseasons of 1995 and 1996, because in 1997, despite Piazza’s .362 average and 40 home runs and 124 RBIs and .638 slugging percentage, the Dodgers blew a 2 1/2-game lead to San Francisco, won only 88 games and failed to earn even the National League’s wild-card entry into the playoffs.

Not that these failures rested solely on Piazza. Hardly, not with Todd Worrell blowing save opportunities down the stretch as if they were birthday candles and Eric Karros and Todd Zeile whipping up small funnel clouds over Chavez Ravine by fanning at so many off-speed pitches.

But if Piazza was a team leader, his team was going nowhere. No pennants, no playoff victories . . . and after seven weeks, 1998 was already looking naggingly similar to 1997.

Again, Piazza was among the league leaders in home runs and RBIs, with a record-tying three grand slams in April.

Again, the Dodgers were floundering in the NL West standings, 19-21 and seven games behind first-place San Diego as of Friday morning, by which time they finally said yes to the Marlins and goodbye to Piazza.

The Piazza trade is a big one, a significant one, but is it cause for civic mourning in Los Angeles, to be met with the same shock that accompanied Magic Johnson’s retirement announcement, or the outrage that greeted the Kings’ trading of Wayne Gretzky?

Piazza’s celebrity in Los Angeles might have approached that of Johnson and Gretzky, but never was quite the equal. For good reason. For six good reasons--six wholly unsatisfactory playoff results.

Magic brought Los Angeles five NBA championships in nine seasons.

Gretzky brought Los Angeles to the brink of the Stanley Cup in 1993.

Piazza brought Los Angeles great expectations. Every gargantuan home run was a reason to hope. Every game-winning RBI was another tease that maybe, maybe this could be the Dodgers’ year.

But, ultimately, Dodger fans were left to ask as they slumped in their bleacher seats, “Where is the payoff?”

For Piazza, it will come, probably not in Miami, but maybe in New York, where George Steinbrenner can stare a $100-million demand in the eye and not flinch.

And it may finally come to the Dodgers too, now that they have decided to stop waiting to see what happens first:

Piazza in the Hall of Fame?

Or the Dodgers back in the World Series?