Dodgers’ No-Name Defense Doesn’t Fly

Early in this guess-who of a Dodger season, Juan Duran of El Monte was sitting in his usual spot in the pavilion, doing his usual chiding of the Dodger left fielder.

“C’mon, Repko!” he shouted. “Let’s go, Repko!”

After a couple of innings of this, a woman politely nudged him.

“That’s not Repko,” she said, “That’s Ledee.”

Count Juan Duran as one who thinks the Dodgers should put the names back on the shirts.

Count me as two.

It’s been two months now, and I give up.

I’m sick of watching the players run onto the Dodger Stadium field in the first inning with those little leaguers and wondering, which is which?

I’m sick of trying to tell Derek Thompson from Mike Rose from D.J. Edwards from ... wait, do they even have a D.J. Edwards? I’m not entirely sure, but you get the point.

Sit in the Dodger Stadium pavilion for a few innings and realize, those folks aren’t watching baseball, they’re playing Clue.

I’ve got it! It’s Robles in the on-deck circle with a doughnut!

When the Dodgers are mounting a comeback late in the game, it’s not a rally, it’s a whodunit.

Hustle up, boys, we’ve got five minutes to get a positive ID on that pinch-runner!

From Hershiser and Gibson, to Strawberry and Davis, to Piazza and Karros, to ... Abbott and Costello?

Actually, if you can tell a Choi from a Saenz, then “Who’s on first” is one of the only questions you’re not asking.

And if, ahem, you’re a longtime follower and know all the players by their grins or their gaits, there’s still the problem with the numbers.

Why did they get rid of the names yet not increase the size of the numbers?

I’ve looked at that little blue swirl on the giant white back of Hee-Seop Choi and thought, goodness, did I scratch him with my pen?

The small “31” on the wide, wide back of Brad Penny looks like a couple of pieces of masking tape that were affixed just before P.E. class.

I tried. I really tried.

The change was announced last fall, making the Dodgers the only other team besides the New York Yankees to go without names on both their home and road jerseys. The Boston Red Sox and San Francisco Giants do not have names on their home jerseys.

At first, I loved the idea, and I understood the reasoning. So rich and traditional. So Sandy and Maury.

The Dodgers did not have names on their backs until 1972, so if it was good enough for three-quarters of a century, if it was good enough for a Duke, it was good enough for Cesar.

“We wanted to go back to tradition,” owner Frank McCourt said last week, explaining his decision. “Equally important was emphasizing the name on the front of the shirt, emphasizing that teams win championships, not individuals.”

At the time, it was impossible to be a true baseball fan and argue with him.

Today, the decision looks like J.D. Drew against a left-hander.

With the huge spaces surrounding the small numbers, they look like a beer-league softball team without a sponsor, pajama-wearing children at a baseball birthday sleepover.

“It looks like they bought their jerseys at a close-out merchandise sale,” said Dee Dee Fried, a longtime costume designer for film and television. “I’m like, man, finish them off! The jerseys aren’t finished!”

Fried is not a baseball fan, had not seen the Dodgers this season, and watched them on television only at my request.

“To me it looks like somebody trying to save some money,” she said. “They just look chintzy.”

According to the folks at Majestic Athletic, the family-owned Pennsylvania company that manufactures all major league uniforms, removing the name saves only about $10 per uniform, so it’s not about the money.

The Dodgers aren’t selling any special scorecards either, just the regular $5 magazine with a roster inside, so they’re not trying to soak us on that end.

“It’s about earning something different,” said Lou Johnson, former Dodger World Series hero, who never had his name on his shirt. “I got my name without anybody ever seeing my name. I got my name because I earned it. That’s important.”

Important, perhaps, but nearly impossible for today’s L.A. to relate to.

This is an area, after all, where “name recognition” is the second-most important word combination after “carpool lane.”

There are names engraved on sidewalks. There are names stenciled on street signs.

Goodness, we even have a city that wears its name in giant letters on the side of a hill.

Why can’t we have a baseball team that puts names on the backs of its shirts?

The players sometimes ask the same questions. Some think it is a strange marketing idea. Others think it looks silly. None care enough to complain, but they occasionally wonder.

“Outside the stadium, they try to sell us as individuals, so this would seem to defeat the purpose,” Jeff Kent said, shrugging.

He was asked about the notion that the new uniforms promote focus on the team.

“Well, the name on our backs doesn’t affect how we play, because we can’t even see our backs,” he said. “And guys still play for the name on the bottom of their contracts.”

The oddness has spread to the team souvenir store, where one can buy only a numbered jersey with no name.

For an extra $75, the fan can add his name, but, because of the agreement between clubs and the union, it can’t be a player’s name, unless they share a name and the fan can prove it.

The bottom line is, fans can have names on their jerseys but the players can’t.

And if you think you’re confused, what about poor Ricky Ledee?

He frames his jersey from each of his major league teams as a souvenir.

“But I want the jersey with my name on the back to show it was mine,” he said.

His first team? The Yankees.

His most recent team before this year? The Giants.

He joined the Dodgers after McCourt issued his edict, so now he has placed yet another order for another special jersey with his name one it.

“I ordered one with Eric Gagne’s name while I was at it,” he said with a grin.

Being in a nameless category with the Yankees, Red Sox and Giants, one might think the Dodgers were in at least two-thirds good company.

Except, even then, they’re relatively dwarfed by the others. According to the folks at Majestic, the Dodgers have maintained eight-inch numbers while the Giants increased their home size to 8 5/8 inches, the Red Sox’s home size is 8 3/4 inches, and the Yankees’ road size is 8 1/2 inches.

The Yankees’ numbers are only eight inches at home. But, at home, everything is enlarged by that little something called a pinstripe.

“Certainly, we are always reevaluating things, seeing if we can make things better,” McCourt said. “If we think the size of the number needs to be bigger, we’ll do that.”

His intentions are good but, in this town, with this team, it may not be enough.

During these trying Dodger times, names would separate the stars from the scoundrels, encourage fans to embrace one player without being distressed by the other two dozen.

The way things have been going lately, McCourt is right, the Dodgers have all been playing for one name, and it is “Boo.”

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com. To read previous Plaschke columns, go to bill.plaschke@latimes.com.