It’s the Talk of Dodgertown as Players Get a Gift of the Gab

Last spring, it was a place where men barely spoke to each other.

This spring, it’s a speakers’ bureau.

The Dodger clubhouse here has gone from cutthroat to Kiwanis, with Manager Grady Little assigning a different veteran to address the team each morning before workouts. The daily topic is something rarely discussed in these parts.

Yep, the Dodgers are talking baseball.

Eric Gagne has preached. Sandy Alomar Jr. has joked. Kenny Lofton has shared.

Jeff Kent talked for 20 minutes, which is more than anyone has heard him talk in the last year.

On Thursday before the Dodgers’ first spring game, it was Derek Lowe’s turn.

“You don’t have to be ‘idiots’ to win a world championship,” he reportedly told the team, referring to the nickname of his Boston champions.

Good thing, because, at first glance, these 2006 Dodgers are just old-fashioned ballplayers.

There’s gray in some hair, October on some resumes and an entirely new feeling in the room.

“I haven’t been here long enough to really know about anything about the team,” said new third baseman Bill Mueller. “But I do know that I really like coming here.”

Most everything in spring training is conjecture, but this clubhouse contains one tangible truth: It’s vastly, aggressively different from last season.

Within five hours of my arrival in Dodgertown last season, five people approached me from various corners of the quiet clutter to loudly express their fears about lousy chemistry and lack of communication.

“Last year we weren’t sure about Paul DePodesta, and we all knew Jim Tracy was probably on his way out, and there was all kinds of guesses going on,” Kent said.

This year, the players aren’t dishing about each other because they’re too busy talking to each other.

“This year, the guesses have been replaced with answers,” Kent said.

For once, the noise in the clubhouse is a consistent mixture of language, Spanish matching English, country talk matching city slang, crusty old voices mixing with youthful howls.

The loss of Adrian Beltre as a leader among the Spanish-speaking contingent finally has been filled with Rafael Furcal and Alomar Jr., who conduct daily chat sessions with teammates sitting in an expanding circle of chairs.

The veteran presence of Kent -- who has never been comfortable as a solo leader -- has been enhanced with Lofton, Mueller and Nomar Garciaparra.

The manager, as quiet as wallpaper, with a drawl as slow as paint, watches from a distance.

“If things don’t need fixing, I won’t be fixing them,” Little said.

The kids sit in their corner and listen, with outfielder Matt Kemp recently spotted sitting and watching for nearly an hour.

“There is so much knowledge around here,” said Kemp, who threw out an Atlanta Brave runner from right field on the fly in the Dodgers’ spring-training opener Thursday. “I’m just taking it all in.”

One of Little’s first acts was to ban the playing of music on clubhouse speakers before games. And though no music is played during spring training, this has been a huge cause for team separation during the regular season. Players would leave the room if they didn’t like the type of music that the starting pitcher had chosen to blare through the room.

“It was one reason I never stayed in the clubhouse, I didn’t like some of that stuff,” Kent said. “It’s a good move.”

Little’s next act was to set up the unusual speakers’ bureau.

Said Alomar Jr.: “I had never heard of that before, somebody actually scheduling players to talk.”

Said Little: “I wanted a way for the veterans to share what they know. I get more than 30 seconds’ notice when I speak at the Kiwanis, so they should also get notice.”

General Manager Ned Colletti, who built the team with this sort of communication in mind, has since challenged the players to do something even more drastic.

He wanted them to -- gasp -- actually have dinner with each other. He clinched the deal by agreeing to buy.

Gagne has gone out with the bullpen. The veteran catchers have entertained the kid catchers.

The other night, the veteran position players gathered up some kids, and 16 guys ended up at the same table.

Said Little: “None of this is happening by accident.”

Said Colletti: “To me, that’s where it all starts.”

During Garciaparra’s pre-workout speech, Colletti was standing in a corner wearing a 2002 San Francisco Giant league championship ring.

“Let’s win our own championship so we can make him take off that stupid ring,” Garciaparra shouted.

Colletti laughed. They all laughed. In symphonic Dodgertown this spring, no sound is sweeter.