Body language suggests times are good

Humor certainly has no place in sports, but purists like me are OK with a certain amount of dirty dancing. Because as every Lakers fan knows, you can influence the outcome of a game with just the right move.

Free throw, three-pointer, doesn’t matter. What you do is contort yourself in such a way as to influence nature’s very force fields and will the ball into the basket.

Come on, like you never do this?

Free throws are easiest. You simply rub your hands together just before the shot to produce enough kinetic energy to influence the arc of the ball. This can be done at a game, at a bar or from your personal man (or woman) cave.

In either case, it is usually followed by a fist pump and a high-five.

Trying to influence the outcome of a sporting event with twisting, tilting, agonized body language is as American as rehab. It’s how I met my current wife. She fouled me intentionally at a Dolphins game. Four kids later, I think it might be serious between us.

But that’s another kind of romance. What I’m here to talk about is the spring fling we’re currently having with the Lakers, Ducks, Angels and Dodgers. To borrow a bit from John Lennon: April is a promise, April is a souvenir.

Just don’t go dancing about casually, without stretching. You don’t want to pull a hamstring, or worse, pop a schnitzel.

Not to get all medical, but the schnitzel is a long, powerful muscle running from the back of the tongue, through your funny bone, all the way to the lower shank.

Lakers fans have huge schnitzels and are particularly prone to pulls. Once you pull one, you will walk and talk funny for a very long time.

Who needs that, not me. There are already too many troubling developments in our modern games: escalating prices, narcissistic athletes, that new announcer in the Dodgers’ booth, who’s what, 12? Vin Scully is baseball’s Frank Sinatra. And now we’ve got one of the Jonas Brothers.

Worst of all, perhaps, is John Madden’s surprise retirement last week. The news that our humorist emeritus is retiring at the tender age of 73 still affects me days later.

Yes, such a reaction is a little pathetic, but I’ve got a brain like a bag of peanuts (and lots of empty shells). Still, what Madden’s retirement represents, I fear, is no less than a sea change in the way we consider sports. The truly colorful broadcasters -- the Carays, the Ueckers, the Bradshaws -- are beginning to yield to a generation of sports technicians who are about as entertaining as brake work.

(Favorite Bob Uecker line: “Mulligan drives the ball. It’s going, going . . . and caught by the shortstop.”)

Sure, sports franchises are big businesses with lots at stake. I don’t care. We used to have evil empires to worry over, and now we have AIG and Time Warner. Unfortunately, you can’t aim an ICBM at big business.

Given that, I suppose we should be glad that our local pro teams are, for the most part, in the hands of private, occasionally flawed individuals as opposed to public, deeply dopey corporations.

And while we’re looking for upbeat signs this spring, have you noted that L.A. is now the cradle of coaching? Southern California boasts four potential legends in their respective sports: Pete Carroll, Joe Torre, Mike Scioscia and Phil “Lord of the Rings” Jackson?

I’ve thought about this for several minutes now, and I can’t come up with any one place that has featured this much skill, class and coaching brio at one time. Who am I missing? O.K., Wooden, McKay and Alston. Maybe.

While you’re thinking about this -- I love getting in your head -- I’m going to savor this spring sports fest we’ve got going. On April evenings sweet enough to drink, I’m going to catch one of the local hardball teams in action or turn on the Lakers and dance Kobe’s jump shot straight into the hoop.

I’m going to check in on the Ducks and keep an eye on this weekend’s NFL draft to see where Mark Sanchez lands or if the Bears pick a fleet receptionist with hands like wet lacquer.

And if all this isn’t enough to make you smile, you should know that I’m currently chasing a very hot tip on how to get free sodas at Dodgers games. You heard me right. Free.

Because in April, the Coke cup should always be half full.

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Erskine also writes “Man of the House” for Saturday’s Home section.

chris.erskine@latimes.com.