Lasorda forever bleeds Dodger blue
The Los Angeles Dodgers are 15 time zones away, but the club’s heart and soul is left behind in the desert.
Tommy Lasorda, baseball’s greatest ambassador, wasn’t shaking hands with dignitaries in Australia on Wednesday, instead shouting advice to players barely old enough to be his grandkids.
For the first time in nearly 40 years, Lasorda says, he will miss the Dodgers’ season opener Saturday against the Arizona Diamondbacks.
And no, he doesn’t plan to set his alarm for 1 a.m. PT to catch the game on TV.
Lasorda, 86, entering his 65th year as a Dodger, will learn the results when he gets the newspaper at the Fullerton, Calif., house he’s lived in since 1963.
“I’ve taken enough 14-hour flights in my life,” Lasorda, who has visited 28 countries, tells USA TODAY Sports. “I don’t need another. If the Dodgers needed me to go, I would have gone.
“Hey, the last time I was there things worked out pretty well.”
Lasorda led Team USA to a gold medal in the 2000 Olympics, perhaps the last medal his coun- try will win in the sport.
“Greatest thrill of my life,” he says “and it’s heartbreaking it’s no longer an Olympic sport.”
Driving his golf cart around the minor league complex Wednesday, that’s the only moment Lasorda seems discouraged. It fades when he sees Charlie Hough, the 66-year-old ex-knuckleballer.
“Great to see you, Tommy,” Hough says. “I’ll talk to you later. I’ve got to get to work.”
“Charlie!” Lasorda yells. “If you love it, it’s not work! We need some life around here. I’ve heard more noise at a funeral.”
Hough looks back, and shouts, ‘OK, everyone, let’s go practice to kill them Angels.’ ”
Lasorda laughs. He used Hough as an example of perseverance to minor leaguers, recalling that Hough was nearly released five times. Once Lasorda taught him a knuckleball, Hough went on to have a 25-year career.
“We’re playing the Marlins in their first game in 1993, and we’re facing Hough,” Lasorda said. “I’m so proud of him that he’s 45 and still pitching. But after saving his ass all those years, he sticks it (to us).
“I see my wife (Jo) and she’s happy. She was rooting for him — he was her favorite player. I almost threw her out of the car.”
Lasorda, who drives his cart around the fields for nearly two hours, is just getting started.
“Hey, where’s my boy going to be this year?” Lasorda yells to De Jon Watson, the Dodgers’ vice president of player development.
It takes a moment, but Watson realizes he’s talking about Corey Seager, their top prospect who will open the season at Class A Rancho Cucamonga (Calif ).
“Cucamonga?” Lasorda screams. “Put him in Triple-A!”
It has been 18 years since a heart attack forced Lasorda from the dugout. His Hall of Fame managing career included two World Series championships and four pennants. Now, his only boss is owner Mark Walter.
“I’ll never want to take off this uniform,” Lasorda said. “I want to keep working for the Dodgers until the day I die. That’s the truth.
“Tell me something, why give up something you love?”
The Dodgers love him back, and the only employee who rivals Lasorda in popularity is Hall of Fame announcer Vin Scully.
“He picks everyone up,” Watson says. “He tells them what it takes to be a big-leaguer. “And ... he’s still a great teacher.”
Damon Mashore, the outfield and baserunning coordinator, is hitting ground balls to his outfielders. Lasorda stops the drill.
“Charge the ball like an infielder,” he shouts. “Watch the barrel of the bat. Charge it,”
They do just that, and Mashore yells back: “Tommy, thank you. I’ve been trying to get them to do that for the last 10 minutes.”
Lasorda drives by the pitching mounds but sees pitchers staring into a mirror, studying their form.
“What the hell you guys doing?” he asks. “Looking to see how good looking you are? Throw the ball. Throw the ball.”
Lasorda can’t believe how the game has changed.
“When a guy had a sore foot and needed a whirlpool, you put your foot in the toilet and flushed it,” Lasorda said. “We had one trainer and all he had was rubbing alcohol. After the sixth inning, he was drinking it.”
When Lasorda’s cart arrives back at the clubhouse, his cellphone goes off. The ring tone is Frank Sinatra, singing My Way.
“My life has been so great,” Lasorda said. “Really, I couldn’t ask for anything more.” Well, except for one request. “I’d love to see another World Series championship here,” Lasorda says. “The fans deserve a winner. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”