100 Things Dodgers Fans Should Know & Do Before They Die (17 page)

44. Know Red Barber

Once upon a time, Vin Scully was the young upstart, and the eminence of Dodgers broadcasting was a Columbus, Mississippi, native named Walter Lanier Barber. It was Barber who initially established the tradition of master storytellers in the Dodgers broadcasting booth.

“Red was so different that he made a tremendous impact on the community,” Scully said. “If you can imagine a Southern gentleman broadcasting the Brooklyn Dodgers in the borough of Brooklyn, the contrast right there was really something. It wasn't an oxymoron exactly, but I think you understand, you're a Brooklyn fan listening to a fellow with this very soft, southern voice. And he was just marvelous; he did such a tremendous job.”

Born in 1908, Barber began his baseball broadcasting career in 1934 with the Cincinnati Reds (he was on the air for the first major league game he ever attended), and then moved to do Brooklyn games in 1939. Along with Mel Allen, Barber was one of two original Ford C. Frick award winners from the Baseball Hall of Fame. He is responsible for a popularizing a chunk of baseball vernacular like “rhubarb” and “sitting in the catbird seat” and other phrases that remained uniquely his own, such as “wild as a hungry chicken hawk on a frosty morning” and “slicker than oiled okra.” But reducing Barber to figures of speech does him an injustice.

Barber is best appreciated experientially, atmospherically. The rapid, high-pitched cadence, the lithe banter with his unseen, unheard but appreciative listeners are best when realized first-hand. Alternating with Connie Desmond and Scully, who joined the team in 1950, Barber set the tone not only for broadcasts of that era, but for decades to come.

“Red Barber moved people,” wrote Bob Edwards, who hosted Barber's weekly commentaries for 12 years on National Public Radio called
Fridays with Red
. “A microphone was his magic wand. Either he knew what people cared about or he made them care simply because he raised the subject. It seemed to me that no one was indifferent to him or what he had to say. He knew how to reach listeners in a way that no one else on radio could.”

“In Brooklyn,” Scully added, “when we had Red, Connie, and the kid, what [fans of today] missed there was almost a familial thing. Red was the father, Connie was the older brother, and I was the kid. And I don't think you'll ever quite see that again.”

If it weren't for Barber, the Scully that Dodgers fans came to know over six decades might have become diminished. Barber taught Scully preparation, amongst a myriad of other things.

 

 

Three legendary broadcasters in Dodgers history—Red Barber (left), Connie Desmond (center), and Vin Scully (right)—stand together during spring training at Dodgertown in Vero Beach, Florida, circa 1950. Barber, who worked for the Dodgers from 1939–53, became Scully's mentor when the young Fordham graduate joined the Dodgers in 1950. Desmond was a popular announcer with the Dodgers from 1943–56.
Photo by Barney Stein. All rights reserved.

 

“When I started, just imagine, in New York you had Red Barber and Connie Desmond with the Dodgers,” Scully recalled. “The Yankees had Mel Allen and Curt Gowdy. The Giants had Russ Hodges and Ernie Harwell. And what Red wanted was for me not to lose myself. It would be a tendency for a young broadcaster to tune in and maybe consciously or subconsciously pick up inflections, tonal qualities, expressions from the other announcers. And I guess you could say he was saying to me, ‘Look, don't water your wine.' Because he said to me once—and I was shocked when he said it—he said, ‘You know, you bring something into the booth that no one else does.' Well I looked at him; I had no idea what could that be. And he said, ‘Yourself.' And that was the difference.”

According to Edwards, Barber's departure from the Dodgers in 1953 was hastened by general manager Branch Rickey parting ways with the franchise a few years earlier. Barber and Walter O'Malley clashed, and Barber left after O'Malley didn't back him on a dispute with advertising manager Craig Smith of Gillette, which controlled broadcasting rights to the World Series. The next year, Barber was broadcasting from Yankee Stadium.

But when you think of Red Barber, you think of him as a Dodgers man. So charge yourself with a Red Barber treasure hunt. Check out his archived commentaries at NPR.org or the audio documentary on Barber available via WGUC.org. Find tapes of his old game broadcasts. For the truly adventurous, venture to the University of Florida's Smathers Libraries, which houses his personal collection of writings, photographs, memorabilia, film, and video.
Get his memoir,
Rhubarb in the Catbird Seat,
written with Robert W. Creamer. Immerse yourself in the founder of the Dodger broadcasting tradition. You'll be roundly rewarded.

 

 

 

45. Not This Time...

In October 2004, the Dodgers had been in first place since before the All-Star Break. But with the end of the regular season 24 hours away, with their pitching staff running on fumes, they were three outs away from seeing their lead in the NL West dwindle down to a single game. And of course, to paraphrase Vin Scully, it had to be the Giants.

The Dodgers had won two of three at San Francisco the previous weekend, but lost at Dodger Stadium on the final Friday of the season. If the Dodgers hadn't rallied in their final at-bat in three midweek games against Colorado, the Giants would have already caught them.

To make matters worse, the Dodgers' starting pitchers for the weekend were anything but reassuring. These were no longer the days of Newcombe or Koufax putting everything on the line on two days' rest. For the final Saturday of the season, it would be journeyman Elmer Dessens, making his first start since coming over from Arizona as a reliever in August. Essentially, the Dodger bullpen would be counted on to go nine innings. If Dessens lost, it would be Kazuhisa Ishii (5.35 ERA since June 1) on Sunday.

Dessens actually pitched gamely, lasting four innings and allowing two runs, but the Dodgers bats truly could not hit a line drive to save their lives. Entering the bottom of the ninth inning, the Dodgers lacked an extra-base hit and trailed 3–0.

And then…a single by Shawn Green...a walk to Robin Ventura...after an Alex Cora strikeout, a walk to Jose Hernandez. Hee Seop Choi, part of the controversial Brad Penny-Paul Lo Duca trade two months earlier, worked out a walk after being down 1–2 in the count to drive in the Dodgers' first run.

And then, Cody Ransom booted Cesar Izturis's ground ball, allowing another run to score. And then, Jayson Werth knocked a 2–2 single to right field, scoring Hernandez to tie the game.

And then, and then, and then….

“The roar of the crowd, like waves crashing on the shore,” Scully tells his audience. “They'll crash, and they'll be loud, and they'll back off and kind of build up more energy and then start to build again on the next pitch...0 and 1 the count to Finley. The outfield is shallow, the infield is up. Finley today is 1-for-4. Franklin set; Wayne ready and deals. Swung on—high fly ball to deep right field! Wherever it goes, the Dodgers have won—and it's a grand slam home run!”

Not this time, Giants. Steve Finley, another July 31 acquisition, had put the Dodgers over the top.

“I have always felt there are no words to describe a situation like this except the roar of the crowd,” Scully continued after Finley circled the bases amid pandemonium, “and for those of us privileged to be there, watching the Dodgers just about jump out of their uniforms: What a finish, as Steve Finley hits it into the seats in right field, and the Dodgers come up and roll a seven in the bottom of the ninth inning, and beat the Giants 7–3. And in all the storied history and glory, frustrations and heartbreak, that both of these teams have inflicted upon the other, this one had to be a killer.

“And the Dodgers do the unbelievable, but then again, they're the Dodgers.”

 

 

Lima Time

The Dodgers' greatest playoff moment from 1987–2007 wasn't hard to pick—and no, it wasn't the 2006 game in which Jeff Kent and J.D. Drew were thrown out at home on the same play. Jose Lima, who had a 4.91 ERA the year before and a 6.99 ERA the year after (both times with Kansas City), stopped long enough in Los Angeles to give the Dodgers their most magical postseason night in ages. Facing a St. Louis Cardinals lineup led by all-world slugger Albert Pujols, Lima pitched a five-hit, one-walk shutout gem in Game 3 of the 2004 NL Division Series.

With a 4–0 lead in the eighth inning (thanks in part to two Shawn Green home runs), Lima allowed a two-out single and then threw a couple pitches in the dirt, signaling that it was getting near Eric Gagné time. But Lima got Larry Walker to ground out before retiring Pujols, Scott Rolen, and Jim Edmonds on 10 pitches in the ninth to seal the victory. The Dodger Stadium crowd rejoiced and rejoiced again. It had been 16 years without a postseason win up to that point.

Lima shockingly passed away in 2010, all too soon at age 37, from a massive heart attack. In Los Angeles, he is still fondly remembered.

46. Pedro and A-Rod

Close your eyes, and you can almost see it.

Pedro Martinez. Mike Piazza. Alex Rodriguez.

Hall of Famers. Teammates. Dodgers.

It really could have happened.

In a parallel universe so close and yet so far, future Cooperstown colleagues Martinez, Rodriguez, and Piazza led the Dodgers of the 1990s to a World Series dynasty. But in a six-month period in 1993, two of the pieces fell away, and their absence indirectly led to parting ways with the third.

In 1992, the Dodgers ended a streak of 86 consecutive seasons without finishing in last place, losing 99 games to end up at the bottom of the NL West. It was a miserable year, punctuated by rioting following the Rodney King verdicts in April. But if there was an upside, it was that the Dodgers would have their highest position ever in baseball's amateur draft. They'd have the second pick behind Seattle. And there were two clear top players: Rodriguez and Darren Dreifort.

In fact, it was only a fluke of the AL and NL alternating the No. 1 pick each year in that era that kept the Dodgers from having the first choice overall (they actually had one more loss than the Mariners). But maybe that didn't matter. For the longest time, it looked like Rodriguez would fall in L.A.'s lap. Seattle had signability concerns with the 17-year-old high school phenom. Dreifort, a college pitcher closer to the big leagues, began to emerge as the more responsible pick.

“Dodgertown. Tom Lasorda. Dodger blue. I fell in love with the whole mystique about being a Dodger,” Rodriguez told Ross Newhan of the
Los Angeles Times
. “I mean, I didn't know anything about Seattle except that the Seahawks played there. I barely knew where it was or who the Mariners were.

“I told them not to draft me. I told them I wanted to play for the Dodgers and I wanted play in the National League so that I could get home a couple times a year.”

But in the end, Seattle—which had enjoyed recent success drafting Ken Griffey, Jr. No. 1 and distress drafting pitcher Roger Salkeld in the first round, couldn't resist A-Rod's potential. He went to Seattle. The Dodgers picked Dreifort.

While the Dodgers lost out on Rodriguez, they had already begun reloading. As of that day in June 1993, the 21-year-old Martinez had an ERA of 1.89 in his first full major league season, a year he would finish at 2.61 (147 ERA+) with 119 strikeouts in 107 innings. The Dodgers were rebounding to an 81–81 record, thanks in no small part to their unanimous Rookie of the Year Mike Piazza, who slugged 35 home runs with a .370 OBP and .561 slugging (.317 TAv). That being said, the looming threat of a players' strike or owners lockout further complicated the Dodgers' future. Furthermore, it would take still another leap to pass the Giants, coming off a 103–59 season in 1994's realigned NL West (Atlanta and Houston were moving to different divisions.)

Part of the leap forward was supposed to include second baseman Jody Reed, who wasn't much of an offensive threat after joining the Dodgers in 1993 but who helped reduced the team's defensive failings. General manager Fred Claire made what might have been an overindulgent offer to Reed of $7.8 million for three years—a raise for a player who had already been earning the fifth-highest salary in baseball for a second baseman. But Reed still turned it down, a decision that might have been the most shocking in the entire history of Dodgers contract negotiations. In the book
My 30 Years in Dodger Blue
, Claire wrote that Reed asked for $11.25 million for three years.

Claire turned to the Montreal Expos and Delino DeShields, who, like Martinez, could boast a strong rookie season at the age of 21. DeShields was 24 now, and coming off a year in which he had batted .295 with 43 stolen bases and only 11 errors. But DeShields was not a free agent. He would have to come in a trade, and Martinez was whom Montreal wanted.

Claire discussed the future of Martinez with Tommy Lasorda, head of Dominican Republic baseball operations Ralph Avila, and Dr. Frank Jobe, who later told Newhan, “His shoulder had come out once, and once an injury of that type occurs, you can't say it won't reoccur. He had kind of a delicate stature to start with and there were already questions about his stamina. It's a judgment call, but you had to kind of wonder, ‘Golly, is this kid going to break down?'”

If Rodriguez had been in the organization, the chances of the Dodgers investing in another young middle infielder would have shrunk. But A-Rod was two states to the north. Claire pulled the trigger and got DeShields.

Martinez would become one of the most dominant pitchers of all time (his 291 ERA+ in 2000 is a major league record), striking out more than 3,000 batters with a career ERA below 3.00. Rodriguez would become among the greatest hitting infielders of all time. And Piazza would establish himself as the greatest hitting catcher of all time even before being traded away in 1998, a trade that might not have ever happened if he had been part of a trio of stars with Pedro and A-Rod.

DeShields would suffer through three miserable seasons with the Dodgers before salvaging something of his career with St. Louis and Baltimore. As for Reed, he ended up settling for a one-year deal with Milwaukee that failed to net him even $1 million, and for the rest of his career combined, earned almost exactly what the Dodgers offered him for 1994 alone.

Having three future Hall of Famers on your roster doesn't guarantee success. The Mariners, with Rodriguez, Griffey, and Randy Johnson, who incidentally was another rumored Dodgers trade target in the '90s, never reached the World Series.

But better to have had them and lost, then not to have had them at all.