|I got your Dodger Blue right here|
By Brian Murphy
Special to Page 2
Understand, my father had a strict rule in our house: no booing.
No matter how you felt about a player, he said, you should consider that this is the man's job, and he is, in all likelihood, giving his best effort. Therefore, my father reasoned, you should never boo. If you feel displeasure, remain silent.
But do not boo.
That said ... as regards Tommy Lasorda?
Lasorda did not fall within my father's carefully laid-out and well-reasoned argument. Lasorda was not a player giving his best effort, and occasionally making mistakes.
Lasorda was Darth Vader plus Lex Luthor, with a splash of Harry Potter's Voldemort on the side.
Lasorda was a Bad Guy.
From 1977 to 1988, the Dodgers won the NL West six times.
From 1977 to 1988, the Giants won the NL West once.
So, for over a decade, Tommy Lasorda rolled into Candlestick Park with a Dodger team full of swagger, and fat on triumphs over the home nine.
This engendered a complete and total wrath on the part of any self-respecting NorCal kid.
Were we jealous? Yes. Did we wish we had what the Dodgers had? Maybe. Was Lasorda arrogant, offensive and idiotic? Unquestionably.
He talked of "The Great Dodger in the Sky." Hey, Fat Man: Last we checked, Allah was a soccer fan. He said he bled "Dodger Blue." Hey, Pasta Breath: Your hemoglobin is Cincinnati Red, just like any human.
And he made the long walk from the visitor's clubhouse ... down the right-field line ... to the visitor's dugout ... on the third-base side ... every year for 20 years, with boos raining down on his head.
That he sported a corpulent figure all the while made him that much more booable. He wasn't just a Dodger; he was a glutton. I relish the story of my boy Matty, a country kid from Corning, Calif., rushing to the railing at Candlestick, making eye contact with Lasorda and bellowing, in a voice pure with intent:
"Hey, Lasorda ... is that your belt, or the Equator?''
Some say he was a good sport. He blew kisses the crowd at Candlestick as we booed him. Some say he made miserable, freezing nights in a lousy old concrete bowl bearable, if only for entertainment value.
I say: The hell with that.
He's a Dodger. He admits as much. He's bad news.
What was it we said earlier?
Brian Murphy of the San Francisco Chronicle writes the "Weekend Water Cooler" every Monday for Page 2.