No Ifs, Ands or Buts: Dodgers Didn’t Do It

As I stood watching the Choking Dogs on Saturday, and knowing how they must feel about me, I realized Dr. Alan Weinberg and I have something in common.

Dr. Weinberg said he wanted a picture of my prostate Friday, and I hate having my picture taken because I don’t like to smile, but he said his scrapbook wouldn’t be complete without it. Now I’ll be honest, I wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but the daughter and the bagger are going to want a lot of pictures taken at next summer’s wedding, so I figured it would be good practice grinning and baring it.

Now I never did very well in geography, so I had no idea where the prostate is located, but I figured Dr. Weinberg probably did, so I asked him how he wanted me to pose.

He had me lie down on my left side, my head facing the wall and my best side to the camera. Now I’ve never seen Playgirl, but I imagine this is what the magazine will want when I start appearing daily on ESPN next month, and Playgirl puts together its spread on “broadcasting hunks.”

I got the feeling, however, Dr. Weinberg wasn’t sure how to use the camera, because I had no idea it would end up there--and I’ll be frank with you, the first thought that flashed through my mind was I had just met Kevin Brown’s best friend.

At some point I heard the door open, a nurse’s voice, and I got to wondering, what if she’s a Spark fan, has her own camera and by nightfall these pictures are on the Web. Then I realized a Spark fan probably wouldn’t be interested in something like this, and I relaxed.

Now somebody else probably would have asked themselves, “How did I ever get myself into this position?” But to be honest, it’s not the first time I envisioned something like this happening to me. Do you remember those old Polaroid TV commercials with Mariette Hartley and Bum Garner? I do, because I’ve always been afraid I might run into Garner packing a camera, and I think I know what he’d do with it if given the chance.

Now there’s no telling how long Dr. Weinberg would have had me there had I not started screaming, “I got to see the Choking Dogs, I got to see the Choking Dogs....”

“My turn, Doc,” I said, “to be a pain in the butt.”

*

AND SO here I stand in Dodger Stadium--I fear never again being able to sit, sickened and irritated by what I am hearing in the Dodger clubhouse after the Giants have clinched the National League wild-card berth, and vehemently disagreeing with Manager Jim Tracy’s assessment of the season.

A night earlier the Dodgers had taken 10 innings to beat the minor league team from San Diego, and catcher Paul Lo Duca said, “These games we’re winning, that takes a lot of guts.”

I think it takes a lot of guts to say something that stupid, but that’s what these guys have been hearing from their manager. In fact, they believe there is something heroic in going 10-11 to finish the season. Heroic is going into Dr. Weinberg’s office, taking one’s medicine and not punching the guy in the nose.

“You can’t ask anything more of the guys in that room,” Tracy said, and if that’s true, then Tracy is telling us this is no playoff team because they don’t have what it takes to make the playoffs. And if this is no playoff team, then why does it have the third-highest payroll in baseball?

Tracy called it a “good year” for the Dodgers, just stopping short of calling it a “great year,” when I interrupted to say I thought it was a season of failure: They didn’t make the playoffs.

“I disagree with you on that one,” Tracy said, although the Dodgers’ record shows they didn’t make the playoffs. “ ... We don’t have anything to be ashamed of, and everything to be proud of.”

There is nothing noble in what the Dodgers have done. They played the early part of the season beyond expectations, but then wasted it. When it came time to answer the challenge, they choked--playing at best mediocre baseball--38-35 since the All-Star break, 14-12 in the final month of the season, and 42-40 since going 21 games over .500 in late June when Tracy boasted how good the Dodgers were.

The Dodgers still haven’t won a playoff game since 1988, and now Tracy is telling the media, “We haven’t lost; the Giants won. It’s just that simple.”

Tracy said he felt disappointed because his players worked hard and didn’t make the playoffs. Dr. Weinberg talked about his 9-year-old son and the cute things the little twerp likes to say, while Dr. Weinberg adjusted the zoom lens on his camera. To both men I say the same thing: “Enough already.”

“We won 92 games with a chance to win 93. It’s a shame that’s not enough,” Tracy said. “I wish there were some kind of special reward for having this kind of year.” I suggest the “We Came Close” award in the Dodgers’ name so the losers don’t have to feel like losers.

I understand Tracy’s slobber, but the Dodgers choked. There’s no trying in baseball. It doesn’t matter if a team wins 93 or 83 games when it comes to making the playoffs. It’s all about making the playoffs, and the chance to win the World Series.

I was going to say it’s about time someone put a boot into the Dodgers’ behind and tell them what really counts, but I don’t think you’ll ever hear me use that expression again.

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TODAY’S LAST word comes in e-mail from Neil Oda:

“I’m a disappointed Dodger fan and wrote this little poem, which encompasses most of the 2002 season. I would really like it if you could use it as ‘Today’s Last Word.’ ”

It’s a good thing you’re already used to disappointment.

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T.J. Simers can be reached at [email protected].