The Futility Infielder

Looking for an Angle

On the day of the first game of the World Series, I spent part of my morning working on my healthy Giants hatred. I watched a well-made HBO documentary called "The Shot Heard 'Round The World", about the 1951 pennant race which climaxed with Bobby Thomson's home run. The hour-long doc was interesting for its variety of footage (some of it color), its lengthy interviews with the two principals of the event, Thomson and Dodger pitcher Ralph Branca, and for incorporating the relatively recent revelations about the Giants' system of stealing signs. Without those revelations, which came to light via Giants bullpen catcher Sal Yvars last year, this is a tale I know all too well. But watching Thomson squirm in his seat as he denied being tipped off about the fateful pitch made for some entertaining viewing.

Mind you, I don't necessarily believe that Thomson *was* tipped off, but on the other hand, what the hell was he doing swinging at an 0-1 fastball that was high and inside? There's no question in my mind that the Giants' sign-stealing did help them, at least enough to aid the stretch drive which force the tie and necessitated that playoff series. Rob Neyer had a good column about the Giants' sign-stealing when it broke as news in early 2001, pointing out (thanks to statistics supplied by Dave Smith of Retrosheet, who appears in the documentary) that the Giants' hitting performance at home actually worsened after the sign-stealing started. In the doc, Smith points out that only three Giants hitters improved at home after the sign-stealing started, but that one of them was Thomson. That doesn't lessen his achievement, in my mind--he still had to hit the damn ball, and I've always shared the view as it pertains to baseball that it ain't cheating if you don't get caught. But it doesn't endear me to the Giants, either.

Other than that loathing, and my general appreciation for the World Series, I don't have a lot to latch onto in this matchup. I'm rooting for the Angels primarily because of who they aren't, and secondarily because of the impressive way they demolished everything in their path to the Series. Their contact-hitting philosopy is a different approach from what we've seen the past few years, and it seems to make solid but otherwise innocuous hitters into dangerous pests. Their two 10-hit innings--something done only one other time in postseason baseball history--have magnified their stature as a rally-making machine.

And speaking of rally-making, I have a sneaking suspicion that rookie pitcher Francisco Rodriguez is the real Rally Monkey. Not only have his first four major-league wins have all come in the postseason, but the Angels have scored an astounding 23 runs while he's occupied the pitcher's spot, including those two 10-hit innings. Meanwhile, Rodriguez has made hitters look foolish; scouts have compared him to a young Mariano Rivera with his nasty stuff. I look at Rodriguez and, despite a notable lack of girth. I see Fernando Valenzuela circa 1980. Valenzuela came up as a 19-year old in mid-September and became the secret weapon out of the Dodger bullpen as they came down the stretch, tossing 17.2 scoreless innings in the last two weeks of the season--his first two weeks in the bigs. Had Tommy Lasorda the courage to hand him the ball for their one-game playoff against the Houston Astros instead of free-agent failure Dave Goltz, they may well have won the NL West that year.

That digression brings me to the angle which interests me most about this World Series. Namely, both managers were key players on the Dodger teams I rooted for in my youth and teammates for four seasons, including their 1981 World Championship. Baker played eight of his 19 big league seasons for the Dodgers, and was their starting leftfielder for four division and three pennant winners. He also played on two All-Star teams during his Dodger tenure. After a miserable debut season in LA in 1976 (4 HR and a 605 OPS in 421 PA), Baker rebounded to become one of their record-setting quartet of 30-homer hitters in 1977, and was the MVP of the 1977 LCS against the Phillies. But on a team with Steve Garvey, Ron Cey, Reggie Smith, and Davey Lopes, Dusty was a secondary weapon who often hit sixth and rarely had to carry the offense.

Baker had something of an acrimonious parting from the Dodgers. They tried to trade him to Oakland during the 1983 winter meetings, but as a 10-and-5 man, Baker vetoed the trade. The Dodgers unceremoniously waived him shortly afterwards, and he was signed by the Giants, the only season he ever played for the team he currently manages. Baker then found his way to the A's for the final two years of his career. I actually got his autograph in spring training 1986 in Arizona while he was with the A's, as well as a pretty decent photo of him, taken as I called out "Hey, Dusty!"



Mike Scioscia was one of only two regulars who played on both Dodger World Championship teams of the Eighties (the other being Steve Sax). A catcher for whom the term "solidly built" was an understatement, Scioscia's primary asset was his defense; simply put, he blocked the plate like no other player. Most famously, in 1985 he was knocked unconscious in a collision with the Cardinals' Jack Clark, but held onto the ball. Offensively, Scioscia biggest asset was a keen batting eye--he walked almost twice as often as he struck out, and had a lifetime OBP of .344. He didn't have much power (68 career homers over 13 seasons). But he'll always have a spot in the hearts of Dodger fans for the ninth-inning, game-tying home run he hit off of Dwight Gooden in Game Four of the 1988 NLCS--the game in which Orel Hershiser, who'd pitched the night before, came out of the bullpen in the 12th inning to get the save. In the annals of great Dodger homers of my era, Scioscia's bomb sits behind only Kirk Gibson's pinch-hit miracle in the 1988 World Series and Rick Monday's 9th inning homer in the 1981 NLCS which sunk Les Expos. On the Angels, Scioscia's bench includes two other players from that 1988 championship, hittting coach Mickey Hatcher and first base coach Alfredo Griffin.

Baker and Scioscia are the fourth set of former teammates to oppose each other as World Series managers, and the first to have played on a Series winner together. Tommy Lasorda, who's got a quote for all occasions, has weighed in, saying that he told both that they would become big-league managers. No word on which of his proteges he's pulling for to win the World Series, but if he's anything like me, he can't find it in him to pull for those hated Giants.

• • • • •

Oh, you want a prediction? Mine haven't fared so well this postseason, and neither have my rooting interests. If the Series is short, I'd say it favors the Angels. But unless Scioscia brings back Washburn to start Game Four, a Game Seven matchup would feature the excitable Ramon Ortiz against cucumber-cool Livan Hernandez. If I've learned anything over the past five years, it's never bet against los dos Hernandez in October. I wouldn't mind being wrong (hey, being wrong seems to be what I do whenever I make one of these whack-ass predictions), but I'm saying Giants in seven.