The Futility Infielder

Frank McCourt's controversial bid to buy the Los Angeles Dodgers came to an end Thursday when the sale of the ballclub was unanimously approved by the other 29 (oops, 28) team owners. I've said all I could say about this issue, mustered perhaps more passion for the franchise than I have been able to in the seven seasons of my exile from Dodger fandom. After glimpsing a faint hope that the right owner could rescue the franchise from the despair and disrepair of the News Corp. era, restoring the luster to all things Dodger, I now feel that the franchise is only going to be dragged further down the road to bland mediocrity, or worse.

McCourt's very presence, particularly via the potential abandonment of Dodger Stadium or hanging of a corporate moniker upon it, poses no less a threat than the utter rape of the once-visionary franchise. How long before the Dodgers become a ramshackle squad of faceless ballplayers wearing head-to-toe teal uniforms in a domed mallpark? The time just drew a lot closer.

For what it's worth, the new Dodger owner claimed yesterday that the former was not an option:

"We have no plans to do anything but play baseball in Dodger Stadium."

Asked if that is his way of dispelling rumors that McCourt is scheming to build a new Dodgerplex downtown, he said, "Yes, it is."

Asked again later, McCourt said he had "zero intentions" to condemn baseball's best ballpark and the city's social Stonehenge.

However, the stadium name may be in play:

...McCourt does not work for the Historical Preservation Society. He seemed quite open to the idea of selling the naming rights to Dodger Stadium.

You know what? That's not so bad. Officially it can be known as Cadillac Stadium or Arco Stadium or even Preparation H Stadium. None of us will ever call it that, and McCourt will get the money to reduce his debt.

I'm going to have to agree to disagree on that front. Dodger Stadium, like Yankee Stadium, Fenway Park, Wrigley Field, and scant few others, holds a special (dare I say sacred?) spot in the minds of fans, names and places attached to great events in baseball's rich history. Who besides some purple-and-tealed yahoo is going to recount the glorious moments of Randy Johnson in Bank One Ballpark? And while I'm yapping about NL West ballparks, I'll ask the Giants fans what they're going to do now that Barry Bonds is no longer hitting homers in Pac Bell? Dodger Stadium remains a bastion of purity in that department, and sacrificing that is like auctioning your virgin daughter to the highest bidder -- icky to the nth power.

McCourt made more noises yesterday designed to appease the skeptics -- employee continuity, a new TV deal which will air every single game, and "a payroll of '$100-million-plus' and 'in the top quartile' of the 30 major-league clubs," according to the aforementioned article in the Orange County Register. But you can color me less than reassured, because I know the folks in his hometown of Boston can talk all day about the man's promises, promises. The Dodgers are already hamstrung by a winter of inactivity, and once that failure starts to manifest itself on the field, the changes will come -- a new front office (which won't feature Billy Beane), a new sense of (cough, cough) fiscal responsibility and lower payrolls... hell, with a couple of years of sub-3 million attendance, a cry for a new ballpark in spite of yesterday's soundbites.

Dodger Thoughts' Jon Weisman, who has done a fantastic job of covering the sale and who's about 3000 miles closer to the pulse than I am, has his Spidey-sense tingling:

Frank McCourt makes me feel powerless.

He could be the next great disaster for the Dodgers. Or, he could be a hidden treasure of, well, adequacy.

But how disturbing is it that after Thursday's press conference to discuss his purchase of the team, there is nothing that actually inspires confidence? Every potential positive statement made by or about McCourt had to be qualified.

Whatever the future holds, good or bad ... today, the Dodgers really seem to belong to someone else. Maybe this feeling will go away, but they don't feel like the city's team right now. They don't feel like our team.

Literally, they never were ours, but figuratively, they were. Not today.

Consider this: throughout the entire day, I didn't find a note of celebration that the News Corp. (majority) ownership of the Dodgers was over. Can you believe this? A few months ago, the city of Los Angeles would have held a bonfire of revelry at Fox's departure. Today, there's just uncertainty.

Weisman elaborates that feelling by picking apart several statements made yesterday by various principals and pundits. But he also offers a glimmer of hope going forward: "This is a whole new chapter. McCourt's actions are the key. Does he know right from wrong? Does he know good from bad? No matter how many misgivings have built up to this point, I don't think there's a Dodger fan in town who won't come to like McCourt if he can do the job."

That's a pretty big if, from where I sit.