The Grand Slam Special at Manny's

It was a moment that I finally could share with Dodger history.

In my relatively short tenure as a Dodger fan, I can only listen to stories from fans who were in attendance at other seminal moments in Chavez Ravine fandom. Oh, sure, I was there the night of the 2004 NLDS when Jose Lima inexplicably mowed down the St. Louis Cardinals with innings of zeroes. There was a Nomar Garciaparra grand slam in September of 2006 that virtually solidified their entry into the postseason sweepstakes. And, I was in my own season seats last October when Jonathan Broxton literally blew away the Chicago Cubs to complete the three game sweep of the Wrigley's perennial losers.

But, I can only listen quietly and politely to the other tales of victorious frenzy. There was once an old guy in my church who told me all about being in the stands for Sandy Koufax' perfect game in September, 1965. Friends have regaled me all about Fernandomania. And, ironically, I had sold off my game seats the night that would ultimately be remembered for those "four consecutive homeruns in the ninth inning." And I was 3000 miles away when Kirk Gibson hit his monumental blast of the ages in the 1988 World Series. I was too busy sulking over the Mets' loss to the Dodgers in the playoff series that had preceded this game.

Last night, I got to join in finally. I can proudly say that I was there for Manny Ramirez' pinch hit grand slam homerun.

Admittedly, it was just another regular season game. No sudden death playoff drama. And, let's face it, the opponent was the fading fast Cincinnati Reds.

But, still. Drama was provided and the accompanying script would have probably been thrown out by Hollywood development executives. "How plausible is this?"

Setting it all up, 56,000 people had crowded into Dodger Stadium for Manny Ramirez Bobblehead Night. Except, due to an errant pitch hitting his left hand the night before, Manny was not in the lineup. But, fans here had already gotten used to not seeing Manny play. For 50 games to be exact. Juan Pierre in left and frequently batting ninth, thank you very much. The folks around here didn't seem to care. They were here for the bobbleheads nonetheless. I noticed some season ticket holders who hadn't been in the park since opening day. The couple across from me brought, for the first time, infant twins and I wonder when the hell that happened. I guess they had a good reason for missing some games.

But, as Reds pitcher Bronson Arroyo and the Dodgers' hurler Chad Billingsley scraped together some quality innings, the score is 2-2 in the bottom of the sixth. The Dodgers load the bases and the pinchhitter for Billingsley, Mark Loretta, is in the on deck circle. I see that and think that Manny indeed is still suffering from the previous night's plunk. But, 55,999 other people started to manage. The call went out.

"Manny, Manny, Manny."

Maybe it was manager Joe Torre's idea all along. Perhaps Loretta was a decoy. Manny started to rustle in the dugout. Slowly, he walked over to the bat rack. Meticulously, he searched for his pine tar wrapped helmet. It was a scene expertly staged for dramatic effect as if Steven Spielberg was in the press box pulling the puppet strings. And, all the while, the Cincinnati Reds stood in the field and looked like fifth graders facing a surprise math quiz. They switched out their pitcher to prolong everybody's agony a trifle longer. The build-up for Manny's pinchhitting appearance was about ten minutes long.

The moment itself was only about 15 seconds.

One pitch. One swing. One ball landing perfectly about ten rows up in Mannywood.

The last time I felt a stadium rock and sway like that was in my beloved Shea Stadium on October 25, 1986 when Mookie Wilson and Bill Buckner first came together for their eternal marriage under baseball law.

Last night, in the middle of earthquake country, I felt a 10.0 tremor that resulted in no damage. Unless, of course, you want to include Reds reliever Nick Masset's earned run average.

Two curtain calls. Manny playfully doing a head bobble. And another Dodger win in their streak toward October 2009. For all his heralded shenanigans, this is why he is worth every dollar. Forget the steroids and the estrogen and the nonsense. This was Manny being Manny. As far as I'm concerned, he can use his cell phone in the field any night as long as we get an evening like Wednesday.

And, for once, I was there.

Dinner last night: Sausage pizza at the Dodger game.