My Dodger Talk Experience

Well, there was one bright spot in a dismal Dodger season.

Take a good long look at this picture. It's the only one you will see (other than some photos I pulled down off the internet). Okay, study it again. That will be the sum illustrative total of my experience hanging with the Dodger Talk crowd last Thursday night.

Not that I was planning on a lot of photo opportunities. Oh, I had the digital camera with me and the battery had been refreshed. But, driving to Dodger Stadium for the game, I had a small epiphany. And a large panic attack.

What the hell was I doing?

Disregard the fact that I bloviate here daily in endless rantings and ravings about my world. When and if you really know me, most realize that I really do like to play my cards intimately close to my vest. Yet, here I was motoring. To claim a charity auction prize which I bid on as a complete lark. I'm good for annual donations to cancer causes. The Dodger Think Cure! fund is a worthy conduit. I did so two years ago and wound up with a Clayton Kershaw autographed baseball. Why not shoot for something different in 2010 and get a return that doesn't have to be dusted?

Yep, I had bid and won an evening with Dodger Talk, KABC's post-game show hosted by Ken Levine and Josh Suchon. This auction item had intrigued me, simply because the show is a great leveling agent for Dodger fans. Ken and Josh do a terrific job of laying out where the team is on any given day in a season. Certainly not an easy task, but they arguably do the best radio post-game talk show in baseball. Anybody who has ever listened to WFAN in NY would certainly agree. So, pour moi, it would be a kick to hang with them for an evening.

Still, I suddenly had great apprehensions. I didn't want to be a bother. I didn't want to be in the way. I wanted to blend into whatever woodwork that adorns the walls of Dodger Stadium's Vin Scully Press Box.

Hours later, I drove home westbound on the 10 Freeway. In a much different state of mind. For the first time ever on the route back from a Dodger game, I missed my Overland Avenue exit.

It was a complete blast straight from Yucca Flats.

When I was setting up the evening's logistics with Dodger Talk co-host Josh Suchon, I kept reiterating that I had no expectations, so anything accorded me would be whipped cream on top of your favorite dessert. Yet, even if I had the loftiest of expectations, they still managed to top them all. Clearly, this was one for my highlight reel.

It brought back to me worlds and corners and careers ignored. Way back yonder, my utopian job path would have been to work in the media covering baseball. I remembered when I had press credentials for the Yankees while working at Fordham's WFUV-FM. Running around the field before a game collecting sound bites from fifth starters and back-up catchers. I looked back in my mental hard drive for some of those phone interviews I did with the likes of Rusty Staub, manager Dick Williams, and Willie Stargell who hung up on me. I recalled the moment that common sense prevailed and derailed those aspirations. My one three-inning stint doing the play-by-play of a Fordham Ram baseball game. I was so bad that the FCC questioned WFUV's next license renewal.

So, to suddenly be in a major league press box with credentials around my neck, I was reliving it all one more time. And it couldn't have been sweeter.

Not that the evening started out on a good note. I arrived in the press box and connected with Josh just in time to watch LA paramedics feverishly working over a fan who had collapsed on the field. It was Mormon Night at Chavez Ravine and one of the leaders apparently suffered a massive coronary prior to tossing out the first ball. I thought that this, coupled with the California courts finally overturning the Mormon-backed Prop 8 ban on gay marriage, was making it a tough week to be an Osmond. Nevertheless, there was an immediate pall cast about, especially since one of the TV camera guys remarked that, for a moment, he had seen a prostrate white-haired man on the field and immediately thought it was Tommy Lasorda.

While I assured Josh that I didn't want to get in the way, he very nicely gave me a tour of the press facilities. Except everyone was elsewhere. TV booth. Empty. Radio booth. Empty. Spanish TV booth. Empty. But, turning the very next corner, we walked right into Vin Scully.

Now, this would have been the photo opportunity that could have led today's entry. Again, I was self-conscious enough to make sure everybody knew I was not there for the King Kong 3D ride at Universal Studios. There was no Kodak Instamatic draping my neck.

I knew what I wanted to say if I was ever introduced to Vin. I actually have known for the past twenty years. I wanted to simply mention our connection. WFUV. Fordham graduates. The quintessential college alumni bond. I garbled the year of my graduation intentionally. Vin laughed and said he graduated probably twenty years before that. A gracious, wonderful man who even remembered my name seven innings later when we bumped into each other again as I was getting a Diet Coke. And the good news is that I hadn't booted the meeting. I had sounded coherent and nothing like Ralph Kramden explaining to Alice why he had spent all night at the bowling alley.

Along our route, there were other introductions offered by my affable host Josh. Fernando Valenzuela. Rick Monday. Bill Plaschke of the LA Times. The company was much less than shabby.

Josh invited me to join him for dinner at the press box cafeteria. Not trying to be a pest but still interested, I wanted to get his take on some baseball issues involving the Dodgers. Torre coming back or not? Bobby Valentine as a possible replacement? Josh has a smart, intuitive, and impressive handle on all things in the sport. As a radio sports host, he would stick out like a dislocated thumb on WFAN in New York, primarily because he knows what the heck he's talking about. Josh reminds me that there is no cheering in the press box. That I knew, having been myself in such press boxes as Madison Square Garden, the Boston Garden, and Yankee Stadium. I wonder for a moment if Josh has ever listened to the Yankees' shill John Sterling. No press box cheering indeed.
When the game started, I was seated between Josh and the other Dodger Talk co-host, Ken Levine. The really astute readers to this blog have already linked to him. In fact, it was Ken's blog that was one of many reasons why Len Speaks came out of the internet womb. Witty and clever on a computer screen, Ken's even more so in person.
Beyond his baseball broadcasting career, Ken has also racked up an impressive career writing, producing, directing, and creating some of the best television sitcoms this side of "M*A*S*H*," which was one of his as well. I felt totally comfortable telling him I have dabbled a little in the same arena. I wanted to engage him, but, at the same time, not come off sounding like Glenn Close in the last two reels of "Fatal Attraction." I looked at my evening's compatriots on both sides of me in press box row and I was in a very comfortable place. Watching the activities of all around me was fascinating. The guy below me was clearly a San Diego newspaper guy. In the very third inning with the score still tied at zero, he had already typed his lead. "The Padres have come through again." I wanted to wait for him to go to the bathroom so I could go down and hit his delete button. Meanwhile, the number of folks there checking Twitter, Facebook, and other blogs blew me away. In 2010, this is sports journalism in all its glorious keystrokes and toggle switches.

Watching Josh during the game, he was equally occupied but with a focus. Checking out some baseball websites, he was listing the names of some catchers who would be available free agents in 2011. Knowing full well that, with the injury and possible non-tender to Russell Martin, Dodger fans were probably going to be asking this question later on Dodger Talk. From friends in the business, I hear Josh's kind of due diligence and passion is uncommon. It's a matter of time before some major league baseball franchise gobbles him up to be their play-by-play guy. Does Joe Buck do this kind of prep work for Fox Baseball?

Meanwhile, next door on my right at Ken Levine Land, there is a different kind of concentration going on. Sure, he's updating his blog, but I also hear from his conversation that he's picking up the vibe of the game. As a writer, he realizes that every baseball game is, in itself, a self-contained short story. And he's slowly crafting the logline that will be the focus of the post-game talk. Are the Dodgers done for the year? Should third baseman Casey Blake be used on the second base side of the infield during a shift against Adrian Gonzalez? Was there one too many bunt opportunities missed?

And then Ken starts to read this blog.

D'oh! Inaudible scream!

Every insecurity embedded in my DNA suddenly returns for a cameo appearance on "The Love Boat." Suddenly, I'm fourteen again. Mom has come into my bedroom and caught me with that magazine. I want to yell, but refrain so as not to disturb organist Nancy Bea Hefley who's stashed away with her organ keyboard at the opposite end of the press box.

PLEASE DON'T DO THAT IN FRONT OF ME, ESPECIALLY SINCE I'M MAKING SOME LONG PLANNED CHANGES IN CONTENT AND TONE. (Check back to Wednesday's entry if you're at all interested in the details)

Ken remarks that I list what I had for dinner last night and tells me about another blog writer who does something similar. I wish I could say I copied that, but I simply use the device to track my eating habits and let friends back East know that I'm trying to be diet-conscious. Ken tells me he'll tap into the blog again, and I hope, at the very least, he checks out this very entry you are reading right now.

The atmosphere of the press box is quite informal and affable. Most of these folks see the same faces each day, so they're all up on the latest real estate transactions, Little League scores, and Pepcid price changes at the CVS Pharmacy in Westwood. At one point, they announce the paid attendance at 44, 739 and someone remembers the recently deceased Mormon and quips that only 44,738 survived tonight's Dodger game. I'm glad I wasn't the only one who found this very funny. But, then again, I wasn't in support of Prop 8 in the first place.
Ken looks over to my scorebook and wants to see if he can follow an inning that I have transcribed. Heck, I've been doing the same notations for years in the same Gene Elston scorebooks. I realize nobody has ever looked at my scoring process before. Ken asks what a particular black mark signifies.
"That would be a mistake."
Sorry, I always use a pen.
During the eighth inning, Josh heads downstairs to prep for a post-game guest. I've seen him myself from my season seats night after night, perched alongside the Dodger dugout. Except, in this night's dreary loss to the Padres, his microphone and questions will be clearly San Diego dugout-bound.

Meanwhile, in the press box, it is now Ken's sole responsibility to make sure I don't play with matches. We chit chat a little more. He talks about being in the studio audience for the filming of the classic Mary Tyler Moore episode "Chuckles Bites the Dust." Total dumb luck and he likens it to being in the stands for a perfect game. And then the Cuisinart of my world is set to "puree" when we even discuss the latest developments in radio research.

When the Dodgers officially lose again, most of the reporters disappear for locker room interviews. Ken and later Josh retire to a small room that is their show studio, but might have contained a slop sink when Sandy Koufax was pitching. Yet, regardless of the space, they still manage to do a top-notch show which always seems to catch the right mood and vibe for the evening. The care and feeding of smart (yes, there are some) Dodger fans is entrusted to these guys on a nightly basis. Sadly, it appears that their weekly Sunday night offseason version of this show will not be around this year and the Dodger fanbase/LA radio market will be diminished by that.

Not surprisingly, Josh grabs for his notebook and pulls out all the info he retrieved during the game on free agent catchers. They intermingle some sound bites from an elaborate computer database and, even with my knowledge of radio and TV production, these processes still fascinate me.

The show will run an hour this night, all the way to 1130PM. Naturally, given the Dodgers' latest demise, the phone lines and torches are again lit. Both Frankenstein and Matt Kemp are being hunted down by the villagers.

Before the last commercial break, Ken heralds the final segment of the show. With an appearance by a special guest.

I looked around from my perch on the stool. Is Orel Hershiser here?

No, that would be me. Truth be told, I was surprised when they told me that I would get to be on the air with them a bit. Totally not expected. And, obviously, nobody told either of them about that infamous top-of-the-fourth inning years before on Fordham's Jack Coffey Field with me behind the WFUV microphone. But, after spending four plus hours together, they must have realized that I didn't possess the syntax of a 17-year-old birthday party planner at Chuck E. Cheese.

Josh mentions to me that he will get my take on bunting, which again had been up for debate amongst the night's callers. (Josh, by the way, is not a fan of the bunt). So, this is good. I get a minute-and-a-half to prepare an answer. This is just like the old Hollywood Squares when they gave a heads-up to Karen Valentine. I fashion my opinion on the bunt, which is well known to friends I go to baseball games with. I support the notion that a manager should let the batter swing away on the first pitch if there's an obvious bunt situation. The infield is already moving around and then anything can happen. Okay, got it. I am ready, Los Angeles Metro and DMA.

Back from commercial, Ken acknowledges my presence and the reasons behind it. And then turns to me and asks...

"So, what's your assessment of this team?"

Ummmmmmmmmm....

The pause lasted either five seconds or five days. Excuse me , guys. That was not a bunting question.

I flummoxed through some prattle about going to meaningless games in September and bringing a book along to while away the time. Huh??? It probably sounded better than that. And the book reference gave both Ken and Josh an opportunity to plug their latest publications at Amazon.

Five minutes later, I think of what I should have answered.

"Well, while the Dodger prospects for post-season play seem bleak at the moment, I think the division will be decided by somebody's hot or cold streak. And let's not discount the fact that the young Padre arms may be taxed by the time September rolls around."

Or something like that. While the audio of the show is now available in a variety of places, I'll never listen to it. At least, I didn't have a Don Imus moment.

Off air, Ken mentions to me that I sound just like restaurant critic Merrill Schindler and, amazingly, this is now the second time I have heard this. I now think that I should be eating a lot better than I am already reporting.

When asked on the air to summarize the experience for me, Ken ticks off that I met Vin and Fernando, ate the press box food at Dave's Diner, and all the rest. I respond that the highlight for me was to simply hang with these two solid professionals and enjoy ever so briefly one of the many paths not pursued in my life.

Maybe I'll even bid for it next year and I hope they don't roll their eyes when I show up again. Or, maybe I'll bid for something more tangible, although I have missed my chance at a Garret Anderson game-worn jersey. But, at the end of the show and the night and the season, the real winner was not me. My contribution was small, but there's probably a huge reward elsewhere.

Somebody with cancer hopefully will have one less moment of pain here on Planet Earth.

Forget all this nonsensical self involvement. That's what it was all about.

http://www.thinkcure.org/.

Dinner last night: BLT sandwich at Islands.