A September to Dismember

Does Joe Torre even know what to do if he has the first week of October off? It hasn't happened in a decade and a half. If the man is stuck, I have suggestions. Supermarkets are open. Home Depot has normal store hours. And he can hammer a nail into that broken whatchamacallit which is Item No. 7 on the "Honey Do" list.

He just won't be going to Dodger Stadium to manage a game. Maybe ever again.

Just another on a long list of things to contemplate during the early Dodger Blue winter.

There's nothing like a baseball fan's emptiness when you realize your team won't be playing past October 3. Unless, of course, if you consider the empty seats at the ball park as bandwagons make their very last stops on the route to Nowhere.

I remember similar Septembers in New York as hot dog wrappers and dreams blew aimlessly all over the Shea Stadium outfield. Now, in my perch from the Loge Level at Dodger Stadium, I still have that wonderful view of majestic mountains. Hot dog wrappers get little propulsion from nature. The only breeze in Chavez Ravine comes from the third strike swing of Matt Kemp. What can you say about a baseball season when the only highlight was Vin Scully's glorious announcement that he will return to broadcast next season?

As many things that went right for the Dodgers in 2008 and 2009, the same things turned horribly wrong in 2010. A flawed team that had amazing resiliency when it came to figuring out how to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory. When the weight of the world always seemed to land on closer Jonathan Broxton's back and, let's face it, he still probably has a few pounds on that same world. When we learned those banned fertility drugs really must have had some recuperative powers on Manny Ramirez' hamstrings. When if there was ever a smart move to the bullpen, it always turned out to be very, very stupid.

What next? Baseball provides us with the wonderful ability to turn the page quickly and I can take some small solace that I don't have to watch the Dodgers lose in some diabolical fashion to the Phillies one more October night. So, where does a fan's mind go for comfort?

The future, of course.

In what promises to be a lively offseason, the Dodgers have their work cut out. First and foremost will be the status of ownership. We will have that popular TV classic "Divorce McCourt" played out for several weeks. Who gets the team? Jamie or Frank? Who gets the four dozen homes they've purchased? Jamie or Frank? Who gets the temporary shaft? All of us. For Pete's sake, if Lucy and Desi could figure out how to divvy up Desilu, these two knuckleheads should be able to settle up on a few swimming pools and, oh yeah, a Major League Baseball franchise. But, then again, this is what happens when you take two people from Boston away from their clam chowder for a couple of years. Trust me, the sooner Jamie and Frank are kicked back to a parking garage on Mass Ave, the better.

Then, there's the issue of team management. Joe Torre's three-year deal is up and he may be inwardly frosted about having October all to himself for the first time in 15 years. He's 70 and, most recently, he is finally looking it. But, then again, George Sherrill could age Dorian Gray. Right now, nobody knows what Joe is going to do, but the smart money is now betting that he cashes in his Dodger dollars and starts to polish up that Cooperstown acceptance speech. Personally, he shouldn't end his career with this dud of a team. I'd have him take a one-year farewell tour and let him use Billy Crystal as a bench coach on odd numbered Saturdays.

But if Joe does opt out, who's next in the hot seat? Hitting coach Don Mattingly has been long considered Joe's heir apparent and, as long as he practices a lot over the winter with his Strat-O-Matic game, I'm okay with Donnie Baseball. Hasn't managed in the minors? Minor league managing experience is vastly overrated when you consider all the successful skippers who never got any. Look no further than the guy vacating the job.

Other Dodger blog-o-philes are pushing the candidacy of Triple AAA manager Tim Wallach, the former Expo-Dodger third baseman and possible New York mens clothier. These Dodger fans are frantic with fear that Tim's another Mike Scioscia in the making and he will get away in the same fashion. To make that assumption is not only folly, but unfair to both Wallach and Scioscia. If Tim deserves it, he gets the job on that basis and not simply because he copied a career path. The fact that I can type doesn't mean I'm the next Neil Simon.

Regardless of whether it's Mattingly or Wallach, both guys are still going to have to deal with a young offensive core that was tepid in 2010. Matt Kemp has swung at balls as far away as Arcadia. James Loney barely has enough power to light midnight mass. And, before he busted his pinkie, Andre Ethier was on his way to a batting Triple Crown. Since then, he can't even get one at Burger King.

Meanwhile, catcher Russell Martin has been on crutches for two months and walking around the dugout like that cuckolded husband in "Double Indemnity." Shortstop Rafael Furcal has been on the disabled list several times and only Conan O'Brien has been paid more for working less in 2010. Equally hobbled, Manny Ramirez came and went and came and went and came and then really went all the way to Chicago. Fans should not be surprised that the Dodgers have averaged only two runs per game. I'm wondering how they have scored that many.

Is 2010 an aberration? is the team really this mediocre? Or is the whole season a nightmare that could be erased as soon as Dr. Bob Hartley wakes up again? Regardless, this was a baseball season where the Dodgers simply came up one element short in every single game. If it wasn't the hitting, it was the fielding. If it wasn't the fielding, it was the bullpen. If it wasn't the bullpen, it probably still was the bullpen. Always one step behind and usually eight games back.

For the long cold (okay, in Southern California, cool) winter, I'm holding onto the bright spots of this past season. Jamey Carroll's heart. Ryan Theriot's professionalism at second base. Hong Chi Kuo's almost perfect year in the bullpen, despite his left arm's second career as a Waterford Crystal candy dish. And the long-awaited emergence of Clayton Kershaw and Chad Billingsley as the leaders of the pitching staff. While they're not yet Koufax and Drysdale, they're certainly moving in that direction. And, even better, both are still available to pitch if it's Yom Kippur.

So, I have five game tickets left and I'll be at every one of them. With my scorebook in my lap, my 2010 expectations in the garbage, and my 2011 hopes already in my mental hatchery. Who will manage? Who will be the hitting leader the team sorely needs? Who will introduce Jonathan Broxton to Jenny Craig? When will Matt Kemp finally emerge fully-formed? And how long will it be before Rhianna calls the cops on him?

All will be revealed next season. For now, I'm just doing what I'm told.

I'm waiting for next year.

Dinner last night: The salad bar at Gelson's.