Tommy Lasorda’s Blue Heaven On Earth

“As we peered down at some of the greenest grass known to man, Tommy told me something fans have heard him say millions of times over the years: “Dodger Stadium is Blue Heaven On Earth. If you want to go to heaven, you have to go through Dodger Stadium First.” — My Way by Colin Gunderson.

In June of 1995, the St. Louis Cardinals — the team I played for from 1969 to 1974 and a club I had managed since 1990 — told me they were bringing another manager on board. From a professional standpoint, it was a tough time. I loved the city of St. Louis and the fans. I wondered whether I’d get another chance to manage in the major leagues…

One of the first people to call was Tommy Lasorda.

“Don’t worry about it,” he bellowed. “This is a blessing in disguise.” I’m not sure that I believed him, but I appreciated the encouragement. “If you’re so concerned with the door that just closed behind you, you will never see the door that will open in front of you.”

Months later, I got the surprise of a lifetime when the New York Yankees called. Tommy’s words proved prophetic. I was a rare Giants fan in Brooklyn as a kid, but Tommy Lasorda played a huge part in helping me understand why Dodger Blue was so special.

— Joe Torre.

“Giving the ball to an unknown pitcher from Mexico on Opening Day in 1981 and sparking Fernandomania. The first word he learned in English was “million”, Tommy said of Valenzuela.”

My Way by Tommy Lasorda and Colin Gunderson features Tommy scalding his foot in boiling hot water, as his players laugh at the venerable coach. Not one to be outdone, or outworked in any capacity, Tommy wanders in the lockers to see a player dipping his toes in a bucket of boiling hot water. Confused at the strange sight, Tommy Lasorda’s booming voice yells “What is going on here?” The player, Randy Smith of the ’68 season, explains that he went on a picnic, when a bee stung him. “You went on a picnic! Before the championship game are you crazy!” yells Lasorda. The coach then looks down, and tells Randy to dip his whole foot in it. When Randy Smith protests, Lasorda takes off his cleats, socks, and dunks his whole foot in boiling water. “This isn’t hot! The rest of you get your butts back out there!”, booms Lasorda. When everyone reaches the infield, they hear Lasorda scream “AHHHHH!” as the players peek back inside, Lasorda’s foot is pink red from the calf down. The players explode out in laughter, at the expense of Lasorda. Lasorda probably had it coming to him anyway, who’s father son relationships to his minor league players created stars at the majors, to the pain and sacrifice of said players.

One of the things great players miss about the game, once their time is up, is the camaraderie of the locker room. Wayne Gretzky was once asked what he missed most about hockey, and he said the locker room shenanigans. Playoffs, overtime winners, and Stanley Cup titles came second to the memories of the locker room. Doesn’t have to be professional players, if you’ve played t-ball or high school soccer, you’d probably say the same thing. You tend to forget the goals you’ve scored, games you’ve won, but you never forget your teammates. The same thing with high school teachers. You don’t really remember the easy teachers who gave out easy assignments, but the super strict, hard nosed ones where kids were scared to talk, for fear of getting yelled at. That was Tommy. You see who plays shortstop for the Dodgers today, the same for first base, and you wonder to yourself “Damn, these guys better be around for a long time.” The Dodgers once employed an infield that played together for ten years, which is still the Major League record. Those players, Steve Garvey, Davey Lopes, Bill Russell, and Ronald Cey were unbreakable. Garvey in particular, played with 22 stitches on his chin after getting hit by a fastball, played through the flu, bruised heels, a pulled hamstring, and a 110-degree fever that could make most people unconscious. Garvey became the 1978 NLCS MVP, and set the National League record for consecutive games played: 1,207. Garvey also became ten time All-Star. And that too, was Tommy.

“Tommy was never intimidated by anything. We went in and played teams that in hindsight were so much better than us. Whether it was a big series or a playoff, we felt like were the best team. We weren’t intimidated by anything, and it started with Tommy” — Former Player and current Anaheim Angels Manager Scioscia.

From his experience as a player Tommy Lasorda had learned an important lesson:

All the brutal practices a player puts in isn’t simply to prepare oneself mentally and physically; it also teaches a player to persevere. It is what helps a player push through nagging injuries, annoying slumps, through the drowning humidity of July games in St. Louis and frigid cold of October games in New York. Those lessons helped Cey and his infield brothers not only stay and play together, but win together.

— My Way.

Tacoma, Washington’s Ron Cey talks about Tommy Lasorda’s brutal practices. At the age of 20, Ron Cey was drafted by the Dodgers in 1968. After stints at Dodgers’ affiliate Tri-City, Cey met Lasorda for the first time at Instructional League Play in Mesa, Arizona. The first impression of the coach according to Cey was a loud, boisterous man with ear ringing passion. Lasorda appeared to be talking to an auditorium, despite just five guys huddled around Lasorda. When Cey and Lasorda both joined the Dodgers, Lasorda hit scorchers and liners for the third basemen to practice… With one exception. Lasorda walked halfway to third base from home plate, hitting liners so hard it bruised Cey’s shins and stung his ankles. “He used to get so mad at me because of those ground balls I hit him,” says Lasorda. “I hit him scorchers hoping he would miss them so he would have to run, but only because I wanted to prepare him on catching grounders at the majors.” When Cey missed one, Lasorda made the young player run laps around the field. Imagine your coach hitting line drives just a dozen feet from you, breaking your body down with repetitions. Though humbling, Ron Cey averaged .323 in five seasons of minor league, and endured a fifteen year career in the majors — one of the most underrated third basemen with a career 316 home runs and 1,139 RBIs.

Lasorda once spooked one of his pitchers, who was struggling with strikes. Lasorda walks to the mound, and tells him to imagine that his next pitch will be his last pitch, before meeting “The Big Dodger in blue upstairs.” Would he like to meet God after striking out the batter, or after giving up a hit? Though Lasorda’s motivational ploys worked, it backfired this time. The pitcher was so scared that he couldn’t throw a strike again. Bobby Valentine makes an early appearance in My Way, colorful analyst and commentator who, in another life was the star running back and baseball recruit and legend of Connecticut. They legitimately compared Valentine to the next OJ Simpson, if not in pure athletic ability, then as a multiple sport prodigy out of Rippowam High. The stories say Valentine was recruited by Big Red’s Bob Devaney for The Big Red, the Fighting Irish of Notre Dame, and the Men of Troy of Southern California. Joe Paterno visited Valentine’s home as well, fully convinced Valentine was a Nittany Lion for life. But when Patterno prepares to eat dinner with Bobby’s family, Paterno hears some rackety going on. When Paterno peeks outside, Bobby Valentine is doing batting practice in the backyard. Joe Paterno knew he had no shot after that, says the book. Thus Tommy Lasorda won Bobby’s services, destined for baseball greatness. When Valentine jumped up to catch a homerun, his leg infamously caught the wall — breaking his shin bone in a Joe Namath like freak injury. Despite numerous surgeries, Valentine literally collapsed to the ground, when rounding third to home at practice. Feeling his playing days were over, Lasorda urged Valentine to managing. Valentine went on to find coaching as his next calling to the game.

“Tommy Lasorda is a fighter. As a kid he had to fight his parents to play baseball. As a high school player he had to fight his coach to get on the mound. As a minor league pitcher he had to fight the other 600 players who would report to spring training with the Dodgers for a spot on the roster. As a scout he had to fight other scouts. As a minor league coach he had to fight other teams to his players how to win. As a major league coach he had to fight to become the manager of the Dodgers. It was one of the most coveted jobs in baseball.”

When Tommy Lasorda says Dodger Stadium is heaven, the endless sunshine and palm trees of Chavez Ravine is indeed heaven. But not for those reasons alone. The Lasorda name is an Italian one, which for Tommy began in a home with one coal stove in Norristown, Pennsylvania. The stove lit the dining room but not much else. Tommy’s father spent twelve hours each day, driving trucks to and from a quarry, in the abysmal cold winters of the Philadelphia suburb. No heaters in the truck, just thin steel toed boots that stung in the Philly wind. The Lasorda family grew up in a different time, when Tommy and his four brothers were forced to work as roofers, on the railroads, and delivering one hundred pound potato sacks to the neighbors. Railroad men pulled apart the old tracks, lined up the new ones, before nailing the tracks down with sledge hammers. When Tommy felt like skipping on lifting one hundred pound sacks, he went upstairs and jumped out the window to play baseball. To be on that mound, knowing that he wasn’t supposed to be there, was more exhilarating. When Tommy came back to the house, Tommy’s father was waiting with his belt in hand. But it was worth it, not just for Tommy but for the Dodgers and the game of baseball.

What is more human than the power of self-confidence?

What is more human than the joy of sharing in success? What is more human than the love of a manager hugging his player like a father hugs his son? What is more human than the fun of tasting fruits of victory? Knowing that your belief helped someone do something miraculous?

To have that type of effect on someone is for what, for many people, makes life worth living, and for Tommy, what made managing his life’s work.

— My Way by Colin Gunderson.