LOS ANGELES – The guard said the corridor snaked through the belly of Dodger Stadium and would lead me and another writer to the visitors’ clubhouse. Obviously the guy knew what he was talking about since he just sent Jamie Moyer the same way just moments before.
They say that sometimes the journey is much more interesting than the arrival. In this case it seemed right on after I made a quick left turn down another dark and dingy hallway before stumbling onto a sight to behold.
There was Manny being Manny.
Dressed in his Dodgers’ workout gear complete with the headband and everything, Manny eyed me and another scribe like a deer distracted from grazing by a couple of squirrels rustling through the brush.
But rather than scurry away, the other writer and I slowed our pace and not-so inconspicuously turned to watch Manny workout all by himself in the batting cage. There, he went through a range of routines before taking that fluid and famous right-handed swing at a ball resting on a tee.
Before our eyes could focus on the sound of the ball striking the bat and rocketing toward the mesh net at the other end of the cage, Manny was deep into his hitting routine again.
“It’s kind of like wandering into Edison’s lab, isn’t it,” I said.
Yes it was.
At the same time, strolling through the outer concourses, hidden corridors, clubhouses and field of Dodger Stadium is like going into a baseball history time machine. Forget about all the greats that took the same steps as me, Dodger Stadium and its geography is an important part of baseball and U.S. history. The Dodgers, after all, were the first baseball team to move to a city west of St. Louis. The move set off such an all-encompassing chain of events that have never stopped. Ever. Just think about the time that games begin and wonder if that had anything to do with the migration west.
Anyway, Dodger Stadium is a relic. It’s old without the wear. It’s small and cramped, but not claustrophobically so. The vistas from the seating area are right out of Ansel Adams on one side and Blade Runner on the other.
It’s a cross between awesome and totally awesome.
Interestingly, the infield grass is cut to golf-course level and the distance from the stands to the first and third bases is obscenely close. There’s no doubt that the people sitting along the third-base side of the field have gotten an earful from Tommy Lasorda in the past, and Larry Bowa this season.
But those views… wow!
But wouldn’t you know it, after making a conscious effort to pack a camera for the trip in order to snap some pictures for the site, etc., I left the damn thing at home. Yeah, such a dumbass.
Nevertheless, I was able to snap one with my phone, but they never turn out well. In the meantime, I’ll be heading over to the ballpark soon to regale readers with more tales from out here on the coast. Here’s a tidbit to start… a lot of my colleagues believe this series is coming back to Philadelphia late next week.
I’m not so sure.