If you discount people occupying things, high-profile court cases, and celebrity divorces, there is not a whole lot to talk about as far as news in Los Angeles. Sure, you have the occasional kook trying to convince the town’s sports peons that the NFL will be returning soon or that there are, indeed, genuine people in Hollywood. For crying out loud, with the ongoing lockout, the Lakers are on the verge of joining the cast of Facts of Life in the where-are-they-now category. Things have pretty much been status quo in these parts. That is, until last week.
In case you missed it — and judging by the poor attendance figures at the games this season, most did or ignored whatever “it” was — the Frank McCourt reign of terror in Los Angeles is officially coming to an end. This is not quite Alexander weeping over the breadth of his domain with no further lands to conquer, though you can see the tears of joy on the faces of many Angelenos. Even Attila had a couple of successful crossings of the Danube during which he sacked his way into infamy before his untimely demise. Mr. McCourt’s plundering and pillaging of the Dodgers left the team in worse shape than the Visigoths with very little to show for it.
Take a look at the history of the Dodgers franchise and one will no doubt notice the six World Series titles, 21 pennants, and 11 division titles since the team’s inception in 1890. A closer look at the team’s history from 2004 to present yields a sign that says “Out to Lunch.” There were good times to be sure — the two division titles and trips to the NLCS in 2008 and 2009 as well as “Mannywood” before Manny lost the “wood” and had to turn to HCG.
Of course, there was also plenty of comedic fodder ranging from the shaman shenanigans of Vladimir Shpunt who was somehow able to channel good vibrations toward the Blue Crew’s playoff run in 2004, yet failed to have the foresight capacity to warn Grady Little of Jeff Kent and J.D. Drew sliding into home at nearly the same time. (Still beats Miss Cleo.)
There were the years when the Dodgers’ hopes were just plain sunk, like in 2005 when the revolving door at third base netted a list of schlubs ranging from Oscar Robles to some guy named Nori (no not the seaweed, but just as useless at the position), their infamy living on in the people whose memories were not expunged from binging on garlic fries that will hopefully someday be banished from the stadium. If they weren’t sunk, they just stunk, and that’s why Howard Sunkin was kept on the payroll. No, not as the poetic device that I have managed to craft out of the team’s misfortunes during their recent infamy, but apparently as the recipient of a handsome payday from a prominent team charity for the appropriate position of (wait for it) senior vice president for public affairs.
Unlike his namesake, this Frank McCourt is not that good of a writer, as evidenced by the long-winded discrepancy regarding who owned the team — Frank or the Missus — based on a drafting error in the postnuptial agreement. Perhaps, this is why it’s best to teach your kids to focus on tracing letters in pre-school or at least show them the value of not skimping on a good lawyer. Instead of “Angela’s Ashes”, Frank McCourt #2 left the team and the city with Los Angeles’ ashes, those suspicious paper fires that erupted inside the stadium during the summer notwithstanding.
Last week, it became official. Frank McCourt, saddled with debt and a credit rating so awful that he might have been compelled to ask Greece for a bailout while being held upside-down by Bud Selig in the proverbial toilet, has decided to sell the team. Talk about being put in a bad position. So here’s the memo to all prospective owners out there: “This jewel can be yours. No World Series titles in 23 years, a lack of resources and finances, and star on the verge of free agency in Matt Kemp, who is willing to test the market in 2012 … For the low, low price of $1 billion. Call in the next fifteen minutes and we’ll throw in one of Jamie’s swimming pools and myopic building plans for a condominium development in the area around Dodger Stadium, where fans have been ruthlessly attacked while Bill the Butcher presided over security in the area.”
Sarcasm aside (the first and last time you’ll read those words from this writer), it has not been a good time for the Dodgers and their devoted fans. (I must admit I was raised one; after all, admitting it is the 8th step on the road to recovery). An optimist might say the Dodgers were a couple of Jonathan Broxton fastballs away from reaching the World Series under McCourt’s tenure as owner, and that much of the negatives may have been overlooked had they been triumphant. Of course, that would be akin to say that Broxton is just a few pounds away from fighting as a welterweight.
The truth is that, dating back to the Fox era of ownership in 1998 to the most recent debacle, the team went from a period of relative stability over a half-century of control by the O’Malleys who employed only two managers and won six championships to a period where the talk has been confined to bad decisions in the front office and off the field. It’s funny sometimes in sports how the storylines can be so cyclical. Look back at the team’s history. In the late 19th century, when the franchise was founded, the team was known as the “Bridegrooms.” Some pundits today would argue that the team has become baseball’s bridesmaids. While that point might be debatable, here’s one that isn’t: Frank McCourt was certainly not the best man.
