Talking Motherf---ing Baseball, Godd--- It!
Frank Steele
pulling a pitcher. Below is that transcript, from the June 1990 Spy, p. 49.
Bear in mind that this contains quite a bit of profanity. If you are easily
offended, hit 'n' now.
Reprinted without permission. No author credited.
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Talking Motherf---ing Baseball, Godd--- It!
SPY Salutes the Tardy 1990 Baseball Season With a Piece of 13-Year-Old,
Unauthorized Oral History
An unusual audiocassette recently made its way into our possession. The
tape -- rerecorded and passed on from enthusiast to enthusiast over the years,
a kind of sonic chain letter -- offers a true baseball fan's delight: actual,
uncensored recordings of ballplayers caught in the act of cussing. (As a sort
of a bonus, the tape also includes Kansas City Royal George Brett's frank
assessment of his progress in battling a case of hemorrhoids: "You know how
some guys, when they get laid, they like having their girlfriends stick their
fingers up their ass? Well, I don't think I'm going to try THAT anytime soon!")
The most instructive sequence on the tape involves Los Angeles Dodgers manager
Tommy Lasorda, who was apparently wearing a microphone for the broadcast of the
1977 World Series between the Dodgers and the New York Yankees. Inadvertently,
perhaps, Lasorda provides us with an answer to one of baseball's most enduring
mysteries: what do managers say to pitchers when they walk out to the mound?
The scene: game four, at Dodger Stadium, with the Yankees leading two games
to one. In the top of the second inning left-handed starter Doug Rau -- a
surprise starter, given his recently sore pitching arm -- has just yielded three
straight hits. The score is 1-0 Yankees, with runners on second and third. There
are no outs. As the tape begins, Lasorda is sitting in the dugout.
DODGER STADIUM ANNOUNCER: BATTING SEVENTH, NUMBER 9, THIRD BASEMAN GRAIG
NETTLES.
[A pause as Lasorda walks out to the mound; Rau apparently says something or
makes a gesture indicating he wants to stay in the game.]
LASORDA: Fuck no. You can't get the fucking left-handers out for Christ All-
fucking-mighty.
RAU: I feel good, Tommy.
LASORDA: I don't give a shit you feel good -- there's four motherfucking hits
up there.
RAU: They're all fucking hits the opposite way.
LASORDA: I don't give a fuck.
RAU: I got a left-handed hitter. I can strike this motherfucker out.
LASORDA: I don't give a fuck, Dougie.
RAU: I think you're wrong.
LASORDA: Well, I may be wrong, but that's my goddamn job. I --
RAU: I ain't fucking hurting.
LASORDA: I'll make the fucking decisions here.
RAU: [unintelligible]
LASORDA: I'll make the fucking decisions here. Okay?
[At this point the ballpark organist begins playing a jaunty tune, which lasts
throughout the rest of the tape and lends the proceedings a strange air of
pathos.]
RAU: You let three runs get up on the fucking board yesterday.
LASORDA: I DON'T GIVE A FUCK!
RAU: Hey, Tommy --
LASORDA: DON'T GIVE ME ANY SHIT, GODDAMN IT! I'll make the fucking decisions.
Keep your fucking mouth shut, I told ya.
UNIDENTIFIED INFIELDER: [Unintelligible] get back off the mound. You want to
talk about it, talk about it inside.
LASORDA: You talk about it inside my fucking office.
INFIELDER: I'm just saying, talk about it inside. This is not the place to keep
talking about it. Okay? That's all I'm trying to say. I'm just trying to avoid
a fucking scene out here, that's all.
LASORDA: Right. Fucking great for you to be standing out here talking to me like
that.
RAU: If I didn't feel good, I wouldn't say anything.
LASORDA: I don't give a shit, Doug. I'm the fucking manager of the fucking team.
I got to make the fucking decisions --
ANNOUNCER: COMING IN TO PITCH FOR THE DODGERS --
LASORDA: -- and I'll make them to the fucking best of my ability.
ANNOUNCER: -- NUMBER 36, RICK RHODEN.
[Crowd cheers]
LASORDA: It may be the fucking wrong decision, but I'll make it. Don't worry
about it. I'll make the fucking decision. I gave you a fucking chance to walk
out of here. I can't fuck around -- we're down two games to one. If it was
yesterday, that's a different fucking story.
RAU: There's a left-handed hitter coming up, what about that?
LASORDA: I DON'T GIVE A SHIT! You got three, three left-handed hitters, and they
all got hits on ya. Whoever that is, Jackson and that fucking other guy. They
all bat, they all hit -- that guy that just hit the ball was a left-hander,
wasn't he?
RAU: I jammed him. You know, the inside part of the plate --
LASORDA: I don't give a shit if you jammed him or not, he didn't get out. I
can't -- I can't let you out there in a fucking game like this. I got a fucking
job to do. What's the matter with you?
[A smattering of applause as Rau finally leaves; Rhoden arrives on the mound,
and an unintelligible discussion ensues, presumably as to how to pitch to
Graig Nettles. Lasorda returns to the dugout.]
LASORDA: What a fucking pain in the ass, that Rau. I hate to bring him into
the second inning with a fucking left-hander. [Unintelligible] we can't give
'em two more this fucking early.
[Unintelligible question from a player or coach.]
LASORDA: Send him back.
UNIDENTIFIED PLAYER OR COACH: Back. Send him back....He doesn't want to go back.
Get the fuck back. BACK!
[Tape ends; the Dodgers go on to lose the game by a score of 4-2, the same
tally by which the Yankees would ultimately win the series.]
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