Tommy's big tumble

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He is an old act that just can't be pulled out of Dodger blue no matter how hard you try. Here it was the All-Star Game and suddenly Tommy Lasorda, five years removed from his last real job in baseball, was standing in the third-base coach's box trying to coax the notice of one more crowd, just one last camera.

Then it came, twirling dangerously toward him in the form of Vladimir Guerrero's broken black baseball bat. And boom! The Lasorda of Slimfast and Hollywood and stale old stories was rolling in the grass, the bat skittering around him. Suddenly the night was all about Tommy Lasorda for one more time.

So he played it for what it was worth, sprawling out like on his back, girth in the air looking all too much like the Phillie Phanatic washed ashore.

And how the crowd roared. And the more the crowd roared the more Lasorda dragged out all the old tricks, chasing the umpires, running to the dugout trying to grab yet one more yuk and making the All-Star Game look like a celebrity softball game.

"He managed to upstage Ripken," Lasorda's own godson, Mike Piazza, said.

How he happened to be there without a real function in the game is mystery enough. But Lasorda counts Mets Manager Bobby Valentine among his closest friends in the game. And Valentine will do anything to keep the light glaring on the Lasorda show. Lasorda asked to coach third base for a couple innings. Valentine was all too eager to oblige.

Then the game was over and Lasorda roamed the National League clubhouse still wearing his Dodgers uniform, unwilling to shed it while the cameras and reporters were still coming around. Commissioner Bud Selig hurried in with a worried look.

"Ah, I'm fine, never felt better!" Lasorda boomed in between horrendous hacks as he tried to fight off a cold.

So what happened Tommy? Came the questions.

"Well, I was watching the ball going down the right-field line, I never saw the bat!" Lasorda said. "You know, that's the first time I ever got hit in a game like that down there."

So the bat hit you?

"Nah! Missed me. Don't worry, you can't hurt me!"

He sniffled again. Hacked one more time.

A television crew walked over. A woman held up a microphone and gushed, "Tommy! What happened?"

"Well, I was watching the ball going down the right field line."

And on and on it went. Somebody said he leaped to his feet like a gymnast. Another wondered where the flexibility had come from.

"Flexibility!" Lasorda roared. Then he laughed. And everybody else laughed.

Across the room, Piazza talked about the moment of horror he had when he saw the edge of the bat fly from Guerrero's hands, then noticed Lasorda flat on his back. What if he was hurt? His very own godfather!

But when he realized everything was fine, Piazza laughed. Everybody laughed. A sold-out crowd in Safeco Field laughed and all the world was watching Tommy Lasorda. The show was his.

For a night, everything was about him again.