An Innocent Abroad On The Baseball Diamonds

"But I don't want a whole magazine layout," I persisted. "I just want one picture."

"If it were really just one picture I'd be more than happy to oblige—pose anyway you say. I'd be extremely happy to oblige. But nine or 10 pictures, a whole magazine layout, not today."

At that point the Dodger team trotted in from the field for another turn at bat. And Durocher went back out to his third base coaching box. The mad-tea-party quality of our argument brought back old memories. It was the same feeling I had associated with the teams Durocher had managed so brilliantly—and yet so wackily.

I decided I would give up trying to get a picture of my ex-idol. Instead I asked Maury Wills if he'd hit a few balls in a pepper game going on behind the bleachers. Wills obliged. But I failed to get the picture I wanted—the exact moment a baseball and bat meet.

Half an hour later I wandered back toward the Cub dugout. And my path took me by the Dodger bench again. As I went by, a voice called out.

"Anytime, kid," Durocher was saying. "I'm ready whenever you are."

He was sitting stiffly on the dugout step, in a pose that indicated great personal dignity.

"Terrific," I said. "But I thought instead of a posed picture, I'd just take a shot of you relaxing, watching the game."

"I don't relax watching the game," Durocher replied. "Certainly not. You won't find any relaxers around here."

"Well, if you just lean back a little," I suggested, "maybe fold your hands over your knees. You said if I took just one shot, I could have any pose I wanted."