Night in Mannywood: Fans Blind to Truth

LOS ANGELES -- Here in Mannywood -- Section 51, Row H, Seat 15, Wig Size M -- no one cares that the hero committed a hideous baseball crime. Nor do they care that a writer from the civilized world is sitting among them on a lovely night, wondering if they should be lobotomized for glorifying a drug cheat. All they know is that their faux dreadlocks are in place, their No. 99 jerseys are worn proudly and the epicenter of their existence is back and playing left field for the Dodgers, under a summer sky that is true blue even when Manny Ramirez was not.

"This is my town,'' he announced.

More like his brainwashed cult, actually.

Mannywood is a surreal and superficial place where a steroids bust not only is condoned but laughed off, dismissed as part of Ramirez's cartoonish legend. It's officially a section of seats but really a wrap-around outfield love cocoon where fawning fans chant his name and blow him kisses, prompting him to wave back and throw balls into the stands between innings. When he was suspended 50 games for violating baseball's steroids policy, the Los Angeles Dodgers initially decided to shut down Mannywood, not wanting to endorse performance-enhancing drugs by keeping alive a marketing device started when he arrived last year. But an amazing thing happened while those of us in other towns were condemining Ramirez, who took a female fertility drug banned by Major League Baseball. Fans stampeded management with calls and e-mails, demanding that Mannywood stay open.

So the front office relented, checking their integrity at the ticket window. And when he made his first Chavez Ravine appearance since the suspension Thursday night, Ramirez was greeted like a rock star by Mannywood regulars immersed in hope that the Dodgers, who haven't won a World Series in 21 years, will ride his thunder bat to a new title parade. I'd like to think fans weren't so blinded by winning that they'd keep perspective. In Mannywood, that makes me a minority of one.

There they were, oblivious to Ramirez's integrity problems. A 3-year-old boy was wearing Manny dreads. A loud, portly man showed up late and shouted at Ramirez in Spanish, inadvertently poking his young daughter in the eye. When he chugged to left field as the game began, they responded with a deafening roar in Mannywood, and when he stepped to home plate in the first inning, most in venerable Dodger Stadium gave him a standing ovation. I could go on about Manny's peeps, but you get the picture. He can do wrong in their eyes, which doesn't say much for L.A. crowds and their sophistication. They don't have to boo and throw objects at him. But slow down on the adulation.

"It was great. I was looking forward to this game," said Ramirez, who managed a single Thursday night in a 3-0 loss to Wandy Rodriguez and the Astros. "These are the best fans in the world. And they're behind me.''

But why? And why so exuberantly? "I don't think any of us have lobbied for, 'Let's give him a rousing ovation.' But I'm sensing they're going to embrace him again,'' manager Joe Torre said. "What he did was wrong, certainly it's something you don't condone. But the fans come out to be entertained. They understand that he did something wrong and he paid his price."

Much like high school, when the class clown always gets away with things while others do not, Ramirez has the lovably goofy personality to earn a hall pass in L.A.. Barry Bonds was too aloof to be excused.
Alex Rodriguez was too deceitful, Roger Clemens too egomanical, Mark McGwire too secretive about details, Sammy Sosa too obvious. Somehow, maybe in part because people are weary of steroids and have no more energy to boo, Manny is worshipped. "I'm back, Part 2," he said. "Remember, you always leave the last part for the best. So that's what we're going to do."

Nor does anyone seem to mind that he won't answer questions about his steroids mess. "I don't need to talk about anything more. I just need to show up and play the game,'' Ramirez said. "That's in the past, I want to leave it in the past, and I just want to go enjoy."

"I'm sure he didn't like what this whole thing brought about," Torre said. "In his mind, he didn't do it intentionally. He didn't deny what he did. I'm sure he'll be a little more diligent on what he puts in his body again. Nobody says it's OK to violate rules. He took his punishment."

The fundamental question is how Ramirez's post-suspension mental state will translate to his team's status as a World Series favorite. Can Manny still bring down the Dodgers the way he tried to bring down the Red Sox? So far, he seems quite pleased with his oversized support group and is blending in with the total cause. It helps, of course, that he has come out blasting the ball as if he'd never been away, proving again that his skills are so natural that he could hit in a tsunami. Through Friday, he was hitting .352 with nine home runs and 29 RBI, similar to the breathtaking pace he has followed since arriving from Boston last July.

"I think this is his comfort zone, in that batter's box, in the ballpark, in the clubhouse, something that he hasn't had for a couple of months,'' Torre said. "I think this is the best medicine for him after having to go through what he went through Again, it's not that you're feeling sorry for him because he obviously was suspended for a reason. But we're past that.''

It's a credit to Torre's leadership that no one in the clubhouse has balked about Ramirez's return. While he was gone, the Dodgers went 29-21 and maintained their status as the National League's best team. There could have been friction over the benching of Juan Pierre, who was brilliant in Ramirez's place. Of all people, Manny went overboard to pacify that situation, directly complimenting Pierre when, as we know, Manny rarely compliments anyone but the barber.


"It was very tough having been on the sidelines for a long time, but the guys did a great job, they're professional players, they know how to play the game and I think everybody expected the team to be in first place and that's where we are right now,'' Ramirez said. "Juan did a great job, he also deserved to be an All-Star. He did a great job in the time that I was gone and I'm just happy he's on my team."

You sense the Dodgers are a team that could go far with or without Ramirez. But make no mistake, they're going farther with him. He can ask fans to embrace the other players until he's Dodger Blue in the face. They seem to be focused only on him, which isn't fair to about four position players and three or four pitchers. "Man, I don't think they depend on me,'' he said. "And (Andre) Ethier and Matt Kemp, they're great players, so I think they deserve all the credit. I'm just out there doing my thing."

His "thing'' is being enabled by over-the-top, disproportionate-to-reality Manny love. Even in New York last week, Ramirez heard only a few boos. Thus, Mannywood lives. "It would be tricky if the fan support wasn't there to bring Mannywood back," said Dennis Mannion, the club's president and chief operating officer, in an Associated Press interview. "We've really seen overwhelming e-mails and listened to an overwhelming number of phone calls from fans asking if it's going to come back. So it made the decision to reopen the section a little easier. The way we've looked at it is that baseball has a system in place and they've penalized Manny."

Baseball punished Ramirez for 50 games. Los Angeles is hugging and protecting him as if he was the victim. "Manny looks small,'' a young boy told his father in Mannywood. I wanted to turn around and say to the kid, 'Hey, when a guy is off steroids, he shrinks.' But I didn't have the heart.

Let him figure it out when he grows up, if that is even possible in this, way-too-forgiving neighborhood.

"We love you, Manny!'' yelled a woman in her 50s.

Manny waved at her. That's all he has to do, wave, and a villain becomes a hero.