Speedy outfielder Juan Pierre is costing the Dodgers $12,302 per strikeout in 2008.

LOS ANGELES – The Los Angeles Dodgers’ vain, self-absorbed fans, more known for disinterested posing than loyal game attendance and enthusiastic cheering, are making their players sad

“In that one game where we were playing that one team, I hitted the ball really hard,” said star center fielder Andruw Jones, who this offseason signed a 2-year, $36.2 million contract with the Dodgers after batting .222 with the Atlanta Braves in 2007. “The other team catched the ball, but I runned really fast to the first base. Did you see that? Did you, mister?”

The answer in L.A., unfortunately, is no. Despite the storied franchise’s broadly successful move from Brooklyn to California 50 years ago that has yielded an enduring record of on-the-field achievements – including five World Series championships – late-arriving, early-departing, cell-phone-yapping, sushi-munching fans have become a staple of the Dodger Stadium crowd.

“It hurts. It really does,” said General Manager Ned Colletti. “Our boys run their little hearts out on the field, and all you hear is people laughing at some joke they heard on Leno last night. Then it takes our entire coaching staff 20 minutes to convince our batter that they’re not laughing at his swing. Or his big butt.”

All too often coaches have observed players’ crushed psyches affect their performance.

“I tell the young guys that there are people out there who really care about the game, like that guy with the binoculars in the fifth row,” said third-base coach Larry Bowa. “But they’re old enough now where they know better. He’s just checking out broads.”

The more egregious examples of “half-assed” fan support, according to pitching coach Rick Honeycutt, range from business people checking their stock portfolios on their laptops to students too distracted to watch because “they’re playing baseball on their Gameboy. I mean, come on. I hope they were at least playing the cyber-Dodgers.”

The laid-back attitude even pervades the bleachers, typically the rowdiest section of a ballpark. In Los Angeles, the bleachers have become a choice location for people to work on their tans. Horrified outfielders are overwhelmed by the stench of warm coconut oil emanating from frying bodies stretched laterally along the benches.

“How can they see me play with those towels over their eyes?” lamented outfielder Juan Pierre, whose diminishing skills will fleece the Dodgers of $36 million over the remaining four years of his contract. “They’re totally missing all the great catches I make.”

For new manager Joe Torre, who was lured to L.A. with a 3-year, $13 million contract after 12 hugely successful seasons as New York Yankees skipper, it was an adjustment coming from the rabid environment of Yankee Stadium.

“I really miss the way the New York fans got into the game,” Torre said. “Well, except for that one guy behind our dugout who kept saying how much he enjoyed my wife last night.”

If spring training is any indication, the fan disconnect won’t make Torre’s job of returning the Dodgers to glory any easier. In the team’s final tuneup at the Chicago Cubs’ spring ballpark in Mesa, Ariz., James Loney’s towering home run drew an unusual response from the bleachers.

“He’s rounding second before he notices some idiot Cub fan throw the ball back onto the field,” said Torre, shaking his head. “The big lug didn’t even tag third. He just ran back into our dugout. I tell you, in my 40-plus years in this game, I’ve never seen anything so heartbreaking as a 6-foot-3, 220-pound power hitter curled up on the bench, hugging his glove.”

Torre took several moments to compose himself.“I told him, ‘Hey, it’s OK, buddy, you hit the ball really far,’ and a couple of the other guys were like ‘Way to go, slugger!’ and stuff like that. But he just sucked on the thumb of his glove and said ‘I want my mommy.”

Even veteran players tire of Dodger fans’ galling lack of attention to dramatic game developments. Renowned clutch hitter Nomar Garciaparra recalled a tie game last August, during a heated series against division rival San Diego, in which he worked ace Jake Peavy to a 3-2 count with the bases loaded.

“I mean, this is crunch time, right? Where the ‘10th man’ comes into play,” said Garciaparra. “So I’m listening for some ‘Let’s-go, Dod-gers!’, but I hear ‘Is this tofu organic or transitional?’”

Garciaparra, who is slated to earn $8.5 million in 2008 despite beginning the season on the disabled list, struck out looking at Peavy’s next pitch, an inside fastball just above the knees to end the inning.

“Maybe a ‘Hey batta!’ would’ve got me to swing instead of standing there like an idiot listening to ‘The ’02 Merlots just haven’t wowed me,’” he groused. “Would it be so hard to yell ‘Good eye!’ or tell the ump to get some glasses? I mean, don’t these people care? I feel like I’m all alone out there.”

Categories: Sports
Tags: baseball, Dodgers, features