1981 Championship Year, a Symbolic Game: The chase resumes
The Dodgers’ eight World Series championships are individually worthy of a movie. With that in mind, we continue with part four of an eight-part series that takes one regular season game — a microcosm game for the team’s championship season — and treat it like a screenplay to a movie. The following is a true story of the 1981 World Series champions. The game is Dodgers vs. Reds, Aug. 10, 1981.
by Mark Langill
It was the fifth inning of a game at Dodger Stadium on Aug. 10, 1981, that meant both everything and nothing, depending on that uniform you were wearing. Jerry Reuss was on a roll but tiring. His body hadn’t been taxed like this in months.
But every pitch looked familiar — powerful and effective with surgical precision.
There was a little discomfort in the building among the 35,120 fans in attendance and 50 players on each side as the two groups became reacquainted.
There would be many flashbacks that evening, when both the Dodgers and Cincinnati Reds picked up the pieces of a shattered and silent summer suddenly given a second chance at life.
A 50-day labor stoppage had brought what began as a magical season headlined by rookie pitcher Fernando Valenzuela to a grinding halt. The Dodgers were frozen in first place with a half-game over Cincinnati in the National League West on June 12 when teams went home and waited for a settlement between the owners and the players’ union.
Reuss was the Dodgers’ player representative at negotiation sessions. While other groups of Dodger players practiced at local parks and baseball diamonds in Southern California, Reuss was lucky if his hotel on the road, usually New York, happened to have a workout room open after business hours. The only players around Reuss were the reps from other Major League teams, none wearing baseball jerseys.
In normal summers, Reuss had for a decade deftly juggled balance and momentum to turn his 6-foot-5, 200-pound frame into a catapult. A high kick with his right leg triggered the arching motion of his left arm.
Teammate Bobby Castillo called Reuss “Big Bird” after the yellow and feathery character on Sesame Street. For teammates unfamiliar with public television, his tall frame and shock of blonde hair inspired another moniker — “Q-tip.”
Reuss loved to laugh and pull practical jokes on his teammates and his manager, Tommy Lasorda. Reuss was always the silent instigator with the “Who me?” poker face. He often blamed his favorite collaborator Jay Johnstone, the veteran outfielder and pinch-hitter who was always happy to take credit for any successful foul deed.
But there were too many times in 1981 that Reuss spent his early summer days scrunched in an office chair, stuck behind a table in an air-conditioned conference room. Reuss looked out of place, donning a sport coat and slacks. The comedian at heart was stuck in detention, although he strongly believed in protecting the interests of his colleagues in collective bargaining.
Oh, for the days strolling around in his regular baseball office — the clubhouse — in his underwear and shower shoes.
When the labor dust finally settled, Reuss was back starting the Dodger’ first game against the Cincinnati Reds when the season resumed on Aug. 9. On the surface, life seemed normal at the ballpark.
A lineup card pinned in the Dodger dugout read the familiar names, including the infield that had spent eight seasons together since 1973 — first baseman Steve Garvey, second baseman Davey Lopes, shortstop Bill Russell and third baseman Ron Cey. The outfielders included veteran Dusty Baker in left, first-year Dodger Ken Landreaux in center and power-hitting prospect Pedro Guerrero in right.
The Reds still had a few familiar names from their dynasty days on their lineup card, including center fielder Ken Griffey shortstop Dave Concepción, left fielder George Foster and reserve catcher Johnny Bench.
Television cameras captured the action of the early evening game for ABC television’s “Monday Night Baseball.” Vendors walked the aisles, hawking ice cream, sodas, popcorn, and Dodger Dogs. The souvenir booths were stocked with programs, buttons, felt pennants, caps and T-shirts.
It was normal again.
But the players and fans had returned to a different world.
A split season.
The division leaders at the time of the work stoppage were retroactively declared first-half champions. The Dodgers already had their ticket punched for the playoffs. The Reds had to start over and try to win a second half.
While the Reds and other second-place teams fumed at their situations, the Dodgers had six weeks to get their game faces ready for a championship quest that had eluded them since 1965.
The starting infield, along with catcher Steve Yeager, had appeared in three World Series between 1974 and 1978.
The infield wasn’t getting younger. Lopes, at age 36 the oldest of the group, was hearing the footsteps of two minor league second basemen: Jack Perconte at Triple-A Albuquerque and Steve Sax at Double-A San Antonio.
At 32, Reuss still had fuel in his gas tank and fire in his belly. Acquired from the Pirates in 1979 in a trade for pitcher Rick Rhoden, Reuss had never pitched for a World Series champion.
Reuss had been a Major League pitcher since making his debut at age 20 for the hometown St. Louis Cardinals in 1969. Now, in his prime with the Dodgers, Reuss had been an All-Star in 1980, when he won 18 games and pitched his first no-hitter in San Francisco.
Reuss was supposed to start Opening Day 1981, but a pulled calf muscle suffered while jogging in the parking lot meant someone else had to pitch on short notice.
Valenzuela, age 20, pitched a complete-game shutout against the Houston Astros. Reuss didn’t mind becoming the “other” lefty in the rotation when Valenzuela became an overnight sensation by winning his first eight starts, five by shutout. It was a team game, and Valenzuela made the Dodgers even stronger.
April was now August, and the Dodgers were getting their band back together. They had a free pass to the playoffs, but there was too much at stake to coast. So much time had already been lost.
Reuss, donning his home white uniform with the number 41, showed no signs of rust early. Four Dodger runs in the second inning gave him some breathing room during a game in which he had to often catch his breath.
With the Reds’ Ray Knight on first base and one out in the fifth inning, Reuss fired in a pitch to skinny Reds second baseman Ron Oester. Oester connected, batting the ball right back to surprised Reuss.
Reuss snared the ball and whirled toward second base and fired a strike to Russell covering second base for the force play on Knight.
Reuss caught his breath. Then he took a breath.
The next batter was Mike O’Berry, and the light-hitting catcher lofted a lazy flyout to Baker in left field.
Reuss watched the catch and slowly walked back to the dugout, his eyes now focused on the ground, blissfully unaware of the threshold the Dodgers and Reds had just attained. He didn’t care about the new-fangled playoff formats or even the scoreboard.
Reuss was a pitcher by trade, just doing his job. His intense face was filled with sweat, the razor stubble part of his work.
By completing the top of the fifth inning with the home team leading, it was now an official game.
The Dodgers were still up 4–0. Reuss in his mind had one more inning to give. Then Lasorda could give the ball to young relief ace Steve Howe to get the final outs.
Baseball, whatever it would mean in 1981, was back. There would be a season after all. And a championship for these Dodgers to chase.
1981 Championship Year, A Symbolic Game: The chase resumes was originally published in Dodger Insider on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.