The Curse of the Dodger -- It's On Tape

THE CURSE OF THE DODGER

Hey, Dodger fans, here’s a heads up. Your team can’t win.

You see, there’s a curse on them. It may not last as long as the Curse of The Bambino and it’s not nearly as wacky as the Billy Goat curse the Chicago Cubs must endure but there’s certainly a curse on the Los Angeles Dodgers who haven't been to the World Series in more than twenty years. The only reasonable explanation for their long stretch of futility is because they had a curse put on them.

By me. And it’s on tape.

Twenty years ago my brother and I were trying to run a gin mill in Brooklyn. Which was a handful enough. We found our cook snorting lines of coke off a prep table; we had to fish a full set of teeth out of the toilet in the ladies’ room. (No one ever claimed them). We ran out of beer on St. Patrick’s Day.

On a windy day, our 25 foot sign blew right off the front of the building and sailed half a block down Third Avenue. We chased it down, this flying carpet with royal blue lettering. People on the sidewalk laughing the whole time. What a couple of maroons.

As we dragged the sign back we were met by a process server with a Cease and Desist order. Some law firm was telling us we couldn’t use the name on our sign: THE BROOKLYN DODGER.

The law firm was the muscle of the Los Angeles Dodgers and Major League Baseball. Trademark infringement, they claimed. Change the name in a week or we’re suing. We said we had done a trademark search and were within our rights to use the name. And no one could be confused about the two businesses. They were a baseball team in Los Angeles; we were a pub in Brooklyn. Tough, they said. Well, pay us to change the signs, the menu. 10 grand, we asked. Tough, they said.

We were either too young, too dumb, or had the kind of Brooklyn cajones that makes you say Up Yours before you have time to think, because we didn’t cave. We did the only thing we could do: we cried to the press. And they answered.

The New York papers slammed the Dodgers for greed and arrogance and “chutzpah.” We loved it; the Dodgers not so much. They sued.

The Today Show, CNN, and Hard Copy sent camera crews. We weren’t exactly used to prime time and our Brooklyn accents made us seem like Irish versions of the Sopranos. My brother, being made up for TV for the first time, glanced at me and said, “Looks like I’m going to McManus Funeral Home for an estimate.”

The David versus Goliath angle played well in the media. But there was the matter of the lawsuit for which we were woefully unarmed. Until we found our sling shot. Or more accurately, the sling shot found us. After reading about our plight, Ron Russo, a lawyer with a good, healthy Brooklyn accent himself, called and said he’d represent us for free. For free? Yep, he didn’t like bullies. We had our guy. We knew the odds were still against us but at least we’d go down swinging.

Interest in the case stayed strong. ABC-TV, NPR, CBS-TV and others did bits about the lawsuit. We got letters and calls from New Zealand, the Virgin Islands, and from across the U.S. urging us to fight on.

The legendary Bob Feller came to our bar and said the Dodgers were doing the "lousiest and greediest thing they could do." Bob Costas wrote a note telling us the “name belongs to youse guys.” The Brooklyn Dodger Sym-phony came and led a rally of supporters. Streams of old-timers, who were crushed when the Dodgers headed west in ‘57, came by the bar to reminisce and curse the west coast Dodgers.

We almost forgot we had to run a bar. You’d be talking to NBC's Gene Shalit one minute and cutting off Georgie Rugs the next. You’d get a call from a congressman or city official offering to help and then you’d have to separate a Yankee fan and a Met fan, nose to nose, spittle flying.

Meanwhile, behind the scenes, the Dodgers were swinging at us with corked wallets. They hired investigators and put numerous lawyers on the case. They tried to bury Ron Russo with motions and suit amendments. Their strategy was clear: he’d get tired of working for free. Alas, it was another Dodger miscalculation. The lawsuit dragged on but Russo remained bulldog strong. The Dodgers raised the stakes by suing us personally. The bastards.

Finally, the trial got underway. The courtroom scene might as well have been from The Verdict with Paul Newman. At various points through the trial more than a dozen lawyers sat on their side. On ours? Ron Russo.

It was nerve-wracking. We found out it was far easier talking into the mic of Channel 2 than into the mic on a witness stand. And then we had to wait 11 excruciating months for a verdict. But it was the right verdict.

Without any sign or hint, on one fine day in April, 1993, we got the news: WE WON. We could keep the name The Brooklyn Dodger.

Drinks on the house! Balloons and confetti filled the bar and the street outside. We drank, laughed, and cried. We did interviews.

Towards closing time, I was handed a phone to do an interview with Howie Rose on WFAN radio. I don't know what came over me....maybe it was that the Los Angeles Dodgers had sued us personally, that they had abandoned Brooklyn, that their arrogance was colossal to the end... but for that one moment with Howie Rose I couldn’t help myself. I had to take one more shot.

I cast my curse on the airwaves: Howie, I'm putting a curse on them. The Dodgers will never win the World Series again!

The WFAN host exulted: It’s on tape!

So now, it's 2009 and I say Joe Torre, Joe Schmorre. The Dodgers' can't win. There's a curse on them.

***Postscript:

At the start, we asked for 10 grand to defray the cost of changing the name. It was estimated the Dodgers spent 800 THOUSAND in legal fees.

The Brooklyn Dodger Sports Bar has gone the way of Ebbets Field.

Ron Russo is still practicing law and remains a great friend.

The Dodgers have not even made a World Series appearance since they sued the bar. And the curse is on tape. The Bambino and The Goat. That’s some company.