What was Davalillo's Bunt?

To lifelong diehard Dodger fans, the significance of this blog's title will be readily apparent. But there are bound to be many visitors to this site who won't be as intimately acquainted with the events that took place 36 years that inspired this site's name. So let's flash back to Game 3 of the 1977 National League Championship Series between the Los Angeles Dodgers and the Philadelphia Phillies. The teams split the first two games in the best-of-five series. Thus, Game 3 loomed as a pivotal contest. 

To further set the scene, I was 7-years-old at the time, and 1977 had been the year I came of age as a Dodger fan. Sure, I had watched parts of games with my dad in prior seasons and was familiar with players like Steve Garvey, Ron Cey, and Don Sutton; but I hadn't yet developed the attention span to follow a full game, let alone the ebb and flow of an entire season. But that all changed in 1977. I began examining box scores and divisional standings each day in the newspaper like a rabbinical student analyzing the Talmud. Anytime the Dodgers were featured on the NBC Game of the Week or ABC's Monday Night Baseball, I was sure to be glued to the tube. And I remember many a night where I (with my Dodger baseball cards in hand) and my dad would sit around his vintage GE portable radio (complete with faux leather case) listening to static-filled broadcasts of Dodger games wonderfully narrated by the timeless Vin Scully. So to say that I was fully invested in the Dodgers' postseason fortunes in 1977 would be a dramatic understatement.

Game 3 was played on a Friday afternoon. Normally, I would have been seated in Ms. Starling's 2nd grade class at that time of day. But because of an annual 2-day conference that all teachers were attending, school was not in session that day, and I was free to watch my beloved Dodgers live on our old Sanyo television. The game started out well enough for the Boys in Blue, as they jumped out to an early 2-0 lead in the top of the 2nd inning. However, in the bottom half of the frame, the wheels quickly came off the Dodgers' wagon. With runners on 1st and 2nd and two outs, Dodger starter Burt Hooton suddenly lost his command and his cool, walking four consecutive batters. LA now trailed 3-2.

The Dodgers later evened the score, but two Phillie runs in the bottom of the 8th left the Dodgers staring at a 5-3 deficit—and a possible 2-1 series hole—as they came up to bat in the top of the 9th. Philadelphia closer Gene Garber (he of the funky windup) quickly disposed of the first two LA hitters in the inning, and the Dodgers were now down to their final out. Tommy Lasorda, in his first year managing the denizens of Chavez Ravine, called on 41-year-old Vic Davalillo to pinch hit for catcher Steve Yeager. 

Davalillo was a well-traveled veteran who had been playing in the Mexican League since the end of the '74 season when the Dodgers signed him in August of '77. The diminutive Davalillo (5' 7"/150 lbs.) made his mark with the team during the final two months of the regular season, hitting a solid .313 as a pinch hitter and reserve utility man. And now he was being called on to somehow, someway be the catalyst of a two-out rally. To millions of Dodger fans, Vic was Obi-Wan Kenobi to our Princess Leia ("Help me, Vic Davalillo, you're our only hope.")

So with the weight of the Dodgers' postseason dreams resting on his slight shoulders, Davalillo stepped into the batter's box. He quickly fell behind 0-1 in the count. Garber then went into his windup and flung a sinker towards Phillie catcher Bob Boone's mitt. Davalillo then did something that caught everyone flat-footed—the announcers, the viewing audience, and most importantly, the Phillie infield. He laid down a perfect drag bunt and then raced down the first baseline for an infield single. The Dodgers had a runner on base, and suddenly, I and Dodger fans everywhere had hope! And though it traveled only a few feet, Davalillo's bunt set into motion a series of events that still remain some of the most memorable in Dodger history.

Pinch hitter extraordinaire Manny Mota (about whom I could write volumes) was up next, and he smashed an 0-2 pitched deep into left field that Phillie outfielder Greg Luzinski was unable to handle. An error on the throw back into the infield allowed Davalillo to score from first and Mota to advance to third. The Dodgers now trailed by only one. The next batter, Davey Lopes, hit a screamer towards third baseman Mike Schmidt, who was about as sure-handed a third baseman as there was in the game and who in '77 had won the second of 10 career Gold Gloves. However, Lopes's hot grounder hit a seam in the Veteran Stadium astroturf, causing the ball to glance off the heel of Schmidt's glove and ricochet towards shortstop Larry Bowa. As the fleet-footed Lopes sped down the first baseline and Mota towards home, Bowa brilliantly, in one motion, barehanded the deflected ball and fired it to first. The ball reached first baseman Richie Hebner's glove right as Lopes's foot hit the bag. The Dodger dugout (and me, at home) erupted with joy when the first base umpire signaled safe.

The score was now 5-5. An errant pickoff throw by Garber enabled Lopes to take second base. Then, when Dodger shortstop Bill Russell laced a groundball single up middle to drive in Davey, the Dodger comeback was complete. A devastated Phillies squad went down quietly in the bottom of the 9th. And the next day, the Dodgers seized the pennant with a 4-1 win.

The Dodgers' Game 3 win was magical to me. To my eyes, it signaled that providence smiled kindly upon the Boys in Blue, and that Tommy Lasorda was right: there really was a Great Dodger in the Sky. I was on Cloud Nine the rest of the day. (Or was it Cloud Eight, since I was such a big Reggie Smith fan?) Hard experience would soon teach me that being a Dodger fan hardly immunized me from frustration and heartache; just 11 days later, Reggie Jackson's 3-homer performance against thei Dodgers in Game 6 of the Fall Classic sealed the World Series title for the New York Yankees, which reduced me to tears. Nevertheless, Game 3 taught me that, sometimes, hope gets rewarded—though perhaps not as often as we'd like. It's a good lesson to remember. But I might not have learned it if not for Davalillo's bunt.