Oh, No! Not Another One of Those

Michael Dukakis was going to get my vote for President of the United States, until just the other day.

Then he pulled something, and lost my support.

No, it wasn’t leaving Jesse Jackson off the ticket. I was not endorsing Jackson.

No, it wasn’t anything he said about George Bush at the Democratic Convention. I was not endorsing Bush, either.

Dukakis was my man, all the way, until he disappointed me the other day, right in front of my eyes.

He came to a baseball game.

There was this big commotion at Dodger Stadium, around the seventh inning of a Dodger-Cub game. Everybody in the stands stood and turned and stared at something, away from the action on the field.

I figured it was one of the usual things--a fistfight between drunken punks, or Morganna the Kissing Bandit running down the stairs, or some numskull starting another Wave.

It wasn’t. It was Dukakis, Democratic presidential nominee-to-be, headed up an aisle alongside Sen. Alan Cranston of California. Either they were leaving the stadium early, a tradition among Cranston’s constituents, or Dukakis was dying for a Dodger dog and fries.

Well, I said to myself, that’s it for him.

It also explained why the press box was full of strangers, none of whom resembled your typical slobby baseball scribe. They were political reporters, there to cover every inning of the Duke’s Dodger debut.

These correspondents could not afford to be away from Dukakis for a minute, just in case he took a foul ball to the chops, or got hit in the nose by a vendor’s poorly aimed bag of salted peanuts.

There were extra photographers around, also, hustling for a photo opportunity. At one point two players named Willie and Mickey went over to talk baseball with the Duke, but nobody got them on camera.

Worst of all, there was extra security at the park. You know when a guy in a blue suit and sunglasses comes to a ballgame with an Uzi under his jacket that he is either a Secret Service agent guarding a politician or a season ticket-holder at Yankee Stadium.

Dukakis lost my vote, right on the spot.

All this time I had him pegged for this intense little New England intellectual with evil eyebrows who spent his Sunday mornings watching Lesley Stahl instead of Brent Musburger and avoided Budweiser and Cracker Jack in favor of a crisp Belgian endive salad and prune juice.

Now, though, the writing is on the wall. It is clear to me now that Mike Dukakis is just another of those guys who intends to make a nuisance of himself and get in our way, every time America has a big ballgame.

You go to the major league All-Star game or the World Series and stumble into George Bush. Traffic is tied up on the freeway. The parking lot is snarled because of the limos. The stadium elevator is sealed off for 45 minutes, because Bush doesn’t know when or where he feels like going up or down. Who throws out the first pitch? Right-winger George Bush.

You go to the pro basketball playoffs or the heavyweight championship prizefight and stumble into Jesse Jackson. He’s in the locker room, with guests. He’s in the corner, taping an “NBA Action--It’s Fan- tas -tic!” promotional spot for the NBA. He’s here, he’s there, he’s everywhere, except maybe the British Open.

For years we have had to endure the teeny annoyances, such as Ronald Reagan calling the coin flip at the Super Bowl, or calling the winning coach on the phone after the game to tell him that, oh, you know, maybe Marcus Allen could go over there and handle those Russians for us, ho, ho, ho.

When Richard Nixon was America’s head coach, he sent in a play before Super Bowl VI, telling Miami Dolphins Coach Don Shula that Paul Warfield could get open on a down-and-out, and on another occasion he suggested a flanker reverse to Washington Redskins Coach George Allen that went for a big loss, just as America did under Nixon.

All these guys do is get in the way. And nobody can do anything about it, because we are all expected to get out of their way.

One of Nixon’s goons didn’t care for a sportswriter’s face one day, at a game Nixon attended, and pinned the guy up against a fence. Nixon, who knew the writer, came by at that moment and asked, “How are you, Jim?” Well, replied Jim Murray, “I’d be a lot better if you could get this monkey to put me down”

On a cold, snowy day before Super Bowl XVI, George Bush had an entire lane of a Detroit freeway cut off, just so his limo could have free sailing. Hundreds of cars remained backed up, miles from the Pontiac Silverdome, long after the opening kickoff.

This is why we had such high hopes for Dukakis. We thought he would mind his own business. We thought if somebody ever asked him to come to a game and throw out the first ball, Dukakis would say: “Why? Is it dirty?”

Instead, we are in trouble. The man likes sports. And he knows Americans like men who like sports. The Duke wants your vote, sports fans.

When a cable-TV magazine asked Dukakis what he watches on television, his answer was: “Red Sox games.” How revolting. I was hoping Duke would be such a dummy when it came to sports, he’d think Wade Boggs was a Massachusetts marsh.

I went to a pro football game at the Houston Astrodome one night, and there was George Bush, leading the cheers in a shirt that read: “Luv Ya, Blue.” Funny, I thought his wife’s name was Barbara.

Dukakis likes the Boston Red Sox and Bush likes the Houston Oilers. How are we, as voters, expected to pick a winner when neither of these guys can?

Give me a guy like Jack Kemp, who got out of the game, instead of these guys who keep trying to get into it. Give me somebody like Gerald Ford, who never bothered anybody at a sporting event, except at certain golf tournaments where everybody in the gallery had to know when to duck.

Give me a President of the United States who has never been to a sporting event in his life. The hockey commissioner, for instance.