Unsinkable Lenny Dykstra : Former Garden Grove Star Has Hustled Into the Hearts of Mets Fans

They say New Yorkers are the toughest audience in the world.

But like most tough guys, New York has a soft spot for the underdog--the Bowery bum who hits it big in the lottery, the understudy who earns rave reviews at the Broadway premiere, the long shot who comes from behind to win the Belmont Stakes.

Lenny Dykstra, a 23-year-old Garden Grove native without a subtle bone in his compact body, is the latest underdog to steal New York’s hard heart.

Playing his own ultra-aggressive game, which some have compared to that of a young Pete Rose, the pocket-sized Met outfielder has emerged from a cloud of blood, sweat and dirt to pull off one of the season’s Biggest Apple polishes.

“It’s because he’s the kind of player who dives into walls,” said Met traveling secretary Jay Horwitz. “New York fans appreciate people who play hard.

“When he makes an out, he throws his helmet on the ground or he’ll slam his bat down. People identify with how hard he tries. He’s not afraid. He’s not intimidated by anybody.”

Although mired in a 2-for-30 slump, the left-handed Dykstra is hitting .306--sixth in the National League--and is among the leaders in four other statistical categories.

He has also produced some of the most memorable catches of the season, including a dramatic leap in May to rob Cincinnati’s Dave Parker of a home run.

So in the middle of a long, hot summer, with most of New York running a Mets Fever, an infectious strain of Lenny Mania has developed.

The symptoms were visible in the stands at Shea Stadium during last weekend’s Cardinal series. Females of all ages seemed particularly susceptible.

On Saturday, a woman in a white wedding gown paraded the aisles carrying a sign with the most unusual proposal the 23-year-old has ever received--”Marry Me Lenny.”

Thus are trends born. The next day, two teen-age girls appeared in the stands with their own plea--”Adopt Us Lenny.”

Dykstra, who recently married and became the father of a 5-year-old stepson, hit a three-run homer instead.

“It was funny,” he said of the fan pranks. “I found it amusing. It’s a good feeling to know people are behind you and like you.”

The other players got a laugh out of it, too.

“We told him he must look better from a distance,” said outfielder Danny Heep. “Obviously she hadn’t gotten close enough to get a good look at him, or she would have changed her mind.”

With his slightly crooked teeth, upturned nose and reddish curls, Dykstra looks like he just stepped out of a Norman Rockwell painting. In reality, he’s much more likely to have just completed yet another television spot. He has already appeared in a car commercial, a television ad for a Mets beach bag, and a Mets music video.

“You don’t see nothing like this in Orange County,” he said. “Everything’s pretty amazing about New York.”

For one thing, the volume of mail. In the course of one summer, Dykstra has received “a ton” of letters, more than he had previously gotten in his life.

While he’s trying to conduct normal conversation at the ballpark, a photographer from Sports Illustrated is snapping color photos of his legs, which are several shades lighter than in past summers at Huntington Beach.

“When you’re in New York, things like this are a big part of it,” Dykstra said. “It can be bad to be in the center of all the bright lights, but the way you get around that is by playing well.”

The secret of his civic appeal seems to consist of equal parts true grit, native showmanship and All-American good luck.

Looking back even beyond his career at Garden Grove, in which he set an Orange County high school record with 50 hits in one season, he has played only on winning teams.

Although it didn’t look that way, that exceptional fortune continued when he was drafted in 1981 by the last-place Mets and passed up a scholarship to Arizona State to sign.

He tore through the minor leagues. He was named Most Valuable Player in the Carolina League in 1983 playing for Single-A Lynchburg, Va. In 1984, he led the Double-A team in Jackson, Miss., to the Eastern Division title of the Texas League.

After being called up to the Mets and sent down to Tidewater three vexing times in 1985, he made the roster for good this season, just as the Mets became the hottest team in baseball. He took over the center field job after Mookie Wilson suffered an eye injury in the spring.

“Last year, being a rookie, I didn’t really know what to expect,” he said. “But this season, I came with the idea of playing with the confidence I played with in the minor leagues and saying to myself, ‘I can be successful in every game.”

Said Met first baseman Keith Hernandez, whom Dykstra considers one of his closest friends on the team, “To me, there’s only one Pete Rose. But Lenny’s out of that same mold.”

All that stuff about good things in small packages aside, Met manager Davey Johnson said Dykstra’s emergence as one of the league’s top hitters and base stealers was a surprise. He was tied for 10th in stolen bases with 25 during the Dodger series, eighth in on-base percentage (.381), tied for sixth in triples (6) and, oddly enough, ninth in slugging percentage (.474).

His appearance is misleading. Dykstra is a ballplayer constructed on three-quarter scale. When teammates like 6-foot 6-inch Darryl Strawberry stand next to him, the contrast makes Dykstra look like a jockey who made a wrong turn on his way to Aqueduct.

When he goes into his closed stance at the plate--similar to that of Rod Carew, whom he would go to see “five times a week” at Anaheim Stadium as a youth--pitchers might as well be throwing at a strike zone the size of a White Castle burger.

The press guide generously lists Dykstra at 5-10, but most everyone admits that such accounts are exaggerated.

A psychologist might find the source of his drive to succeed in baseball obvious. Johnson remembers a story about how Dykstra was invited to a Mets tryout after his stellar high school career, only to have to beg his way past the security guard at the gate, who believed he was a batboy.

Dave Demarest of La Quinta High School in Garden Grove coached Dykstra on his Connie Mack team one summer. He said some opponents thought Dykstra was cocky, but Demarest respected his approach to the game.

“A lot of people say he’s arrogant, but he’s where he is because of the way he is,” Demarest said. “With his size, if he had been easy-going and laid-back and non-aggressive, I don’t think he would have made it. He’s bucking the odds.”

As Heep said, “You have to be a little cocky. If you don’t believe in yourself, you won’t be here long.”

Dykstra’s grandfather and uncle, Pete and Tony Leswick, were National Hockey League players. Dykstra’s fearless and physical style of play seems to be custom-made for the blue-collar atmosphere of Shea Stadium.

“He’s a gamer,” said Met pitcher Roger McDowell. “He’s like a little kid. He hustles and people can relate to him since he doesn’t have extraordinary size or anything and he’s making it big.”

Dykstra said, “People work hard all day and pay good money to come to the ballpark and they like to see you playing hard, giving it all you’ve got. Then there’s the fact that I lead off and I’m always getting dirty.”

Met announcer Tim McCarver likes to say that Dykstra founded the athletic fraternity Kappa Kappa Askew because he always seems to be diving, picking himself up, dusting everything off and straightening his cap.

Dykstra, who hates to be called Len, prefers the nickname “Nails,” which he says was given him by Garden Grove graduate Mark Baker, a friend who was the sixth-leading money winner on the Pro Bowling tour last year.

Although he calls New York a “great city with great people,” he hasn’t gotten to see much of it, other than the skyline visible from Shea. He is asked whether he has visited the Statue of Liberty. No. The Hard Rock Cafe? No. Coney Island? No.

He is not a worldly person--at least, not yet.

Indeed, he seems to wear almost every thought and emotion on his face. Perhaps that is the main quality to endear him to the city that believes it has seen it all.

“He doesn’t hide anything,” Heep said. “Just follow him around for an hour. You’ll see everything you could possibly want to know about him.”

In the middle of an interview, he is slumped in his seat in the dugout, subconsciously responding to some questions by waving his black-and-yellow Lenny Dykstra model bat in short, choppy arcs, which threaten to behead his interviewer.

But a question about the bumblebee colors of the bat elicits a big grin, exposing his characteristic tobacco.

“You like it?” he says enthusiastically, staring at the bat as if admiring it for the first time.

His teammates begin to trickle out of the clubhouse for batting practice and he looks at them with equal satisfaction.

“I’m with the best team in baseball and things are workin’ out,” he said. “I couldn’t ask for a better situation.”