Season Becomes Madcap Affair

I stink.

But Dodger closer Eric Gagne doesn’t. And I’m the reason why.

Let me introduce myself: I’m Eric’s cap. Smelly, salt-stained, one of a kind.

His wife hates me. Alex Cora says I remind him of his college dorm room--a complete disaster. The Dodger equipment manager? Won’t go near me without rubber gloves.

“Maybe when the cap breaks down I’ll change it,” Eric told a reporter.

Nice loyalty.

Eric’s already banked 43 saves, one short of Todd Worrell’s team record of 44. Bobby Thigpen’s major league-record 57 is within reach. Before I got onto his head he’d amassed zero.

That’s why I’m here. To set the record straight. Vin Scully recites poetry about the transformation. But I made Eric Gagne.

Jim Tracy won’t admit it. Neither will umpire Dan Iassogna, who threw Eric out in the ninth inning in Cincinnati, allegedly for hitting Adam Dunn after giving up a homer. But if you’re a Dodger fan, you better tip your cap to this one.Without me, Eric is toiling for triple-A Vegas. Or sitting back home in Montreal.

I’m no head case. These are the facts: Last season, Eric was sporting the same goofy goggles and hipster beard. He was sent to the minors twice.

I came out of the box in February. Eric hasn’t been the same since. A coincidence? No way! Unhittable stuff. Intimidating presence. Media darling.

That’s what gets me.

We go to the All-Star Game, but you didn’t see me in Milwaukee. The practice cap got all the glory.

What? You didn’t know? Eric mugs for TV interviews in Pretty Boy, a phony stand-in.

Same thing for autographs. The Canadian has gone Hollywood.

I’m jealous. It’s no fun hanging with a bunch of jockstraps in Eric’s locker. I escape for an inning or two.

I’m not ashamed to admit it: I feel used.

Check out these battle scars. Torn four times. I remember every one.

The Rip of Arrival. San Francisco. Barry Bonds digging in. How big is that guy’s head? I can’t contain the adrenaline. Two passed balls. Bonds walks, but Eric gets the save. I have a future.

The Rip of Failure. Atlanta. Gary Sheffield goes deep. With two out in the bottom of the ninth! Blown save. I must be a goner.

The Rip of Sorrow. Los Angeles. Eric’s in tears. The Montreal Canadiens were eliminated from the NHL playoffs. Gimme a break.

The Rip of Redemption. St. Louis. Two days after a Diamondback disaster. Bases loaded, no outs. A 1-2-3 double play and fly ball secures 31st save. It’s official: I’m carrying the guy.

Hey, I’m not the first cap to save the Dodgers. I had a cousin. In the spring of 1988, he belonged to Kirk Gibson. Jesse Orosco smeared eye-black under the bill. It was a joke. But Gibson went psycho. And the Dodgers went on to win the World Series.

If Eric sticks with me, maybe we’ll be playing in October. Heck, we could be bound for Cooperstown.

I’d look great in bronze.

Staff writer Gary Klein contributed to this report.