We all called it Dodgertown, but all one had to do was look at the lines, 200 to 300 feet long of people patiently waiting to get Tommy Lasorda’s autograph and you would realize that it was really Lasordaville. When Tommy Lasorda ambled down the first base line and waddled toward the Dodger side of Holman Stadium, the applause and cheers for Tommy provided conclusive evidence that it was indeed Lasordaville! It didn’t start out that way, but as Tommy became a Dodger icon he transcended the moniker. As much as the people came to see the Dodgers, they came to see Tommy. Tommy became the Dodgers, Dodgertown became Lasordaville and Tommy became the Grandfather of Baseball. Sure, there were detractors “Tommy is a scumbag – he refused to sign my daughter’s baseball” or something to that effect, but fans often get tunnel vision when they are seeking an autograph and ignore every rule of decorum known to man. Tommy’s not perfect – I don’t like the way he refuses to forgive Bill Russell, but Tommy is always Tommy and it is difficult to think of anyone who has done more for the Dodgers or all of baseball for that matter. According to Frank McCourt, Dodgertown may live on in LA and/or Glendale, AZ (I picture a museum of “shrine-like” memorabilia, with lots of references to Tommy), but Lasordaville will always be in Vero Beach, Florida. That can’t be moved! Someday, sooner than any of us will like, Tommy will be walking with some of the other Boys of Summer and greeting everyone at the Big Dodgertown in the sky, with “let’s play ball.” On the other hand, maybe Dodgertown in heaven will be called Lasordaville. I, for one am glad that my son and I can tell countless stories about Lasordaville – there will never be another!