McCourts bat out of order in court

By T.J. SIMERS

Aug. 31, 2010 12 AM PT

Day 1 of the Dodgers trial, and it’s so sad, if that’s the correct word, it’s almost laughable.

The judge begins by having Frank & Jamie McCourt stand before him and raise their right hands to swear them in, instructing each at the conclusion to please say, “I do.”

Isn’t that what brought us here? They said the same thing more than 30 years ago and how did that go?

But here we are, the Screaming Meanie is not only friendly, she wants to introduce her parents.

Frank McCourt is on a 90-minute lunch break outside the courtroom, and when I ask, “As owner of the Dodgers what’s your feeling about Manny leaving town?” he replies, “I have no interest in having a conversation with you now. I’m focused on this.”

And here I am sitting on the groom’s side all morning.

You know it’s going to be a strange day when it begins with court officials taking a roll call of the media, “Channel 4, the L.A. Times, dodger.divorce.com...”

The court opens at 8:30, and Frank is here, charcoal suit and a blue tie that isn’t quite Dodger blue. Jamie arrives fashionably late, dressed all in white, a zipper down the back, and I’m guessing Frank didn’t notice.

Just before the judge arrives, all the lawyers at Jamie’s table step outside, while Frank’s huddle to the side. That leaves the couple, who lived together for so long, just a few feet apart, and if only that Russian spiritual healer they had hired were here, and he really were a mind reader.

As for the judge, Scott Gordon, who is a southpaw, what a feeling it must be for a youngster graduating from South High in Torrance in 1974, maybe rooting on O’Malley’s Dodgers in the World Series, all grown up now -- and with no jury, he will be the one who decides who will own the team.

He sounds brilliant, and has read thousands of pages of arguments from both sides. He probably already knows which way he will rule. He’s only human.

But the show will go on with witnesses called, arguments repeated, sort of playing out the string, if you will, and the Dodgers now can certainly relate.

Gordon certainly looks the part of judge, every distinguished gray hair plastered neatly across his head obviously afraid of moving and being held in contempt.

He asks the attorneys who represent Jamie to stand, and five do. He does the same for Frank, and six do, all together probably a better lineup than the one Frank has on the field.

When it’s time to take a 15-minute break, Jamie leaves with an escort, an armed bailiff. Later when I ask why she rates protection, she says, “As long as he’s in there,” the bailiff, I think she means, and not Frank.

Jamie’s lawyer, Dennis Wasser, starts the talkfest and he begins as if just handed the files, at one point admitting, “I’m confusing myself.”

He tells everyone that Frank and his attorneys are devious, and keeps putting written exhibits up on a big screen, the print so small he can’t read it, so he fumbles around some more.

The judge has his own monitor, there’s no jury, so why is the attorney playing to the audience? He has to convince only one guy, the one in the black robe. I hate to break it to Wasser, Plaschke isn’t here.

The 15-minute bathroom break comes very early, which is predictable, because the judge is taking sip after sip of coffee to hang in there with Wasser.

Frank’s attorney reads from a prepared statement when he gets a chance, the first clue he’s Frank’s attorney because Frank almost never talks without a prepared statement.

He tells everyone Jamie is very smart, a MIT MBA, a “divorce lawyer,” saying it repeatedly, as if that would be his Page 2 nickname for her.

He says she’s so smart there’s no way she can play dumb when it comes to not knowing what she has signed.

Her attorney counters that the other side pulled a switcheroo and she was signing papers that had been doctored without her knowledge. Don’t know who is right, but I’m guessing Gordon has an opinion.

It finally gets interesting when Frank’s attorney admits something we’ve known all along -- he was spending more time with bankers than agents representing free agents.

“His livelihood,” says his attorney Steve Susman, “is doing projects on borrowed money.”

Remember, this is Frank’s guy and he says Frank needed $330 million in loans to buy the Dodgers -- enough money at best to make it for two years or go belly up.

“Frank was risking everything,” Susman says, Major League Baseball seemingly having no problem with this floating craps game.

Jamie, meanwhile, wants no part of her husband buying the Dodgers, Frank’s attorney says. She thinks Frank takes too many risks, surprisingly never mentioning Andruw Jones.

Wish you could have been there, because here’s where it gets really silly. Almost a dozen lawyers, millions spent on their fees and Frank’s guy puts a picture of a bird’s nest with three eggs on the big screen, above it the headline: “Jamie’s nest egg.”

Then he adds a picnic basket with eggs alongside Jamie’s nest eggs, the headline above it: “Frank’s basket.” Between the basket and nest egg he has a brick wall to signify Jamie’s interest in not sharing in Frank’s risky ventures.

I can report no eggs were broken in the making of the visual aids.

I left before Day 1 ended, missing the highlight, Frank’s attorney revealing Jamie had plans to write a book, “Screaming Meanie: Babes, Baseball and Business.”

Funny, but there was probably a time in their lives when it might have been enough to inspire her husband to give us “My Favorite Parking Lots.”

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