Dykstra still fighting as jail walls close in on him

LYNCHBURG, Va. - Lenny Dykstra could have been anywhere on this hot Sunday afternoon. Well, that's not exactly true. His passport had been taken away. He needed a judge's permission to leave Southern California and travel to City Stadium. His driver's license had been revoked, too, so he had to take a $60 cab ride to Roanoke to catch his flight home.

The stated reason for the trip was to see his son, Cutter, play for the Class A Potomac Nationals against the Lynchburg Hillcats. There was more to it than that. He could have picked a more convenient Carolina League outpost. But it was here, on this field, as a member of the 1983 Lynchburg Mets, that he put himself on the baseball map. Led the league in batting average (.358), games (136), runs (132), hits (188), triples (14), walks (107) and stolen bases (105). Was named the Carolina League MVP . . . even though teammate Dwight Gooden went 19-4 with 300 strikeouts in 191 innings.

So this was a family visit, but it also was a chance to revisit his past, a glorious time when he was still just 20 years old and the future was full of promise. A time when he couldn't have begun to imagine the dozens of lawsuits that would be filed against him. The high-profile Chapter 7 bankruptcy that he calls a "death sentence." The smutty allegations that he groped a teenaged girl, demanded regular oral sex from his housekeeper, bounced a $1,000 check to an escort service. The divorce. The arrests that would put him in jail and drag him down, ruin his reputation and cost him everything but his desperate determination to fight to the bitter end.

"These [stories] are [expletive], the bankruptcy and all the rest of the [expletive] is eyewash, dude," he said indignantly during an extended May 22 interview with the Daily News. "Show me one legitimate businessman who's respected who's said anything bad about me. Forget about the lawsuits. Pilots? Whores? What? Is that what it's about, people piling on and trying to get free money? And I tell them to go [expletive] themselves so I'm going to get extorted? Give me a lawsuit that means something."

Two weeks and a day later he was back in jail after being hit with a 25-count state indictment alleging that he had tried to lease cars using phony business and credit-card information, and drug possession. Yesterday, in San Fernando, Calif., he pleaded not guilty to the charges. He remains in custody with bail set at $500,000.

He is also facing 13 federal counts alleging bankruptcy fraud, obstruction of justice, concealing property from the bankruptcy estate and other charges involving $400,000 worth of items he has been accused of taking from his $17.5 million mansion. Dykstra has pleaded not guilty to the federal charges.

In his baseball prime he was a terrific two-strike hitter and it's possible to draw a parallel to the dire predicament he finds himself in today. His arena now is a series of courtrooms, but he's hanging in there, figuratively fouling off legal pitches until he gets something he can handle.

He made more than $36 million from his playing career, most of it from the Phillies; he was a key part of their 1993 National League championship team. He built a string of car washes and sold them for $38 million.

In 2008, his net worth was estimated at $58 million. He owned a stunning California home in a gated community that was part of one of the ritziest golf courses in the country. He was being hailed as an investment savant.

In July 2009, he filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy, listing assets totaling $50,000. There were subsequent reports that he was living out of his car.

Looking drawn and tired, the 48-year-old Dykstra was running late when he arrived at Lynchburg's immaculate little ballpark last month. Wearing casual clothes and a well-worn tan fedora with the name of a country club in blue stitching on the front and accompanied by his business manager, 25-year-old Chester County resident Daniel Herman, Dykstra strode briskly into the executive offices and looked up general manager Paul Sunwall, who ushered him to a private box that wasn't being used that day. "I don't like being around people," he explained.

After a quick visit to the field to talk to Cutter, he came back upstairs, set up his laptop and, for the next 2 hours and 15 minutes, made his case.

Occasionally he was downcast. "What are they trying to do? Tear me down? I needed permission from a judge to come see my son. To see my own son, dude! They took my passport, they took my license, they took everything," he said softly at one point.

Mostly, though, he is defiant and hyper. His narrative wandered at times but he was lucid and energetic while telling a fantastic story of alleged betrayal, double-dealing, illegal retaliation, equity stripping, predatory lending, conflict of interest, bad faith, conspiracy and wrongdoing, and he and his business manager provided hundreds of pages of documents to back up his assertions.

Federal and state prosecutors; bankruptcy court officials; JP Morgan Chase, which was involved in financing his mansion; Fireman's Fund insurance; and others who have been drawn into legal battles with Dykstra obviously have a far different view.

"I didn't get stupid overnight," he said repeatedly.

"I was always ahead of the curve. Understand something, dude. My businesses, I never failed," he added. He hinted at more business ventures to come, a prediction many would consider delusional.

At one point, Montgomery Gentry's hit country song "Lucky Man" provided an eerie counterpoint on the stadium public-address system.

But I know I'm a lucky man

God's given me a pretty fair hand

Got a house and a piece of land

A few dollars in a coffee can

 These days, Dykstra does not consider himself a lucky man. He regards himself as a savvy investor who has been cheated by banks, an insurance company and a court-appointed trustee. He became so wrapped up in his narrative, which frequently meandered and repeated itself, that he appeared to see only one of Cutter's at-bats, in which he lined out to shortstop.

"Aw, [expletive]," he said. "At least he took a rip like I told him to. I told him to stand up taller, see the ball. When [he's] not playing, it's tough."

Then he refocused on the computer screen, calling up documents, jabbing his finger at the screen, absent-mindedly munching on a grilled chicken sandwich, pacing around the box while indignantly listing the wrongs he believes have been done to him.

He was so involved that he couldn't be bothered to shake hands with the Hillcats mascot when he visited the suite, or to be introduced to comedian Jimmie (Dy-no-mite!) Walker from the classic sitcom "Good Times," who was pounding beers with Herman next door.

Before the game ended, he had to leave to get to the Roanoke airport. With the taxi idling in the parking lot, he found that he was a little short. He borrowed $10 so he'd have enough money to cover the trip. Only when the driver was satisfied that he'd get paid did the cab pull out of the parking lot. *