GLENDALE, Ariz. — Jason Schmidt went up to the camera tripod, in the midst of the Dodgers' clubhouse at Camelback Ranch.

There was no camera, no cameraman, nobody with a mike.

"Uh, Manny's not here," Schmidt told the steel contraption, which was the first object, animated or inanimate, that didn't offer an opinion.

Watching Manny Ramirez for August, September and October of 2008 was like the first succulent spoonful of homemade ice cream, at 5 in the afternoon.

Now the Dodgers are experiencing the dreaded brain-freeze. And they haven't even had another drop.

As California's unemployment rates surged over 10 percent, Ramirez and agent Scott Boras nixed a guaranteed $45 million offer that gave Ramirez a shot at free agency after one season. They replied that they would prefer $55 million, paid on schedule, not on the installment plan.

The Dodgers could fill a PowerPoint show with the reasons why they should forget Ramirez.

They've protected themselves somewhat in left field by signing second baseman Orlando Hudson, meaning that Casey Blake could play left when Blake DeWitt plays third, and there's still Juan Pierre.

Owner Frank McCourt just finished wasting $36 million on Andruw Jones, who supplied the Dodgers with one of the worst offensive seasons in recent baseball history by a good player. Jones struck out 37 percent of the time and averaged roughly one total base every four at-bats. Jones is now in Texas, with $21.1 million still coming from the Dodgers. He, too, is a Boras client.

McCourt and General Manager Ned Colletti gave Schmidt $47 million for three years, before the '07 season. This is the third year. Schmidt, fighting back from two shoulder operations, has given the Dodgers one victory. So there's some reticence here.

The club has little clue how the recession will bite into their crowds. Usually one has little to do with the other, but this recession has touched the rich, too, and McCourt has swelled Dodger revenue by emphasizing premium seating. Forbes Magazine estimated Dodger revenue at $224 million in '08, fourth in baseball.

Exhibition games have begun, which hurries the pulse and makes you forget opening day isn't until April 6.

However, the Dodgers can't really let go, because, as Ben & Jerry know, ice cream is addictive.

For the first time in 20 years they won a playoff series. For the first time since Eric Gagne they had somebody who built the noise from the moment the fans saw his face, except Ramirez, unlike Gagne, plays every day.

The guy's too good. The Dodgers just can't quit him.

He has slugged over .600 seven times, driven in 100 or more runs seven times, has won at least one title in each Triple Crown category, He is second among actives in slugging and RBIs, sixth in on-base.

And, yes, he does sell tickets, win games, decide pennants and pump up TV ratings.

When he wants to.

The worst outcome would be a resentful Ramirez. If the Dodgers sign him they must do so in a way that preserves his dignity, as silly as that sounds in these times. He has to be indulged. Special treatment? Absolutely. Those rockets to right-center are pretty special, too.

Fortunately Boras isn't as sensitive as Ramirez. The Dodgers announced Boras had turned down their

$45 million, deferred payment offer, and McCourt uttered a hot-button phrase: "We don't want to negotiate against ourselves." That, of course, is what Boras was accused of doing to the Dodgers when he delivered Kevin Brown and J.D. Drew to the Dodgers, at unforeseen prices. That's fraud, which is not what Boras likes hearing. Not that he hasn't been called worse.

"There are no deadlines," Boras reminded us Saturday.

The Dodgers have to determine whether they can (A) get to the playoffs in '09 without Ramirez and/or (B) win the NL West if he goes to San Francisco. It's essentially the same question. They have filled some peripheral holes, with Rafael Furcal back, but their pitching won't be as good without Derek Lowe (a Boras client who left). The fans have not forgotten their inertia during June and July, when they refused to pass the disabled vehicles that led them in the NL West.

Then Ramirez showed up, and suddenly it was the Summer Of Love. And it will return. Fans who type out "good riddance" to Manny are largely the same ones who swore they wouldn't return to the ballparks after the '94 lockout.

A treaty will arrive at some point, when Ramirez decides he'd rather defer some money than lose his 700-homer, 3,000-hit dream.

And when he turns Dodger Stadium into a driving range again, this little cold war will be forgotten.

Besides, it was always going to be a rocky road.