Sunday in the Park with Dodger Fans

Wish I could claim authorship of this line, but Sunday's game at Dodger Stadium was perfect for Mother's Day. An excruciating 13 inning loss to the Giants, it seemingly took nine months to complete. And you needed an epidural to ease the pain.

But, nevertheless, it was fun. Because it was Dodger Stadium. And it was a Sunday with my friends.

After seeing the documentary "Bluetopia" and learning so much about the very special baseball team fan base I now claim as my number one allegience, I started to think about how this New Yorker, a fervent Met fan, got sucked into Dodgertown. Well, I blame these ladies pictured with me above, about four hours before the Dodgers would lose.

These three wonderful women, Barbara, Sue and Debbie, had been doing the Sunday afternoon game for years. I believe they were officially baptized with Dodger blue water when Fernando Valenzuela started creating his mania almost 30, gasp, years ago. They'd get regular tickets down the left field line as soon as they went on sale every spring. And that would be the tradition. Wearing Dodger chochtkes like caps and pins. Scorebooks always in hand.

About eleven years ago, enter me. New to California, almost friendless. Definitely baseball team-less, as I was trying to manage a long distance love affair with the New York Mets. I found Barbara first, sitting in the pew ahead of me at church. As a matter of fact, since we always sat in the exact same spot every Sunday, it was natural to strike up a dialogue and a friendship. One Sunday, she mentioned having an extra ticket for the Dodger game that afternoon. Was I interested in coming with them?

Recoiling in shyness, I declined.

Two weeks later, another offer.

Recoiling in shyness a little less, I hesitated first, but declined nonetheless.

I didn't say no the third time.

I immediately got absorbed into the unique camaraderie and weekly routine that enveloped Sundays at Chavez Ravine. The pre-game Dodger Dog. The scorebooks on laps across our row. The fact that two of our crowd generally sat there listening to the game on headphones so they wouldn't miss Vin Scully's play-by-play for the first three innings.

Eventually, I grew as a fan on my own. The Mets slowly faded. The Dodgers quickly emerged. For a while, there was room for both of the teams in my life. Until one of the teams decided there was no room for me. I wound up with full season tickets in great seats on the West Coast. I wound up with partial plan tickets in lousy seats on the East Coast.

But, even in my new Dodger Stadium location, we have kept Sundays intact. Thanks to a well-placed contact in the ticket office, we always get extra seats adjacent to mine so we can still Sunday together. With the pre-game Dodger Dog. The scorebooks. The headphones. My contribution to the group is that I wear binoculars to catch nuances going on in the dugout and the bullpen. And I am now the official chauffeur every game.

I don't know how it all happened. I am glad it did.

Thanks, Barbara, Sue, and Debbie for including me that first time.

Dinner last night: Cervelat sandwich.