Why I Still Go

I get asked the question a lot these days.

"Why do you still go to Dodger games?"

The arguments are laid out nicely for me.  The team sucks.  The owner is a dirtbag and leading the franchise into bankruptcy.  Oh, yeah, and isn't the stadium nothing but one big crime scene?

Well, the team has had its problems, mostly due to injuries.  Frank McCourt is a jerk and no dispute is offered by me.  And I have never seen yellow police tape anywhere in the ballpark.

But I still go.  Why?

Last Sunday.  That's why.

A perfect example of why, despite the ups and downs of fandom, I have remained a baseball fan since I was ten years old. 

It's life. 

On any given day, regardless of the caliber of the teams you are watching, there is that odd chance that you will see something you have never seen before.  Or perhaps see something very familiar yet displayed in a different way.  It can be routine.  It can be unexpected.  A mediocre player can be turned into a star and vice versa.  The 25th man on the team just might be a hero.  The biggest guy on the squad could be the goat. 

And it's all life.

A glorious sunny day at Dodger Stadium is never ever a bad thing.  And, on this Sunday, we are getting the marquee pitching match-up that Vin Scully has been talking about for the past week.  Two of the best young pitchers in baseball, each of them the ace of their respective teams.  Jered Weaver hurling for the Angels of Disneyland.  Clayton Kershaw dealing for the Dodgers of Dyfunctionland.

I sat in Seat 1 of Loge 120, Row L and thought about these two pitchers.  How many times in my baseball life have I been so blessed to see such a pairing on the mound?  I think back to the games I saw with Tom Seaver of the Mets going against Steve Carlton of the Phillies.  Or when Dwight Gooden and Fernando Valenzuela hooked up.  This was just one more moment to savor.  Even with the passage of time, you still marvel at your good fortune to view greatness in the making.

As advertised, Kershaw and Weaver were incredibly equal to their tasks.  As the great Scully would extol, one smoke ring after another shows up on the scoreboard.  You know that this game will be decided by a mistake or two.  But those are late to arrive.  There are strikeouts and strikeouts and strikeouts.  Sheer mastery.  Clayton amazingly turns a sacrifice bunt into an acrobatic double play, invoking images of both Sandy Koufax and Karl Wallenda. 

None of this new.  Yet, all of this new.

The Angels break through with a run in the top of the seventh, proving that even gods can experience the occasional bad inning.  Knowing the Dodgers, you figure one run against them is akin to climbing Mount Everest with nothing but a stapler in your backpack.  Yet, somehow, with two outs in the bottom of the inning, Kershaw again dazzles us by hitting a single.  Heck, he's one of the better hitters on the team anyway.  But this is followed by a triple from, of all people, Tony Gwynn Jr..  Who needs Matt Kemp with these two around?

The tenseness continues a little longer.  Meanwhile, in the supposedly sinister environs that is reputed to be Dodger Stadium, all of the by-play in the stands is good-natured.  There are Angel fans amidst Dodger fans and the ribbing goes back and forth with only smiles and nary a punch thrown.  One Angel fan several rows away trades barbs with me.  They are all punctuated with giggles and grins.  Neither team really owns bragging rights in this town this year.

Kershaw continues on the mound in the ninth with the score tied and offers up a two-out homerun ball on a 3-2 pitch to the Angels' resident bloated superstar Vernon Wells.  All this heart and Kershaw is actually going to lose this game?  The Angel fan tips his cap to me.  It will be really tough for the Dodgers to come back against their new closer, Jordan Walden.

With the Dodgers' own version of waste, Juan Uribe, leading off the bottom of the ninth, he might just be right.  That's what the Dodgers get for signing an ex-Giant.  Yet, amazingly, Uribe walks and now I believe anything can happen.  It's such an unexpected and monumental development that I order his bat be immediately shipped to Cooperstown. 

Dee Gordon, Dodger rabbit extraordinaire, pinch runs for the usually comatose Uribe, and immediately steals second.  Another walk and then a sacrifice bunt.  Runners on second and third with one out.  Okay, this, too, I have seen before in the muck and mire also known as the Dodgers of 2011.  Nothing will come of this, I think.  

Oh, yeah, Len?

Pinchhitter Aaron Miles lofts a flyball to short centerfield.  Nobody else can score from third on that, right?  Except Dee Gordon tries it.

In the replays, even the all-knowing Vin Scully can't tell whether he was safe or out.  But the umpire is the final word.  And his word is Nancy Bea Hefley-music-like to Dodger fan ears.  Angel manager and former Dodger Mike Scioscia tries to argue and it's a rare day when he's booed at Chavez Ravine.

 Now the score is tied and even I, after watching dozen of futile Dodger ninth innings this season, am believing.  Once again, Tony Gwynn Jr., of all people one more time, singles sharply and the euphoria begins.  The Angel fan from Row D shakes his head and then politely turns to tip his sun visor in my direction.

Have I seen ninth inning comebacks before?  Yes.  Will I see them again?  I hope so.

But the comeback that is most important is the one I have been doing since Shea Stadium was brand spankin' new. 

I come back.  Over and over and over and over and over.

Dinner last night:  Cervelat sandwich with side salad.