Dodgers addiction

Newly arrived Angeleno Neal Pollack writes today at Slate about what happens to your life when you move to your favorite team's hometown. The author had been a long-distance Dodgers fan until relocating to L.A. in January. Recently he got a call from a friend offering four box seats behind the home dugout. He had plans that night; they were broken.

Anyone who's ever taken two 3-year-olds to a baseball game will agree that it's hardly the ideal circumstance. I ended up, as I knew I would, spending the fifth and sixth innings with the kids running around the concession area, roaring, while I pretended to be a bear. But come on! Who cares? It's the Dodgers!

The Dodgers were my team growing up in suburban Phoenix. Those years, 1977 to 1988, were comfortable ones in Dodgerland. We almost always fielded a winning team, went to the playoffs more often than not, and enjoyed Fernandomania. I'd just headed off to college when Kirk Gibson hit his miracle shot to win Game 1 of the 1988 World Series. That homer felt like the ultimate return on a long boyhood of bleeding blue.

[skip]

In addition to the occasional bonus tickets from my friend, I split a 25-game package with a paralegal named Craig who I met on the Dodger Thoughts bulletin board. My seats are in the infield reserve, pretty high up, but they're Section 1, right on home plate, the best that a regular guy can afford more than twice a year.

A few days before the game, I'll contact one lucky friend, telling him or her that I'll cover the ticket and parking if they pay for refreshments. Also, they have to drive, because I like to get stoned before the game. I tell them that they need to pick me up at least 45 minutes before the opening pitch, because unlike many Dodger fans, I refuse to arrive late. And I never miss anything, because I rented my house based on its proximity to Dodger Stadium. It's a 10-minute straight shot down the 2, the breeziest freeway in town.

Pollack writes that he has tickets to tonight's game but won't go stoned because he is taking his son, Elijah. Pollack blogs, mostly about Ejijah, at The Maelstrom. His memoir, Alternadad, will be published in January.

August 10, 2006 5:53 PM • Native Intelligence • Email the editor
 

© 2003-2014   •  About LA Observed  •  Contact the editor
LA Biz Observed
2:07 PM Sat | The funeral for Mark Lacter will be held Sunday, Nov. 24 at 12 noon at Hillside Memorial Park, 6001 W. Centinela Avenue, Los Angeles 90045. Reception to follow.
Native Intelligence
Ellen Alperstein | Using a lottery to bribe people to vote is beneath our dignity.
Karen Wada | Jessica Todd Smith talks with Karen Wada about what you should know and see while visiting the newly expanded American art galleries at the Huntington.
Al Martinez | The suicide of Robin Williams was as much due to his success as to his failure. He was America's clown, not its Hamlet, and the inability to truly cross over haunted him.
Josh Sides | Southern Californians may like their lawns, but the State Water Board's new fines for a host of wasteful practices are long overdue. History tells us so, Josh Sides writes.
Gary Leonard | Take My Picture Gary Leonard is a regular weekly feature of LA Observed.
Jenny Burman | What did Caleb know about slavery, she asked.
Ellen Alperstein | Street parking in downtown Santa Monica is tough. Some drivers have an unfair advantage.
Steve Harvey | Steve Harvey's column of observations, photos and more from around the Los Angeles sphere of influence (and sometimes beyond.)
Bill Boyarsky
In an audacious move to bypass the county supervisors, Latino leaders, public policy reformers and civil libertarians are backing state legislation that would give a judge the power to expand the five-member board.
Jenny Burman
Before I lived in Echo Park, there was a tiny 1920s bungalow-cottage-standalone house on N. Occidental in Silver Lake. I...
Here in Malibu
I see this guy almost every morning on the drive down the hill to PCH. So handsome....