Baseball

I love baseball. More specifically, I love the Dodgers. They are the best team ever to grace the grasses of the senior circuit. I grew up in NorCal with family in the San Francisco Bay Area. Everyone, including my father, are giants fans because of this. I, on the otherhand, turned out normal by maybe little more than the grace of God. It can vaguely be attributed to the 1981 World Series and the magic that Fernando Valenzuela created with his "Fernandomania" rookie season. I was 7 that year and had played T-ball for a couple of seasons, but I was primarily a soccer player at the time. At soccer practice that fall, I broke my leg; I didn't wear shin guards like one is suppossed to. That not only ended my season, but I was also laid up in bed with a plaster cast up to my thigh. My dad brought in the old black and white television set from the garage for my bedroom so I could stay in bed and not have to move around. This worked well for me since the only other television in the house was upstairs and probably weighed about 200 pounds, so it wasn't moving anywhere. The black and white on the other hand, was only about 13 inches and portable (this being a television from the 70's though meant it still probably weighed 30 or 40 pounds though). It took about 3 or 4 minutes for the TV to warm up and the antena had to be adjusted just right to get one of the 4 channels that were available to us (pre-cable by about 4 years for us hicks). So I watched the World Series. I watched the Yankees take a 2-0 lead in the series. I watched Fernando pitch in game 3 and win for the Dodgers. After that, they never looked back and beat the Yankees in the next 3 games to win the World Series. From there a Dodger fan was born.
I bring this up for a specific reason. That was 25 years ago. I have been to probably a dozen or so Dodger games; nothing is more exhilirating or exciting than a baseball game in person (at least nothing that you can do in the company of 40,000+ people). All of these games though were watched at "The Stick," home of the hated giants. This is not going to be a story about how my dad being a giants fan and me beign a Dodgers fan created this huge rift in our relationship. The only problems we ever had were created by me being a typical, pain in the ass teenager while I was in high school. This has to do with the comparison of watching games at "The Stick," and a game at Dodger Stadium. This past weekend, I went to LA on Sunday to watch my first Dodger game at Chavez Ravine. In addition, it was against these same hated giants. Additionally, it was going to be Greg Madduz on the mound, a shoe in hall of famer. To top that off, he was throwing against Jason Schmitt, the ace of the giants (a good pitcher in his own right and deserving of that credit despite wearing ugly-ass orange and black. Trick or treat, anyone?). The game was as expected, a National League beauty full of great pitching and defense.
I could continue to describe the details of the game, of the stadium, of the Dodger Dogs, but that is not and has not been my intended point, which I am now getting to. As previously mentioned, I have seen many games at Candlestick. Almost every time that I went, I was with friends who were giants fans. And almost every time I went there, I was harrassed and threatened by giants fans. I am a sports fan. I love rivalries and the competition that they spur. I expect to be heckled and ribbed. I am also an adult, and with the population of students that I work with, I can handle being told to, "go to hell," or to go "fuck yourself." However, after dozens of peanuts and a few beers being wasted on my back, it gets old. The average giant fan has very little class. When I was at Dodger Stadium, I sat next to a couple who was wearing giants jerseys. They were not the target of hatered or ridicule. No beers, no peanuts, no churros were hurled in their direction. Other than an occassionaly beach ball that indiscrimately headed towards them, nothing malicious attacked them. In fact, out the the 45,000+ people that were there, probably 10,000 were dressed for Halloween. And other than the occassional clown wearing a Barry Bonds shirt, no one appeared to be harrassed or overly heckled (the treatment of the Barry fans is pretty universal, I summise from watching games and hearing the crowd reactions).
It is sad that giant fans have had such a negative impact on my memories that after spending what possibly could be considered one of the greatest days of my life, the thing that I will remember the most will be the lack of class that they have. That is my rant. Dodger fans will understand. giant fans will continue to hate. Life will go on and so will baseball. Unless you are a giants fan and it comes time for game 163 on the season. Then you will be home watching the Blue in the playoffs. Have fun, but remember that if you hurl that beer at the television set, you might ruin your TV (as well as waste a beer).