N's fifth birthday was last week and L's is a little over a week away, so one of our family birthday treats was to take them to their first L.A. Dodgers game, or the "Doyyers" as the team is affectionately or not-so-affectionately called by the locals. It was something we'd wanted to do for a while, and when we happened to score some tickets at a fund raiser for the kids' school it all came together nicely.
The team has had a pretty dismal season so far with lots of bad press. A Giant's fan was attacked and beaten practically to death on opening day; the celebrity divorce case of the team's owners, Frank and Jamie McCourt and the growing gang presence and association with the team has been dragging the team down in both reputation, attendance and financial stability. The drama as been such a public spectacle that in April baseball commissioner Bud Selig announced that the MLB would be seizing control of the team due to "deep concerns for the finances and operations" of the Dodgers. Given those cheery circumstances and the current 4-game losing streak, Saturday evening we hit the freeway to Dodger Stadium, joining the couple dozen other Angelenos still willing to watch, and caught the 7:10 game with the Houston Astros.
But once you get in a baseball stadium the murders in the parking lot all seem to fade away. Don't get me wrong, the game was truly abysmal (Dodgers died 0-7 to make it a 5-game losing streak), but it was wonderful time anyway. N brought his foam Dodgers hand and L her Dodgers hat and both immediately jumped into the cheering and yelling. Neighbors on all sides were liberally whacked with the foam hand multiple times in N's exuberance. I spent most of the game trying to explain the goings-on of the game to N, which is ironic, given I can't usually tell a home run from a touchdown. By the end of the night he seemed to grasp that a good pitch that the batter missed was a strike, and a bad pitch the batter let go by was a ball. (And while I'm on the subject, N's pitch during "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" was better than anything we saw on the field.) N did have a tough time keeping score though. He kept looking at the digital clock on the marquee and could not be convinced that it wasn't 8 to 32. It seemed the opposing team would score another run every minute, which actually wasn't too far from the truth.
Some particularly memorable moments:
- I got 1.2 sips of my $10 beer before N knocked it down the seats in front of us
- Stacy was particularly amused when the organist started playing music from Phantom of the Opera. A veritable calliope jauntily playing "Music of the Night" at double tempo was something neither of us expected.
- We got one large soda for the kids to share, but I made the mistake of not watching N for 10 seconds and L ended up with bupkis.
- Stacy bought a bag of peanuts from the vendor. Evidently we've never explained to N that you have to shell peanuts. Much spitting and many tears.
As we progressed to the 7th inning stretch, the excitement did not flag, but unfortunately took on that manic, kinetic quality that signifies a way-overtired kid. N was relocated to my lap to spare the neighbors bruises and lacerations. The foam Dodger fist was calmly placed in the beer puddle under the seats for similar reasons. L was thirsty. N was hungry. The Dodgers were losing. And Daddy was still grumpy about his beer. We survived to sing "God Bless America," but then left our Dodger dog wrapper and peanut shell bedecked seats behind and headed for the doors. That's when the tears started in earnest for L remembered that she's seen a cotton candy vendor a kilometer away and decided that was all that could make her life complete.
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| A city defeated |
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