Yeah, that's right. I am Dodger fan. I am REAAAL proud of it too. Growing up in Los Angeles, all I have ever known of baseball is the LA Dodgers. Sure, I have roots in San Diego and there is that other flaky team called the Angels, but there has always been the Dodgers. Now, don't give me all that mumbo jumbo about, "Yeah, but the REAL Dodgers are from New York and you better recognize." To which I respond, "Pshaw!" Alright? I will not justify such nonsense with anything else. Moving on...ANYWAYS - yes, the Dodgers. As a kid I practically lived at Dodger Stadium. If I wasn't there with my mom and step dad, I was there with my Dad and brother on the weekends. We watched it on television when we couldn't make it to a game. I remember seeing those bright white, crisp Home Team uniforms move around the field, almost close enough to touch. Sitting above the bull pen made my heart race in the hopes of grabbing a pop fly ball. Racing to the player's exit, new ball in hand hoping for a signature. Standing on shoulders - on heads - to get my ball signed by the likes of Orel Hershiser, Dave Anderson, Pedro Guerrero - Kirk Gibson. We lived it, we breathed it, we loved it.
I was a Band Geek (I capitalize that because we are deserving of it) and I spent many years in Junior High and High School sweating my ASS off in the black top parking lot in my polyester jacket and jeans. We would practice with thousands of other school bands in preparation of us all walking on that lush, green - PERFECT - grass. And proceed to play the National Anthem in front of an undoubtedly sold out crowd. That was an incredible feeling... I also spent the weekends and all of my Winter Break during Senior year in High School along with hundreds of others like myself preparing to march in Pasadena Rose Parade with the LAUSD All City Honor Drum and Bugle Corps at Dodger Stadium. Getting up at the butt-crack hour of dawn to pick kids up all over the city to practice for HOURS on that hot, unforgiving Dodger Stadium black top. One of my personal highlights of my young life was also my own personal Hell for the same amount of time. I ended up getting the flu the day before the parade - and chose to march it anyhow. All seven and a half miles of it.
I remember very clearly standing in the Thompson's living room in Canyon Country, watching Kirk Gibson limp to the plate. I remember him hitting that ball. I remember him rounding those bases pumping his arm.The year was 1988. And I remember the Los Angeles Dodgers winning the World Series that year.I remember.
Dodger Blue.
