Blues for Dodger blue

I was once a Dodger fan. Other than the few years I spent as a pre- and early teen on the Peninsula, I grew up in Southern California, in the great Los Angeles basin, and because I liked baseball, I was a Dodger fan. For a while, I was lucky enough to have a boyfriend (RIP, Greg; gone much too soon) whose father had season tickets to Dodger games at Chavez Ravine, and I was privileged to see the likes of Sandy Koufax, Don Drysdale, Maury Wills and their teammates play ball.

I loved that Dodger blue, and after I came north, I remained a Dodger fan. Gradually, though, I fell away, a combination of inattention, lack of timely information (these were pre-Internet days), and the realization that the Dodgers I had known and loved had ceased to exist once the O'Malley family sold the franchise.

And there was one more element—the San Francisco Giants. And truly, if it had been any other ballclub, I might have relinquished the Dodgers a lot sooner. But it was the GIANTS, fercryinoutloud. Anybody but the Giants. All of my baseball-loving friends were Giants fans. I went to games with them at Candlestick, had a good time, began to know the players, the culture, the history. And I became a Giants fan. Like many converts, whether to a religion or to abstinence, I'm a certifiable nut job about them and unapologetically so. And, as a good and true Giants fan, I loathe the Dodgers. Really, I do. I don't want them to win any game we play with them. I don't want them to win the division, or the pennant, or, god forbid, the World Series.

But the debacle that is the McCourts is a sad story for me. I remember those good times at Dodger Stadium, what a beautiful ball yard it is, how wonderful it was to watch Koufax pitch, the feel of a Los Angeles summer night. I hope the Dodgers recover from the chaos and thrive again. Baseball needs that to happen. The Giants need that to happen. And I need that to happen.

Beat LA . . . on the field, between the lines.