(Disclaimer: If you are a Cubs fan, please don't be angry with me if you keep reading this blog and all that I talk about revolves around the Dodgers. I can like your team too (just not right now))
Who would have guessed that my Dodgers would go to Wrigley, where the Chicago Cubs have arguably the best fans in the National League and beat the Cubbies in both of their games leading the series 2-0?
The 2008 version of Kirt Gibson?
I must admit, I haven't been the most faithful Dodger fan this season especially if you knew me as a wee lad, I was obsessed. Every night in high school/late junior high, I'd come home from baseball practice (which in La Mirada, Ca where the sun shines almost everyday, baseball was an 11 months commitment every year), make sure my mom would wash my grass stained practice pants (which I might add was quite the vicious cycle), stuff my scarcely high metabolismed body with anything I could find, and practice quadratic equations as I watched Sports Center play over and over as the reruns would play every hour. Baseball was my life and at one time, and more so... my dream.
I have one memory that I've convinced myself to be sitting in my photographic memory bank. My dad and I spent hours upon hours at Dodger Stadium as a kid standing in line for autographs of players that I've never heard of, sweating in the sun just to feel the joys of a great southern California sunny day game, or the persuasion skills I tried to work on opposing teams during batting practice to simply get them to throw me a ball. I specifically remember one late summer night as a ten year old when the sun had already set by the 3rd inning and the Dodger Dog(s) had left me satisfied for the time being. The boys in blue were losing pretty bad and their was no real reason to stay. My pops kept checking to see if I wanted to drive home yet always giving me the feeling that it's ok to stay. Even though I could easily live there all year long, I figured it was about time to go. As I descended down the uneven cement steps of the bleacher section in the Right Field Pavilion, this picture forms every time I think about my dream to become a profession baseball player. So, in order walk under the bleachers, you must walk down by the outfield fence and turn to go down the last row of stairs. This view of the field was so close to being on the field that I would constantly fantasize on how cool it would be to just play one game. This last row of stairs literally brings life to the song Stairway to Heaven as I fallowed my dad down. Each step that would bring me closer to losing sight of the field was another step I wanted to take in pursuing my dream to play on that field someday. I guess it's easy to conclude that we remember things better when pictures line up with thoughts and somehow we are having an emotional response through it all.
Have you ever remembered a picture in your mind or a phrase someone said in your past and you try to figure out why that moment is so engrained in your mind opposed to the other vague memories that attempt to linger on? There are very specific conversations that I've had with people that I've kept with me to this day. I still see pictures that captivated a few seconds in my life years ago that allow me to remember in detail how special that moment really was.
I have one memory that I've convinced myself to be sitting in my photographic memory bank. My dad and I spent hours upon hours at Dodger Stadium as a kid standing in line for autographs of players that I've never heard of, sweating in the sun just to feel the joys of a great southern California sunny day game, or the persuasion skills I tried to work on opposing teams during batting practice to simply get them to throw me a ball. I specifically remember one late summer night as a ten year old when the sun had already set by the 3rd inning and the Dodger Dog(s) had left me satisfied for the time being. The boys in blue were losing pretty bad and their was no real reason to stay. My pops kept checking to see if I wanted to drive home yet always giving me the feeling that it's ok to stay. Even though I could easily live there all year long, I figured it was about time to go. As I descended down the uneven cement steps of the bleacher section in the Right Field Pavilion, this picture forms every time I think about my dream to become a profession baseball player. So, in order walk under the bleachers, you must walk down by the outfield fence and turn to go down the last row of stairs. This view of the field was so close to being on the field that I would constantly fantasize on how cool it would be to just play one game. This last row of stairs literally brings life to the song Stairway to Heaven as I fallowed my dad down. Each step that would bring me closer to losing sight of the field was another step I wanted to take in pursuing my dream to play on that field someday. I guess it's easy to conclude that we remember things better when pictures line up with thoughts and somehow we are having an emotional response through it all.
Even though I never was able to pursue my dream of become a Los Angles Dodger, I was able to finally play on it my senior year of high school in a CIF Championship Game. It was ironically the last time I would ever suit up for a baseball game after 12 years of it consuming my life. So, now I'm left with the excitement of a team I lived for as a boy and to see them actually winning in the playoffs is something to get excited about. Not to mention, I have never heard my dad this happy in months. Honestly, I think it is accurate to believe that my dad's "stoke level" is highly dependent on how well the Dodgers are doing that week...
My friend Ryan (15), Me (10), My friend Taylor (11)
GO DODGERS!
-g
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1 comment:
So...my dad's happiness level also is dependent on if the Dodgers win or lose on a weekly basis!
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