I Love Lucio: 20 Years...

Tuesday, October 7, 2008

20 Years...

Friday

I took Friday off. My mom has escaped the 909 and found green pastures in the city we called home for about 10 years. It’s where my appreciation for girls formed by way of Jessica’s mad teather ball skills, Wendy’s cute but emotionless expressions, Veronica’s adult like sexuality, Magaly’s Arabic and totally inappropriate for a 5th grader Halloween costume and Deanna’s aggressive “do you want to me my boyfriend?” approach. What’s greater, I fell in love with baseball and the Dodgers.

After several attempts at getting a rent free moving truck we opted to postpone driving the 35+ miles and not use my trusty but limited Chevy S-10 as an actual moving truck. I figured I’d bite the bullet on Saturday and rent a U-Haul. At least I’d have a Bud Light drinking moving crew to help while providing Cantinflas comical value. We’d wake up early, bust ass like the Mexicans we are and make it to Dodger Stadium in time to pound two Arrogant Bastard Ales and catch the 1st inning. What, didn’t you know the Dodgers are in the post-season? Pssshhh!

Saturday

A smashed thumb, a sweaty t-shirt, a 20 case of Bud Light and five hours later, mission accomplished. We jet set from Fontucky to West Covina to Baldwin Park to El Monte to Highland Park like the soul rich concrete jungle Angelenos we are, ate, showered and rolled out to the Ravine.

There was an electricity and atmosphere even on our way into the parking lot. Dog eat dog L.A. driving gave way to cat eat cat. Fathoms of sea couldn’t jump into the ocean of blue that is Dodger Stadium fast enough. 10 year olds from 1988 reemerged and hurried up and down the hills of Chavez with chicas/wives/lovers in tow. From the moment we got to our Loge 146, Row N, Seats 1 & 2 we dialed in to every pitch as if it were the last. We, meaning each and every inhabitant of Dodger Stadium that wasn’t working the concessions and even some that were. Without giving a play by play, there were highs and highers that caused the usually calm and collected narrator to lose all sense of self the way Disneyland makes 8-year olds go apeshit. When Jonathon Broxton threw that final pitch and Alfonso Soriano nearly checked his swing Dodger Stadium went nuts. Strangers hugged strangers, old women high-fived teenagers, gypsy’s rejoiced, etc. etc. etc. The Dodgers swept the Cubs.

8 wins to go

Here’s the funny part of the story. The Dodgers merely won a Division Series; they haven’t even made it to the World Series. Big woot right? Well, they accomplished something that hadn’t been accomplished around here in 20 years, 20 long frustrating years. To give you some perspective, Reagan was president and on his way the fuck out and into the twilight of his life that included dying in a soot of his own shit while having no idea who the person in front of him was. If karma plays out as it should, I hope George W. Bush and the Dodgers find the same fate. Joe Torre said it best, “We have 8 more wins to go.”

Sunday

All was back to normal on Sunday, I watched football, Saturday night’s TiVo’d MMA event and some baseball. The chica and I ended the night with the usual five minute drive to The York for a grilled cheese and a Craftsman OctoberFest brew and back home to veg before the thought of Monday morning crept in and sleep kicked in. All in all the curtains came down on a great weekend.

The National League Championship series begins on Thursday and like every Dodgers fan, I pray for the best but expect the worse. The magic of Saturday night aside I’m still realistic, more so a skeptic but I’d be lying through my teeth if I wasn’t prematurely dreaming of a World Series victory. 8 wins away. It doesn’t seem like much but it’s what separates today from 20 years. Let’s hope Kirk Gibson continues to live through that James Loney grand slam in Chicago. Let’s hope Russell Martin has a Mike Scioscia moment. Let’s hope Chad Billingsley sits alongside Orel Hershiser in the palate of Dodger history.

Let’s hope a glossy eyed kid loses his voice again.