The following is a guest post by Sean Brown, Portland resident and cosmic blog proprietor of the Anarchist Project. He describes a world where the Dodgers win the World Series. We need the pump up today. Please find the Anarchist Project in my blog roll to the right for more from Sean. Enjoy.
My love affair with Los Angeles started almost exactly six years ago;
she was a saucy bitch, and I dug her style. Trading the snow of
Minnesota for a week in sunshine with an old friend opened my eyes to
a beautiful new world of Hollywood Stars, amazing Mexican food, and
sipping beers on the beach in the moonlight. There was sushi and
bacon wrapped hot dogs and The Lake Show. There were writers and
actors and The Industry. An unbeatable music scene populated by
beautiful people. And there was Dodger Baseball.
Broke college kids pounding beers in the parking lot at Chavez Ravine,
smuggling flasks up escalators to sit in a sea of Dodger Blue in the
left field bleachers. Tickets surprisingly cheap to a Midwesterner on
his first trip out, it felt like the Dodgers cared about their fans,
and though the team back then wasn’t the most talented, it felt as
though the fans cared about their team. More than just a baseball
game, Chavez Ravine exemplified the laid back, accepting west coast
attitude. Drinking beers in the warm late summer night, the buzz of
being out, exchanging jokes and high fives with strangers, being a
part of something together, we were Dodger Fans, and it felt good.
Which is why I need The Dodgers to beat the Phillies, and then the
Yankees. I’m tired of the East Coast. Don’t get me wrong, I love the
culture and the vibe. I regularly dream of Cheesesteaks from Pat’s.
I’m a big fan of Sean Carter. I’m just tired of ESPN pretending that
the world revolves around the Northeast. I’m tired of the Yankees
buying an all-star team on a yearly basis and their arrogant d-bag
fans. And Philly, you got yours last year, and I salute you, but its
time to bring the glory back out west.
A Dodger’s World Series Championship would turn into a city wide block
party. Beers and food, music and dancing with strangers. High-fives
and hugs. People will smile at each other. New friends will be made,
neighbors will be met, and a new generation of Dodger World Series
babies will be made. It will be glorious. If the Dodgers get to the
World Series, I’ll get there. I’ll dance in the street with a fifth
of whiskey and the Ghost of Bukowski and Dodgers past.
And so, today a man can stand in Portland and look south and dream of
sunshine and glitz and glamour, he can dream, he can believe. It’s
time Dodgers, do your thing.