Baseball Toaster Dodger Thoughts
Help
Jon Weisman's outlet
for dealing psychologically
with the Los Angeles Dodgers
and baseball.
Frozen Toast
Search
Google Search
Web
Toaster
Dodger Thoughts
Archives

2009
02  01 

2008
12  11  10  09  08  07 
06  05  04  03  02  01 

2007
12  11  10  09  08  07 
06  05  04  03  02  01 

2006
12  11  10  09  08  07 
06  05  04  03  02  01 

2005
12  11  10  09  08  07 
06  05  04  03  02  01 

2004
12  11  10  09  08  07 
06  05  04  03  02  01 

2003
12  11  10  09  08  07 
06  05  04  03  02  01 

2002
09  08  07 
About Jon
Thank You For Not ...

1) using profanity or any euphemisms for profanity
2) personally attacking other commenters
3) baiting other commenters
4) arguing for the sake of arguing
5) discussing politics
6) using hyperbole when something less will suffice
7) using sarcasm in a way that can be misinterpreted negatively
8) making the same point over and over again
9) typing "no-hitter" or "perfect game" to describe either in progress
10) being annoyed by the existence of this list
11) commenting under the obvious influence
12) claiming your opinion isn't allowed when it's just being disagreed with

This Was No Day at the Beach
2003-06-04 08:49
by Jon Weisman
Note: The Dodger Thoughts blog has moved to the Los Angeles Times.

A guy walks into a bar - not a stranger necessarily, but someone from the neighborhood who comes around only rarely.

He hangs out, minding his own business for most of the night, when some of the regulars' uncouth behavior disturbs him. They're just a little too rowdy. There's a certain way you conduct yourself at a bar, he believes.

So, this humble stranger turns to the regulars - a large, boisterous bunch - and tells them, calmly, to cool it.

Can you just feel the bar's collective jaw drop?

Now imagine that you came to the bar with this guy.

That was how I felt Tuesday night at the Dodger game.

For about five innings, my wife, my Dad, a friend of his from high school and I sat in nondescript fashion, watching the Dodgers get baserunner after baserunner against the Royals without scoring most of them.

Then sometime in midgame - almost belatedly, one could argue - a beachball materialized in our section. The crowd, like a group of grade-schoolers whose leader is throwing around a paper airplane in class, gets giddy with excitement. And then the beachball landed at the feet of my father's friend.

As methodically as a factory worker, he picked up the beachball and put it under his seat.

My mouth was open wide. So was my wife's.

My dad's friend is a nice guy. A fun guy. The action seemed totally out of Brian Jordan field.

Morally, I think the guy he was in the right. It's always sort of bummed me out when fans are more interested in what's going on in the stands than what's happening on the field. There is a reason that ushers are charged with the task of taking beachballs away.

At the same time, it's clear how much people at Dodger Stadium enjoy a beachball - especially the keepaway game they play with the ushers. It's hard to begrudge them their fun - and I never would be the one to begrduge it.

But this guy did, and the reactions were interesting.

The catcalls came immediately - "Hey, you were a kid once!" - and then ceased just as immediately. It really was like Short-Term Attention Span Theater. By the time the next batter was up, it was as if the fans had forgotten about the ball.

Except for my wife.

She, who has never taken any passionate interest in the beachball follies, was embarrassed. And appalled. Morally appalled. Who was this guy to take away the fun of so many people?!

For an inning that seemed to last an eternity, she stewed like Lucy Van Pelt in a primo funk. She was as mortified, I think, as if someone had lit up a cigarette in the seat next to her and given it to our baby to smoke.

Finally, she seemed to come out of it. The seventh-inning stretch came, and we got up and swayed easily to the strains of Nancy Bea .

And then, my Dad's friend went to the men's room.

Immediately, it was clear that no one had forgotten about the beachball. The clamor came up from the crowd to get it - and my wife needed no clamor. She immediately had my Dad reach down and get it for her. She handed it to the girls next to her, who were eager to get it. With great enthusiasm, they batted it joyfully into the air.

Right into the hands of a Dodger usher.

Comment status: comments have been closed. Baseball Toaster is now out of business.