Foul Balls

So, our beloved Bums are now "owned" by Major League Baseball.  Or is it "controlled?"  "Making decisions?"  Whatever the phrase, it is the beginning of a step in the right direction.  Slimey McSlime is slowly on his way out, facing a very tough future.  His business deals, shady as the day is long...his wife, who only seemed to be married to him if it helped her own bottom line...the houses, bought high (in value and in total) and sitting low.  But my favorite: Owning land...creating a new company..."selling" the land to the new company...then PAYING RENT to it.  It's something you still own, but you create something else to support. 

This, while the parking lot gets sketchy.

Questions to consider:
Are there Dodger fans who were L.A. Raiders fans?  Of course. 
Did the L.A. Raiders fans become Dodgers fans once the team moved back north?  Possibly. 
Did that mentality of the fans in the stands slowly turn Raiders?  Not really.
Is the parking lot a clusterfuck, enraging even the saintly?  Absolutely.

Since the divorce trial, Slimey has taken a very hands-off approach.  He's seen less frequently, and heard from even less than that.  It took a week for Slimey to acknowledge a Giants fan beaten by the "gang mentality" (LAPD's words) and it appeared Slimey was most concerned with how it would cost him money.  Money he doesn't have, ironically. 

In a very USFL move, Slimey took out a loan from Fox Sports to give the organization the April paychecks.  Good PR move.  With the prospect of a stadium 1/4th full...fans scared to go to games in person, and an owner who can't foot the bill for the all-you-can-eat section, MLB did the right thing.  All Dodger fans I know (and those who aren't) like the change. 

Who doesn't?  McSlime loyalists, such as Steve Soboroff.  None of this was really his business until, just as this deal went down, McSlime hired Soboroff to become "Vice Chairman."  (Hey - that was his wife's old job!)  One of his duties is to "improve the fan experience" which (as of now) means "not getting knifed in parking lot J."  In his latest "interview" to the LA Times, Soboroff included these gems:

On Slimey McSlime:
"[He's] a different person now moving forward."

On why he's the right man for the job:
"I don't drink. I don't use drugs. I don't use steroids."

Let's just do a block quote from the story because holy SHIT:
On Commissioner Bud Selig: "What did the commissioner of baseball do? He increased the value, he increased revenue lines. He did all kinds of great things for baseball. If you read his Wikipedia and you read Frank's Wikipedia, they ain't too different."


Reading between the lines of all Gofuckoff stated shows 1 thing: his concern is for Slimey McSlime.  The Dodgers?  Well...yeah, but you know, my pal Slimey will be just fine.  (Anyone else sensing under the table money?)  Meanwhile, the future is completely unknown for the team going forward.  Setting the scorecard, you have a 1st time 1st-year manager leading a team of players...the majority of which are new to the organization.  And who are the 3 right now at the top?
Bud Selig
Slimey McSlime
Steve Soboroff, who's been on the job less than a week, and has no experience.  (He doesn't seem too concerned about the team, either)
 
Our beloved Dodge are fucked.  Tommy!  Big Pisan!  Save us!

The Happiest Days of Our Lives

(Editor’s Note: In a March, 1980 edition of the now defunct L.A. Reader, the newspaper devoted an issue to “L.A. Youth: The 1980s.”  Trip Darvez was assigned the aspect of parties, and wrote this story)

The biggest struggle of this undertaking, and the largest obstacle I have in completing this assignment, is the ability to blend in. Normally this is not a concern, but the last thing I wanted was each group that enters to say “Who the fuck is that guy?” As you’ll see, my worries were wasted time.

Instead of doing the lazy thing (buying them beer) I spent approximately 2 days hanging out at various teen spots (you likely know some) and was quickly informed of a party that would suit the story…I was invited by someone who was already going, and was given the address. Good enough.


“Man, you know how much that fucker cost?” Bill was pointing to a keg that was sitting in a sink, with the ice already on its way down the drain. Before I could even ask how they lifted a full keg into a sink and not break anything, I was interrupted. “Michelob one is in the bathtub and going.” Gary, who invited me to this party, was drinking from a Ronald McDonald glass. I attempt to tap the sink keg, which is Grensquell. A steady foam stream ends up in the CSUN mug I find in the cabinet. “Jessica goes to that shithole.”



Randy, resident of the house: “Guys…just be careful in here. I just found a vase that broke by the stairs.”


Bill: Why does your mom put flowers on the staircase?



Nothing is really different in 1980. They are listening to Pink Floyd on the stereo, there are couples going at in the bedrooms upstairs, there is a girl crying in the living room, and a stream of high school students roll through like a slow moving train. The whole purpose of this night was a drinking contest, and one brand was bought on the theory it had higher alcohol content. But one of the contestants has yet to show, and the other is in the backyard, smoking a joint. He was silent on this bet until he returned with a full glass of beer.


“Fuck them. I know I can drink more, but it’s just because we had a party at my place and I was in the pool drinking the brandy from Mike’s liquor cabinet. They couldn’t stand it, but we don’t have beer. (laughs) My dad would seriously shit if he saw me drinking his beer.”


My “conversation” was being drowned out by two girls complaining about a guy. We both ended up roped into it. “I told him I wanted to go to the Chart House. If he wanted to be serious, that’s what couples do. Be he says ‘I want us to have fun.’” This was supposed to be a big point, I could tell, but it was met with silence. I went to freshen up my beer. As I walked away, I heard the other girl say “well, did you tell him he had to pay for it?”


Every time the song came up, someone would cheer and then repeat “We don’t need no education.” Wanting a comparison, I went upstairs and checked out the other keg. It was still there, but the bathroom was nearing “truck stop” in ambience. I wandered about…one room was smoky, the master bedroom…you can guess…the rest were politely untouched. I wondered how this happened considering the deteriorating look of the ground floor. Or maybe everyone was lazy.


When you’re this age even the routine is an expansion. I know of plenty who’ve attempted to return to “Happy Days” of their own life. Whether they were Richie or Potsy, life was simple. Wasn’t it? Of course it wasn’t, but it seems simple now. “Have you ever seen Bill’s dad?” (An out of control executive of a grocery store chain, according to the teller) “Bill said something like ‘shut up’ or something to him, and he took his plate of food, threw it into the kitchen and said ‘finish your dinner.’ What a dick!”


A collection of empty beer cans (brought by some enterprising students) sat inside the stove. I catch Randy look at this out of the corner of my eye, and he does not look good. He comes into the living room to say to no one in particular “Were you guys in the upstairs bathroom?” Of course we were…the keg is up there…but we all say no. “Someone took the pills…they’re to help my dad’s ulcers!” He has the look of a man who knows his fate. But he’s a kid, and it’s life’s becoming real much too late.


I did exercise my wisdom once, when I told a gang that it wasn’t wise to drink in the front yard – if they cops show up, they’ll get you first. I was rewarded with a warm beer. As with before, teens have their own problems, and just like then, they are dealing with it in the same way. When I left the party, there were groups laughing, once guy passed out on the steps, the crying girl eventually got over it and started dancing with someone else. An attempt to make grilled cheese was put out by the foam of the sink keg. All these years later, I was proud to report that very little had changed.