‘Tis the season to remember what was once the heart of the baseball world here in New York City. No, not the Yankees. The Brooklyn Dodgers. It was 50 years ago that the Bums left the area and moved to warmer climes. Specifically, my hometown of Los Angeles.
Listening to people who call in to WFAN, the sports talk radio show in NYC, I feel as if the move happened yesterday the caller’s pain sounds so raw. Reading stories like, “Exorcising the Dodgers: 50 years ago, the Dodgers left Ebbets Field for Los Angeles. Isn’t it time their ghosts left, too?” in New York Magazine is representative of the hold the team still has on the hearts and minds of the faithful.
I was close to making my first call to WFAN to say that, “Your loss was my gain.” I was a Dodgers fan at a young age. A Los Angeles Dodgers fan. My father made me and my sisters into loyal followers of the team. I’m glad for it. The team built relationships and started conversations within my family and also with neighbors in my changing neighborhood near Watts – conversations that happened before and continued after the riots of 1965.
Pop and Mom had five boys then produced four girls – of which I’m the youngest. The boys all played sports of one kind or another. The girls a little – but we made up for that by watching not just baseball in person plus football and basketball games on TV with Pop. It wasn’t just that Pop wanted to go to the games and needed company. That was part of it. It was also, though, part of our training in life to go with him. There was something about his observations of the players and the strategy of walking someone intentionally that has stuck with me. Watching my sister Lou fill-in the scorecard then doing it myself to record the statistics of achievement. Cheering when the bugle sounded whether the Dodgers were winning or losing; we did it because they were the home team.
There were times when it wasn’t fun. Like watching a one or no-hit game. Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale were great pitchers who could finesse a baseball to get it right where they wanted it. Watching got fun when Maury Wills tested the pitcher with a long lead from first base and then proceeded to slide into second, looking up to see if he could keep on going. Don, Maury, and Duke Snider were some of the players whose pictures hung on our bedroom wall. A closer look at our favorite players since our usual spot in Chavez Ravine was high up – the cheap seats – right behind home base. It hadn’t been any closer in the Coliseum where we first saw the Dodgers play.
As a leader, I’ve grown to appreciate the lessons I got from attending games with Pop, grateful that he didn’t write us off as just girls who wouldn’t be interested. There was another thing about sports that was important. It gave us a reason to go out and do something with Pop, to relate to him in new ways. Also, the girls used baseball as an excuse to travel. The four girls packed our Dodger blue sweaters and grey skirts then drove up to San Francisco to cheer our home team on in front of the other New York deserters – the Giants.
One of my nieces lives in Northern California and is a serious San Francisco 49ers football fan. In 2004, she said she wanted to come to New York to see her team play the New York Jets. Okay. The Jets won. That was fun. The next year, I went out to her stadium to watch the New York Giants beat the 49ers. Last December I volunteered my leadership services in New Orleans and that weekend the Saints were playing the 49ers. Yup! She was there with me – staying until the very last second of the game, risking missing her flight home even though her team couldn’t catch up. Next week, the 49ers are playing the Giants. My niece flies in on Saturday and leaves on Monday.
I’m looking forward to watching a game with her. It’s like watching a game with Pop. New Yorkers, thank you for parting with the Dodgers. Your loss was my gain. The gain of a gift that keeps on giving in new and delightful ways.
This entry was posted
on Monday, October 15th, 2007 at 3:52 pm and is filed under Family, Teams, NYC life.
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