Hi, my name is Wil, and I’m a baseball fan.
It all started when I was a little kid, and my dad took me to Dodger Stadium for an afternoon game. I don’t remember much about the game, but I can close my eyes and instantly hear the din of the crowd, the ever-present Vin Scully coming out of a thousand hand-held radios, and feel the warm summer sun on my face. I can taste the Dodgerdogs and Cracker Jacks, and hear Nancy B. on the Dodger Stadium organ.
As I got older, just watching the game wasn’t enough for me. I needed to take a scorecard to the game, then I needed to take a transistor radio, then I found myself with . . . binoculars.
I knew I had a problem when I couldn’t get tickets for opening day, so I bought hot dogs, beer, cracker jacks, peanuts and red vines, grabbed my booklet of score cards, sat in front of my television, and pretended that I was in Chavez Ravine.
Luckily, I was able to get some help for my addiction, when Kevin “Dodger Boy” Malone came to Los Angeles, and thoroughly fucked up the team on the field and decimated the farm system. The new Dodger ownership, by turning my beloved Dodger Stadium into a a series of billboards with empty rich jerk seats where the foul territory once was have helped me maintain my sobriety.
So, uh . . . does anyone know when pitchers and catchers report to Spring training? I have, uh, a friend who wants to know.
(adapted from WWdN:iX)