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June 2, 2006

This, Son, Is A Dodger Dog

Last night, I took Elijah to his first professional baseball game. As soon as I moved to L.A., I went in on a little Dodger ticket package, splitting 25 games with a paralegal named Craig who I met on the Dodger Thoughts message board. Craig and I went to Opening Day together, and after that, we were on our own, getting two tickets each to a dozen games. My deal with my friends has been this: I pay for the ticket and parking, and you drive so I can get high before the game. Also, you need to buy the food. It's a small price to pay for sitting in Section 1 of infield reserve, right on top of home plate, about a mile in the air.

Obviously, with Elijah along for the ride, I bought the food, I drove, and I didn't get high. These were small sacrifices for what will certainly be one of my son's fondest memories in the last moments before the planet onto which he was born gets consumed by a series of apocalyptic fireballs. I've been a Dodger fan my entire life, and it appears that the old club has finally begun to creep back into the greatness column. What a pleasure to share such a great season with my son. And if you think you've heard me rant enthusiastically about the Suns, wait until the baseball season turns the corner into the back nine. I even chose our general living location because of its proximity to Dodger Stadium. It's always been my dream to live within a ten-minute drive of the Ravine, and I'm willing to endure a nightly police chopper flyover to make that dream real.

Elijah wanted to wear my Cubs hat to the game. Though he's never seen the Cubs play and has never even been to Chicago, he's somehow instinctively drawn to a losing cause, which is why I'm certain he'll be a Democrat his entire life. As we turned onto Sunset, he said,

"This hat smells like you."

"Oh, really?" I said. "Is that good?"

"Yes. It's good."

"Thank you, son."

"I'm a nice boy," said Elijah. "I wave hello to people."

This self-assessment played out as we walked through the parking lot toward the Stadium. People waved back, and then Elijah said, loudly,

"My daddy is taking me to my first basebaw game and I'm vewy vewy excited!"

All the diabetics present reached for their insulin.

As we approached the entrance, Elijah had many important observations to make.

"There are lots of different cars in the parking lot."

"That's true, son."

"They are many different colors."

"Yes."

"Lots of people go to baseball games."

"Yes."

"Lots of kids go to baseball games."

"Yes."

"Kids are afwaid of awigators."

"OK."

"I'm a wittle afwaid of awigators. And snakes!"

"OK."

"Snakes are cool!"

This line of conversation continued until we reached our seats, about ten minutes before the opening pitch.

The PA announcer told us to rise for the National Anthem. I had to explain this process to Elijah.

"Take off your hat."

"Why?"

"Because we have to listen to a man sing a song."

"Why?"

"It's about our country."

"What country? What's a country?"

"The United States. Which is were we live."

"No, daddy. We don't wive in the United States! We wive in Los Angewes."

"Good point. Anyway, stand up and take off your hat."

The game began. A vendor came by with some malt cups. I bought two, popped a couple of Lactaid for myself, and gave one to Elijah.

"This spoon has two sides," he said, and then disappeared into deep concentration on his malt cup until the top of the second. Then he ate a couple of carrots. At that point, the food distractions ended, so I had to start breaking out the books and toys.

First, he looked at Hullaballoo At The Zoo, which has holes in it where you can stick your fingers. These then act as the legs for various zoo animals. I gave Elijah two small rubber snakes, which he stuck in the holes on every page, narrating to himself a story about how snakes were eating zoo animals because they were on vacation.

In the bottom of the second, Dodgers rookie centerfielder Matt Kemp slammed a whopping homer off the left-field foul pole, and the crowd made a lot of noise. Elijah put his hands over his ears and shouted "SHUT UP, EVERYONE!"

"Elijah," I said. "You can't tell people to shut up at a baseball game. Unless they're throwing beer on you."

"I want to see my fruits and vegetables book," he said. "The snakes are still hungry."

As the bottom of the third came to a close, Elijah said,

"It's time to go now."

"We can't go now. There's a song we have to sing later."

"Another song?"

"This one is called Take Me Out To The Ballgame. Everyone sings it and it's very fun."

"OK."

He squirmed restlessly. A cotton candy vendor came by.

"Cotton candy is vewy bad," he said. "It makes you cwazy."

The couple behind us, who had two little girls they were trying to keep busy, bought two.

"Let's go now," said Elijah.

"OK," I said.

We went out into the hallway. Can you call it a hallway? A causeway? Regardless, it was the concession area. Elijah broke into what passes for a sprint.

"You can't catch me, daddy!"

"I probably can."

"We're bears! Let's go find our caves!"

For the next two and a half innings, we ran up and down the infield reserve section, roaring and ducking into various entries. I've been to at least 200 baseball games in my life, and I must admit that I've never spent one quite like this. When J.D. Drew launched a three-run bomb to put the Blue up 7-0, thus removing the chance that Eric Gagne would make his fabled return that night, I knew we'd make it to the finish line. The crowd went nuts. They played loud music. I picked Elijah up and jumped around. He waved gleefully.

"Something just happened!" he said.

"Yes it did," I said. "Whooooo!"

"Whooooo!"

The diabetics reached for their insulin again.

We made it back to our seats in the bottom of the fifth, and I somehow kept him under control until Take Me Out To The Ballgame, which he obviously loved. If I may say so, my son looked at me with wonder and admiration as I sang the song from memory, and in tune, I might add. I looked back at him with equal wonder and admiration. Something quintessential passed between us then, and a great American cliche came true.

On the way back to the car, he said,

"I had fun, daddy."

"I'm glad."

"Did you have fun?"

"Oh, yes."

"I want to go to more baseball games with you."

"We can go to as many baseball games as you want. For the rest of your life."

"That's cool, daddy!"

"Except for Monday. They're playing the Mets and I want to stay for the whole thing."

"I'm a bear," Elijah said. He obviously hadn't understood what I'd just said. "Rowrrrrrr!"

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Comments

There's nothing quite like taking your first child to the first ballgame. This year, I took my daughter, who's four, to see her first game here at Citizens Bank Park in Philly. It turned into a doubleheader against the Dodgers. We were sitting just over the fence in right field, prime location for hearing people shout creative insults at J.D. Drew. Though she wondered why people kept yelling about Duracells whenever the Dodgers were in the field, my daughter made it through 17.5 innings fuss-free and had a great time. We've been back twice since then, and she's become quite a little fan. Too bad it costs a fortune to get seats anymore.

Dodger Stadium's a pretty good place for a game. I've been to several there with my grandparents over the years, although it was back in the Steve Garvey/Ron Cey/Bill Russell/Davy Lopez/Pedro Guerrero/Dusty Baker days.

I'll be interested to read whether E. invents any new characters based on the ball game. Like Sweaty Drunk Man or Yelling Man.

We go to at least two "family games" a season. Usually, there is about 15 of us stacked 5 seats to a row. The grandparents wear their radios, as not to miss a play, some of have the newspaper or a Suduko puzzle, we chat, eat, sip some beer and yell at the field. The bigger kids, tend to surf the crowd for cuter "bigger kids", however, the younger ones (9 - 20 month) are completely engrossed in the game. They take it very seriously, woohooing when appropriate and booing when something bad happens. Being fans of the Mariners, the 9 year old Hanna often leaves the park in tears after a loss, she's getting better at sucking up the losses, but she, like the rest of the family enjoy the wins most.

Ultimately, it doesn't matter who wins or loses, these games are magical in more ways then just enjoying the Great American Pastime. Baseball, for whatever reason, is a thing to share with family, perhaps the magic is the mystery behind our love for the game. Who cares...PLAY BALL!!

How much do I love Elijah for being a Cubs fan?!!! I recommend at some point introducing him to a real Chicago hot dog, although little kids usually aren't too jazzed about condiments other than ketchup.

I'm looking forward to having that experience with Rita and Jake, but it's a little complicated since Becky is determined to make them Red Sox fans. Jake was born the day they clinched the pennant, and his due date was the day they won the World Series, but it's not like she would have budged even without those portents. And I've already missed Rita's first game, since Becky's parents took her to see the Pawsox last year. Still, I'm hoping a little dose of Yankee Stadium can win them over someday. Glad you had such a great time with Elijah.

Loved the diabetic comment. I thoroughly enjoy reading your fatherhood adventures and look forward to my own.

Hey Hey and Holy Cow, Neal! Picked a great subject here, but watch out for the rabid baseball fans. It's a compulsion to tell these stories...

First of all, I hope you brought a camera and got some pix. They're what you're going to be wanting to look at when those fireballs destroy the planet.

I've taken my four-year-old to two games already: first one, he was in an infant baby carrier and my wife and I drove Chicago to Detroit on a whim, to see our Red Sox pummel the Tigers (nice stadium). Very memorable for us, like climbing Everest would be for someone more fit and insane. He won't remember, of course, but at least we've set the pattern. His second game (White Sox/Red Sox) he also came without a ticket: this time in a back-carrier thing that I could put on the seat next to me. My 10 year old nephew came, taking the ticket my sick wife decided to forgo, and I got the pleasure of providing him with *his* first MLB experience.

I thought I would wait another year to take my son to the first game he's likely to actually remember. But your entry here makes me think: why wait?

incest father and daughter with mother and son!

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