In the only positive light I can even begin to conjure, we could look at a game like last night's like we look at a burning building, a sad collapse with many possible dead but onlookers in awe nonetheless. That's if they charged you fifty dollars to watch a sad display you thought was going to be some kind of escapism from the cruel world of burning buildings elsewhere. Fuck no.
I'm thinking about a mother or a father taking their kid to the game and having to reluctantly pay for tickets and parking and all the tiny tragedies that can erode the experience of taking in a ballgame before you even have a chance to do so. The pigs telling you can't have a pre-game anything in the parking lot assists in this experience. Oh well, it's the Dodgers and it's Dodger Stadium and it's a mediocre Milwaukee team underachieving this season not unlike the Dodgers. But it's a fine evening in Los Angeles. Then the fucking game.
Before said mother or father or whoever the fuck else can find their seats after the larceny of buying a beer and/or a Dodger Dog, the score is 9-0. And it gets worse. And it's our ace. And we're all raped again.
Three straight against the Pirates isn't much but I really thought we would win a few more before we bent back on the road to lose them all.
If the game wasn't such a goddamn chore, the prices, the fascism, the state of being in Los Angeles is you're among the working class, then a game like this is the greatest exclamation point after a long month of fuck yous. A whole fucking lot of them.