An Incision in Time/Los Doyers Rule All

Due to this break in the chain, this lost time, a blank drawn in-between the week and half since my last post, I could write a hundred thousand words about where I’ve been and the shit I’ve seen along with all the verbal vomit concerning the Dodgers but I’ll try and be into the whole brevity thing as much as I can.

I've been in New Orleans visiting some tight bros but I did go to Opening Day at Dodger Stadium.


Preceding the glorious home opener, The Dodgers were in Florida and all I can say about that series is that it was about as much fun as watching them play Pittsburgh. If I hadn’t of sold a kidney to buy Opening Day tickets, I would have stabbed myself in the chest with a Phillips-head screw driver, dull and rusty and a meaningless death. Another stellar performance from their bullpen. Whatever, man. I had to let it slide or else.


The last two Opening Days, I was on a forklift listening to the radio, headphones in, pretending to work. Dodgers first, safety second. So it was an especially golden time to be alive in the sun in Chavez Ravine. I was happy to attend my first Opening Day in three years. Beers flowing and pre-game weedsmoke to old school jams. A few hours without the invasive realities that strangle us most of the time. Dodger Stadium was Dodger Stadium. A work of art without apology or explanation. I asked this big dude named Hector with a Fernando Valenzuela jersey why Dodger Stadium is the place to be and he smiled and articulated its beauty just fine. He said, “It just is, bro.” The Dodgers won and me and Garcia got wasted, sobered up somewhat then listened to The Chronic all the way back to the I.E, not even minding the traffic.


After a meltdown the following game to the D-bags, I felt fortunate to get the fuck out of town. I needed a break from their bullshit and I was ready for some good times. And those good times were had. New Orleans is the finest town this decomposing nation has. It’s perpetually fucked by nature and man and the people just keep on singing. I went here and there, saw most of the city, drank around the clock, took hikes through swamps, saw snakes and alligators, listened to Eyehategod, Clifton Chenier and The Meters, ate oysters and crawfish and hung with good-ass people. It was a necessary trek into unknown regions, of this land and of my dome. A vision quest through swamps one day and narrow, nearly forgotten backstreets another. Nowhere is everywhere. "We're gonna make it, carnal."


Mixed emotions in hindsight about the Giants series. I could have done without seeing most of it. I’m glad Padilla finally went deeper than 4 innings and hit that asshole Aaron Rowand in the head. I can dig Padilla being a badass and also pitching well. The bullpen was on fire and by that I mean burning alive, turning to ash, being shitty. Saturday’s game can go straight to hell but I’ll take a series victory, especially that rubber match on Sunday. The corrosion of my insides are worth a game like that. I’m back in town now, reflecting on that pinch hit homer by Manny. It was a National League ballgame. While I’m concerned as fuck about the state of the Dodgers pitching, I’m not gonna make a fuss like the broken-record hacks at ESPN or MLB.com.


We’re still in the murky exposition of this mess. As long as we don’t get too far behind. So before my hair turns white over this next road trip I’m going to revel in the victory Sunday, in that sweet swing, the Manny pinch-hit, the sullen look on the faces in the Giants dug-out, in the unyielding roar of the crowd…getting high while playing a Delfonics record, loud and proud, watching that bomb go off and into the left field pavilion…over and over again.