i wouldnt know because the television was turned off seconds before the critical moment.

a pretty girl in my home was the one who did the honors.

moments before the moment she asked

why did the batter, then the pitcher, then the catcher all call time out?

i said because everyone’s very nervous because a hit ends the game and an out gives the Cubs another chance to take this series to Wrigley tied up.

she was very hyper for some reason as i stood in my bedroom staring at the tv

rooting each and every pitch

as my cats snoozed on the nearby bed.

then suddenly she lunged towards the electronics and the tv turned off.

she didn’t hit the power button on the remote

she literally unplugged the complicated set-up.

i raced to the living room to fire up the tv there because Lord knows how long it would take me to resuscitate the bedroom situation

but the living room tv betrayed me as it needed to warm up and and and ahhhhhhh so i ran back to the bedroom and began the arduous task of rewiring the setup

and as i did i heard the familiar strains of Randy Newman’s “I Love LA”

the 30+ year old song that the Dodgers play at the end of a victory.

the television did not show me anything but a sickening blue screen of death

but it did let me know everything i needed to know

because of that music.

i knew the Cubs had lost.

they would not be playing that delightful tune if mighty Casey had struck out.

i stopped what i was doing.

i put on my pants and a shirt.

i found my phone.

i kissed the girl on the cheek, and said, i need to take a walk.

she said, i didnt mean to–  i said, i know you didn’t.

i know.

and i drove.

and i drove.

to the 99 cent store

and bought $27 worth of fuck if i know what.

im not usually a nervous man. but i was nervous for a few innings last night at Dodger Stadium.

sitting next the the razor sharp nicole cifani in the second row of the upper deck we had a perfect view of the cubs taking a 1-0 lead through 4 innings. i hadnt really eaten all day (bc nerves) and had only drank about 16 ounces of my 20 ounce beer so i thought it would be a good idea to put something in my stomach.

i also think the irresistible aroma of garlic fries were getting to her as well.

plus i wanted to meet up with todd and bob downing’s nephew who had bought my extra tickets higher up in the stands.

and as we were walking along the promenade past very long lines for refreshments the dodgers started rallying.

it got very loud. dodger fans hadn’t seen their team win a world series in 28 years. they werent there to crown the cubs. and in this city of champions usually their wishes come true.

as we waited to pay the dodgers tied the game up. walking around was usually what i did to help the Cubs get hits but alas it was now working for the home team? F word!

so i mixed things up a bit. Todd looked despondent and the peppy young Downing could probably use some newer friends near him so i suggested that nicole and i sit with them up behind the foul pole in left.

mama mia was that a rougher, different crowd from where we originally were. big, tough, fat mexican dudes, drunk from lots of things stood up and chanted for their team. some would eventually get escorted out by well-staffed security and LAPD. we saw tattooed latinas warned by security to take it easy on the profanity. we saw a huge but quiet hispanic gentleman pointed at by a grim faced guard who said, “GET DOWN HERE NOW!” he obliged and never returned to his seat.

there were a few Cub fans around us who cheered at a respectful level because lets face it, if there was going to be a fight it was going to happen in this far, high corner of the park. and lo, around the 7th inning, when things looked dire for the Dodgers who were making unforced errors and giving up walks and hits and homers to the young buck Cubs, a giant latino man with a white tshirt rushed towards another while trying to be separated by a well intentioned girlfriend or wife.  angry looks exchanged but not blows. as kids with Yasiel Puig tshirts watched, fascinated. as Dodger fans seemed to be taking it out on themselves.

so disappointed. all of them. as this very well might be the last time they see their team.

not Ice Cube in the box seats, not Vin Scully who made a guest appearance in the press box, and not their heroes on the field could turn their scowls upsidedown.

by the 8th i wasnt nervous any more. the Cubs had extended their lead to 6 runs, every time there was a close play the replay went against the home team. and the fans slowly made their way to the exits.

and then, it was done. the Cubs had come back from the deficit with two resounding back to back wins at Chavez Ravine and the plane ride back to Chicago would certainly be livlier for the Cubs than the Dodgers. Now the teams face off on Saturday with the Dodgers putting their ace, Clayton Kershaw on the mound and the Cubs will counter with the MLB ERA leader, the mysterious and unassuming Kyle Hendricks for Game Six. It’ll be do or die for the Dodgers.

And a trip to the World Series if the Cubs can pull it off.

After a nite cap at Little Joy followed by some grub at Tacos Arizas, Nicole and I said good night but not before she invited me to her church on Sunday.

but i wanted to tell her, ive been at church all week.

and it was good.

1. people rooting for the cubs to break their 108 year-old curse

2. people who find great joy in kicking Cub fans when they’re down.

this is nothing new to long time followers of the North Siders. it starts with White Sox fans and moves in every direction from St. Louis all the way to LA.

and it’s cool. this year the Cubs were the favorites to go all the way and everyone likes to knock off the big boys.

but how can you really be the overdog if you have never even been to the World Series in 70 years? let alone won it?

last night i was at the game, i wore my hat and jersey, we got lucky and had tickets next to a large group of Cub fans but Dodgers fans were plentiful.

the Cubs were down early and i tried my little trick of moving around the ballpark to generate some “luck” and as we were climbing some stairs we came across two gentlemen that Ralphy666 warned me about: both Hispanic, heavily tattooed, strong, and talking hella trash.

the stairs were between the upper deck and the super upper deck. they were enclosed, narrow, and it was just us and them. no security, no witnesses, nowhere to run.

You’re wearing the wrong colors, ese, the bigger one said.

Are you kidding, I joked, you should love the colors I’m wearing, we just spotted you three runs.

the logic stunned them for a minute. just long enough for us to pass by.

we were walking up, they were walking down.

at some point we realized they doubled back and were following us.

i wasn’t scared. why would i be. the only thing i was scared about was they were going to buy us beers for our generosity

and it would be a Bud Light.

with such little knowledge of baseball?

One of the many ugly things he claims in his pouty whine in this morning’s paper is the Cubs intentionally lost games so they could draft Kris Bryant – never once giving credit to the Cubs for picking the sole star to emerge so far from that draft and the Cubs didn’t even have the top pick.

He amazingly includes hating on the Cubs for the rainstorm on the East Coast that rained out a Dodger game.

And claims the Cubs have “fancy new bleachers”. As someone who has actually sat in those bleachers recently I can tell you that they’re just as “fancy” as those at Chavez Ravine.

They are backless benches. Fancy in the way tap water and vanilla ice cream is fancy.

Or salt.

Or bitterness from unloved and untalented writer as his home team is about to face its doom.

There were many stories an actual columnist could have written as a table setter to this league championship series but Bill Plaschke chose to dip his pen into the inkwell of jealousy and unexpected bile all while shaking his fist at the storylines and metaphors that The Media has echoed over the years – not the fans – about goat curses and lovable losers.

And no one has played that piano as much or as beautifully as Vin Scully, but for some reason Plaschke just happened to overlook that fact. As if he hadn’t heard it hundreds of times from the lips of the retiring and beloved narrator.

Scully, who is clearly who Plaschke is subtweeting in this piece, gutlessly, foolishly, sloppily. Without the poetry, nor the precision, nor heart to just come out and say it.

It must be so cold there in that shadow.

Friday Todd and I went to the Cubs Dodgers game.

I splurged a bit and bought these $100 tickets in the Executive Level. The waiters come to your seat. The seats are cushioned. We were in the front row of the section. The bathrooms are nice.

We sat there for a few innings and some guy in a USC Keck Medical jacket says youre in my seats. Turns out we were one section over. He and his clan watch the game for maybe 3 innings and then in the top of the 6th leave.

Todd and I don’t notice it for about an inning, but they never come back.

The cliche about Dodger fans coming late and leaving early held true, even on a Friday night, even against the best team in baseball, even in a 1-run game. Even though the Dodgers are fighting to stay on top of the West.

It’s like, why are you buying these seats if you’re not going to actually sit in them?

Lets hope he had buddies in a better section or in a luxury suite, but i dont think so. There were many empty seats in the Executive Level and all over the stadium.

Maybe Ben Welch of the Times can investigate this weird, decades long, phenomena.