Play ball!

In our house, we have two types of baseball fans--the good kind, who like the Angels, and the other kind, who like a different local team that wears blue and has fans who shout bad things during baseball games. Yes, I'm talking about the Dodgers. I actually don't dislike that team, with the exception of Manny Ramirez--I hate a cheater--but Mark loves them, so I, of course, like their cross-town rivals.

Occasionally, the two teams play each other during the fabled Freeway Series. Mark and I love going to those games, mostly because we both like trash-talking the other's team, and the Freeway Series lets us spend three hours doing exactly that.

We even wore our fan gear--Mark's is a Manny Ramirez #99 (cheater) shirt:



Mine looks like a standard Angels shirt on the front, but I had it personalized to read Dinsdale 01 on the back. Hey, why wear some random guy's name when I can wear my own name??



Mark likes the Dodgers because his dad dug them, but he was curious about how I became an Angels fan. I explained that for most of my life I was actually a Padres fan, growing up in San Diego and all. I only became an Angels fan when I moved away.

"And because they have red uniforms," I told him. "And I look good in red!"

He just rolled his eyes at me.

We got to the game a little late, due to all the traffic. The Dodgers were already ahead by 1, which Mark relished. Soon enough, Matt Kemp knocked one out of the park, bringing in two more runs, and Mark was absolutely giddy.

"What's the score, Mom?" he asked me. "I can't see that far away." He squinted for effect.

"It's 3-0, Dodgers leading," I said, and he immediately stopped squinting.

"Uh huh!" he shouted. "That's right--3 to zippo! I could see it, I just wanted to hear you say it!" And he cackled evilly.

He wasn't the only one who was happy. Though our section was evenly divided, there was one rabid Dodgers fan who may have consumed 10-12 beers prior to the game start. He spent a good portion of the time screaming, "The Angels SUCK!" or "Let's go Dodgers! Angels SUUUUCK!"

The people all around us ignored him, but I have no such illusions. It's one thing to cheer for the other team, but to completely disparage the home team? And in our own house??? Hell to the NO!

So the first time he screamed "Angels suck!" I yelled back, "Then go home!"

Mark was mortified. "Mom!" he hissed. "Don't say anything!!"

"What? If he hates them so much, he should go home!" I said. "Obviously, he's unhappy here..."

Mark frowned and told me again not to say anything. Which is the best way to get me to say things. So I told him again to go home.

"MOM! I'm SERIOUS!" Mark spat at me.

"What, he can say bad things but I can't?" I asked. Mark nodded. Mark affirmed what I was thinking -- that he was afraid I'd get beat up, and he wasn't going to help if that happened. Nice to know he had my back.

The game was a good one. Mark suddenly stopped gloating around the sixth inning, when the Angels hit a home with two guys on base. Tie score! And soon enough, after the Rally Monkey jumped around a bit, they got another three runs. That shut Mark up. It also gave the Angels fans a bit of courage, as they started shouting insults directly at the drunk dude, who suddenly became very quiet.

We sang "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" during the 7th inning stretch, bought peanuts and Cracker Jack, and had a blast. We left happy, tired and with a good sugary buzz.

And even though our teams are fierce rivals, Mark and I are not. We walked out of the ballpark in our opposing team shirts, holding hands, laughing, and recounting our favorite parts of the game.

Which made me appreciate the Dodgers just a little bit. Because without them, we wouldn't have our trash-talking tradition, or all the memories at the ballpark--and I would surely miss all those.