We don't dislike the Dodgers, except; Yeah, we do

On more than one occasion we’ve been asked to explain an “irrational hated” of the Los Angeles Dodgers. 

First, accept that it’s not irrational. It’s a measured, thoughtful, willful act directed at a group (and fan base) that richly deserves it. 

Face it, is there a more satisfying chant in all of baseball than "Beat LA"? Beat Miami just doesn't stand up.

Second, Blame it on Jim Willouby and Willie McCovey.

Of course, there’s more to it than a journeyman pitcher who spent eight seasons in the majors (1971-78), his first four with the Giants, but it all starts there. Willoughby was a combined 11-14 for the Giants, but he pitched the game of his life one night at Dodger Stadium, he got robbed, and a 7-year-old was there to see it.

The Giants lost 2-1 in 11 innings, the contest decided on a wild pitch. But earlier in that game a Giants runner had been thrown out at the plate. Through the kid’s eyes that man was clearly safe, the game never should have gone 11, and Willoughby should have been a hero. Darned Dodgers; even then they got all the calls.

Note: even decades later grapes can be really sour.

Of course, there were happy memories. It was an era before a baseball game became a corporate outing so you could get good seats without having to refinance your house. 

 The 7-year-old sat right off of first base, which meant 11 times in that game he saw a tall, distinguished figure with a broad back, the number “44” brightly emblazoned on the back, standing right in front of him. This man was a Giant, and a GIANT, to the kid. He was graceful, even in defeat. The kid was hooked.

That was bad news living in Southern California. The Giants hat rarely left the kid’s head (it still doesn’t), providing a target for those who followed a Lopes-Garvey-Cey-Baker Dodgers franchise that at the time couldn’t beat the Braves but ruled everyone else. Yeah, front-runners all.  Typical of the breed, ain’t it.

Four decades later the tide has turned and that fan has gone so far as to name a son “McCovey”. The Dodgers? They don’t dominate the region like they used to, and they definitely don’t own the field. San Francisco has three titles since 2010. The Dodgers? We’ve been trying to call them since 1988: still no ring.

Oh, those Dodger fans are still out there. The have beaches, good weather, one of the easier ballparks to enter and exit (if you’re armed), and yet they’re a bitter lot. If you’re trapped in a room with one along with a rattlesnake and a pit bull but have just two bullets, you’re tempted to shoot the Dodger fan twice.  Consider it a public service.

Ever been trapped on a flight with a small child? Dodgers fans are worse. At least the baby eventually stops whining.

Even the ballpark itself is annoying. Forget the mine field that is the parking lot, the interior is a contradiction. It’s beautiful yet sterile. The fans are either rejects from Raiders games or wanna-be starlets hoping to get on camera.

There’s still an upper crust, but they don’t watch the game.  “Hi Buffy; hi, Tad. How do you like my botox? Call my agent, we’ll do lunch. Oh, there was a game. Gee, I hope the Dodgers won.”

Like I said. Annoying.

But I gotta give ‘em credit, they are passionate. They can’t tell you what song gets played at the end of home games because everyone has gone home, but I guess that’s just passionate in a Hollywood kind of way.

Giants fans earned our stripes, we didn’t grow up watching a winner.  San Francisco spent 52 years wandering in the baseball desert; Moses ain’t got nothing on us. Now it’s a quest for a fourth ring in seven years, while the Dodgers are on a dry spell approaching 30 years.

Yep, they win divisions. Heck they’ve won the NL West each of the last three years. Of course, that didn’t help them come playoff time. One of those LA “titles” after all, was eclipsed by a Giants World Series win.

What do you call 25 millionaires watching the World Series on TV? The Los Angeles Dodgers.