As I begin to write this, I find myself ripping at the seams with excitement. This is what a baseball must feel like every time it rips through the sky at hellacious speeds immediately after being smashed by the powerful and perfect swing of a bat. This past Saturday, in what may have been a once-in-a-lifetime experience, I had the opportunity to attend a Dodger game at the Coliseum; an event that commemorated the first venue in which the Dodgers played when they first came to Los Angeles in 1958. As it turned out, however, the event itself, in truly Dickensian fashion, proved to be not only the best of times but also the worst of times.
To be part of something so historic evokes the best of times. The Los Angeles Memorial Coliseum sits unassailably as one of the most colossal-sized National Historic Landmarks in the city of Los Angeles. As far as the lifespan of sporting venues go, its 85-year existence is not only a testament to its remarkable longevity, it is also, in terms of the city itself, a testament to our past. Not unlike the life of a fulfilled and accomplished elderly person of the same age, it is not merely its longevity that helps define its value, but also, the extraordinary moments that thread together the years of its existence. If its confines were able to speak, there would be talk of World Series baseball, Superbowl Sundays, International soccer tournaments, classic college football, and two sets of Olympic Games (the first stadium to host the Olympics twice, in 1932 and again in 1984).
A game between the Dodgers and the Redsox, on most occasions, by the sheer mention of the teams involved, would suffice as reason enough to celebrate its occurrence, especially due to its rarity. However, Saturdays game, adding to the already long list of extraordinary moments the Coliseum has witnessed, would set a world record for the most people ever to attend a baseball game, as 115,300 people would be greeted at its gates; a colossal undertaking congruous for a venue of its kind and one officially expected to enter the Guinness Book of World Records.To give this some perspective, the size of the crowd was approximately the equivalent of two sold-out crowds at Dodger Stadium.
But the best of times would, in a sense, also be accompanied by the worst of times, some of which have found me quietly hoping that Dodger fans are given a much-needed indictment. Let us begin will the logistical nightmare caused by poor planning.
In a city known for traffic congestion and an inchoate public transportation system, this event required a meticulous coordination of shuttles and buses. To help assuage expected traffic issues around the Coliseum, Dodger Stadium served as a location from which free shuttles were offered to transport people to the Coliseum. As many as 35,000 people sought the services of a shuttle system that chose not to err on the side of caution, having only accounted for an expected 5,000 people. At game time, thousands were still stranded at the Dodger Stadium parking lot, hoping not to miss too much of the game.
Once inside the gates, walking from one side of the stadium to another could have easily taken no less than 30 minutes. Perhaps with such a high number of people in attendance, despite the size of the venue, it was impossible avoid such an inconvenience regardless of increased planning.
The financial aspects of the event itself were also a double-sided sword as they featured a best-of-times and worst-of-times scenario. On one hand, the event raised more than $1 million for the Dodgers’ cancer charity, ThinkCure. My question is, how much of the event’s proceeds went towards charity. Aside from sale of 115,300 tickets, the experience at the concession stands was as archaic as the original Coliseum in Rome. Served by what appeared to be an under-aged labor-force, service was slow and highly unprofessional, while the price of a beer bottle shamefully stood at $10. If the money spent on alcohol went to the charity, I have nothing to say. If not, I would love to know where that money went. Surely it wasn’t used to pay for the Event-Staff or for security, both of which seemed to respond either slowly, if at all, when ignoble acts occurred. Perhaps I don’t fully comprehend the economics of such an event.
However, I should mention that the organizers of this event are seriously fortunate that there weren’t any truly alarming incidents, given the unsafe volume of the crowds. And finally, how can I defend my fellow Dodger fans? Scurrilous fans often resort to mischievous behavior that seems to be exponentially enhanced the further removed they are from home-plate. We are already infamous for leaving games early (though we could justify it perhaps as a result of living in a large metropolis, where our loyalties seem infinitely split). But harder to justify is the ribald behavior that seems to be alarmingly more and more associated with our fans. Towards the later innings of the game, many of the fans partook in lowering the dozens of Dodger flags attached to poles that extended from the upper parts of the stadium. In an especially shameful instance, the stadiums’ only video screen flashed images of a flag being lowered. The text on the video screen read, “Please put the flags back.” As you would expect in situations of group sociology, the image was met with laughter, and though I have to admit I laughed too, I was still somewhat disturbed and briefly ashamed to be a Dodger fan.
Which brings me to a few more questions: Do Dodger fans have any positive uniquely identifiable characteristics (for example, Cardinal fans are the known as the most knowledgeable and Cubs fans perhaps amongst the most loyal)? As Dodger fans, what do we value? Do we have any self-respect? At one point, while the RedSox were ahead 7-2 in the late innings, Neil Diamond’s song “Sweet Caroline” plays (a song by now clearly identified as a Fenway Park custom) and Dodger fans are not only not upset, but, they stand up and sing along as if our fan-base had no identity of its own and therefore completely submissive to the customs of an opponent.
Most articles written about this game have focused on the nostalgic notions felt by its writers. It seems that attending this game was apparently very nostalgic, as we would expect, to those who watched Dodger games at the Coliseum 50 years ago or for those who grew up hearing stories about them from their parents. For many who don’t fall under these two categories, devoid of a narrative context as such, I imagine the game seemed to exist entirely in the present moment, a state of mind so often typical these days, characterized in large part by a significant disregard for history. The game itself was almost a side-note, with is disproportionate field dimensions.
Overall, the setting proved to be one that more accurately resembled a civic event, with endless introductions between innings and short speeches. Nevertheless, the game could not be denied, even if its primary appeal rested on the perception that we were experiencing something peculiar enough that we would never get the chance to experience it again. As only events of such magnitude are capable of doing, in a myriad of ways, this was an experience that forced me to consider what it means to be part of something larger than ourselves.
This is not, however, merely to say that we are all simply part of particular fan-base or inhabitants of the same geographical region. In a historical context, we realize that we are mere grains of sand in an hour-glass that marks that passage of centuries. The very nature of the event, ultimately a celebration of the 50-year anniversary marking the arrival of the Dodgers in Lon Angeles, forces one to consider how many lives over the years have enjoyed the very game that now captivates our own imagination.
As a friend recently mentioned to me, such collective experiences are perhaps increasingly unappealing to many in an age commonly characterized by narcissism, many choosing to instead distance themselves from all that may distract from what is them and only them. For all that may have been wrong with this event, and as for all that may still be wrong with the sport itself, Saturday’s game, as well as the sport of baseball, displayed a timeless quality that is unfortunately under appreciated at a time when people demand immediate rewards and showy displays of any sort. To defend the sport of baseball would require another article entirely. For now, I choose only to say that this historic game is significant in a way that few games are, almost serving as an opportunity to travel back in time. I intend not to overly-romanticize a game, though I am also careful to not to undermine the best of its times. Anyone insisting that baseball is just a game would make me wonder whether they are also the type of person who also thinks the Grand Canyon is just a big hole in the earth.
- Top photo by Jaime
- Photo of people in parking lot and last picture by xero79
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