I'm a Los Angeles Dodgers fan, through and through. I think Blue throughout the waking day, and sometimes into night. I wear my team jersey with pride; I cheer with each victory, and cry upon each defeat.
Well, not cry... perhaps "curse like a sailor" is a better term. And god knows recently, my potty mouth has known no bounds. But we're not here to talk about that (how the FUCK do you lose 13 of your last 20?! What, did we fucking switch teams with Kansas City one night, and no one bothered to tell us?! Jesus fucking Christ, guys!).
I'm all about the rivalries between west coast teams; I consistently tell the Padres to go fuck themselves whenever they're in town (not that they can hear me, but it's the animosity that counts), and I think The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim need to realize how ridiculously retardedly redundant that name is when you translate the spanish in it, not to mention the fact that Anaheim isn't even in Los Angeles COUNTY, let alone Los Angeles proper.
But of all the established rivalries in this part of the world, none come close to that between the Dodgers and the San Francisco Giants. It's a rivalry that's crossed a nation, that goes back generations, almost 120 years in the making. It's two teams who've played against each other a staggering 2,260 times, the Giants having won more in New York, the Dodgers having won more in California. It's between these two teams, back in 1951, that Bobby Thomson hit the home run which became known as the "Shot Heard 'Round the World."
When the Dodgers visit San Francisco, they're met by the constant cheers of "Beat LA!" by the fans. And when the Giants come down to Los Angeles, "Giants SUCK!" echoes loudly through the capacity-filled bleachers of Dodger Stadium.
I'd mention the stadium that the Giants play at, but I imagine the name would change before I finished writing this, and I'd be out of date. Just say the word "Park" and insert any random phone company name in front of it, and that's close enough.
Now as a Dodger fan, I take great pride in letting the Giants know, when they come to town, exactly how much I hate them. And one Giant in particular stands out; the great Barry Bonds. Forget the fact that he's mired in steroid investigations, forget the fact that for a good majority of his career, he's generally been a surly prick to his fans and the press; he is the figurehead of the team, the face of the franchise, and as such, he must bare the brunt of our hatred and bile. And anyone who's been to Dodger Stadium with the Giants in town knows how easily the chant "Giants SUCK!" turns to "Barry SUCKS!" in the blink of an eye.
I love to loathe him, and I will continue to do so, up until the day he retires. But I will not loathe him today. Well, in actuality, I didn't loathe him last night, when the event I'm writing about actually took place, and I was lucky enough to witness it through the miracle of television; come to think of it, I do loathe him again today. But last night, I did not.
But since the video of his magic moment didn't appear on YouTube until today, we're shifting the timeline a bit.
Congratulations, Barry. You did it. You earned your place in sports history, and you did it well.
Now let's not talk about this again.