13-12 is not a baseball score.
All those home runs flying out of the stadium is not baseball. At least not the baseball I know and love.
But there it was Sunday night in Game 5. Astros 13, Dodgers 12 in Game 5.
Maisa cried when we told her the score this morning. That’s my girl.
I love my family, and I love the Dodgers. I have other interests, but family and Dodger baseball are the only things I’m passionate about. So it really hurts to see the Dodgers lose huge games on the national stage. It really hurts.
When things go south in the postseason, I usually have to pull the plug and do something else. For my own physical, mental and emotional health.
I’m extremely proud of the National League championship (the 22nd in franchise history, trailing only the Giants’ 23). I’m extremely thankful that we’re playing in the World Series. I feel like a kid again in a lot of ways.
But there are some consequences to this deep October run. Every game adds to the drama and tension. Plots and subplots weave a sophisticated and sometimes haunting tale. Villains are established. Momentum shifts with the wind. Heartbreak is a real thing.
And fans who are most deeply invested in these games lose some sleep and lose their appetite. That’s me.
I cannot change who I am.
Some are calling it the most exciting World Series game ever. Folks on Facebook and Twitter are giddy about how thrilling baseball can be.
For me, it was overkill and overload. Almost every pitcher who took the mound got bombed. The Dodgers blew the lead 2, 3, 4 times? I stopped counting. I stopped watching. I went to bed and read about the game’s finish when I woke up.
I’m so impressed by Jill’s ability to stay cool and watch the game to its conclusion.
This blog has always served as an outlet for me to recalibrate my feelings about the Dodgers. This is the place I go to get my head screwed on straight, to regain some sanity and become more rational. To take a deep breath and move on to the next day/game/season.
It’s also the place I go to share my unconditional and boundless love for the team. Someday Maisa might read this post and have a better understanding about why those games meant so much to her old man back in 2017. Maybe she’ll read this and realize that she loves the Dodgers just as much as her old man does.
Oh sure, there’s a little bit of sour grapes in what I’m writing. Had the Dodgers won, I wouldn’t be quite as disgusted by what transpired last night. I admit that.
But those who know me best would tell you that high-scoring baseball games have never been a thing of beauty to me. I prefer a well-pitched, well-defended 4-2 game that lasts two hours and change.
Anything more than 10 combined runs in a game is obscene. Ditto for games lasting more than 3 hours.
America enjoyed that game last night, and I guess that’s a good thing for baseball. If that’s what it takes for folks to realize that baseball is better than football, then I guess it’s OK.
That doesn’t mean I have to like it.
The Dodgers need to win Games 6 and 7 at Dodger Stadium this week to claim their seventh World Series championship. They can still take this thing.