i don’t care if I never get back

if you’re in a place, win a world series.

or, not you necessarily.

but your favorite baseball team. the one set at birth in your bones by your parents, by your city, by your community. the one that gets handed to you like your brother’s old onesies or snickerdoodle recipes from your grandmother or alcoholism.

baby’s first generational trauma.

if you asked me any time before october 30, 2024 how i felt about the 2020 world series, i would have lied.

of course it counted. of course it felt like the salve for the wounds caused by years of disappointment (especially 2017. especially the McCourt years. especially 2018. etc. etc. etc.).

sure, it was a shortened season.

sure, our celebration happened from inside our cars on whittier blvd. rather than in the streets.

sure, there was no parade.

sure, i was boozed up half the time, alone in my little condo, isolated from my friends, my students, my family.

but still. it counted. i swear.

i was wrong.

i screamed alone and broke down crying in 2020. it was a relief more than anything. i occupied myself for seven months by going on repetitive walks up the hill behind my house, learning to make crooked pizzas, and getting really into plants. we cheersed to our webcams during zoom happy hours. i made friends with an orange cat that hung out in my patio occasionally.

i did what i could. but mostly, i was alone.

but that last out— the strike that would be tainted because it was thrown by an abuser— felt like some kind of light. even though, looking back, it was anything but. the dodgers were in texas, though neither team was texan. the stadium was only half filled. one player, my favorite, it would be found during celebrations, tested positive and couldn’t celebrate.

everything was muted.

and still. i convinced myself that was enough.

i didn’t know how different it could be to win with your city, with your family.

throughout october, i sat at bars, on my couch, at friends’ dining room tables, and watched. sometimes i was on my own, but i never felt like i wasn’t in community. i argued with old friends about pitching rotations. i chatted with the owner of my favorite brewery about our undying support for dave roberts. i forged new friendships at work via the blue. then, when it came down to the world series, i watched almost every game with one of my best friends. we watched the first from my mother’s desert home in tucson. we left a university of arizona football game at halftime to watch game two in a dive bar where we were the only ones watching. we watched game three at the shittiest bar in east la. the one time we didn’t watch together, the dodgers lost, so we went back to the shittiest bar in east la. the dodgers were down five early, and it felt like we broke our good luck streak, but the dodgers made a surreal comeback midgame and fought on to take the chip.

world series champions.

i screamed. with ricky and marlene. we heard fireworks outside their window. i drove to echo park, where one of my favorite djs was playing spanish music, and i partied in the streets with hundreds of other dodgers fans.

then, on november 1st, we had our parade. i met up with friends from my livejournal days. folks i’ve been buds with since i was 17. i made new friends on the walk over to the parade route. we took shots of tequila while we waited. a small horn section from the art school behind us played “take me out the ball game,” and the crowd of thousands sang in unison.

we’d all go to a bar after. play pool. have more drinks. chant “they not like us” together with all of the other patrons, packed in and all in pantone 294. some of us would reminisce. others would reconcile after years of not talking. we’d go our separate ways.

and i couldn’t stop my heart from remembering. the community that held me for a month straight. the one i held as well. the one i cheered with. clapped with. screamed with. in the houses. in the bars. in the streets. we all cheered for those boys in blue. all twenty-six of them. ohtani and betts and freeman and kiké and teo and banda and buehler.

our throats were sore from the yelling.

i don’t care if i never get back.

currently into—

gnx by kendrick lamar

this is a post about the los angeles dodgers, what else did you expect here? it goes without saying that “dodger blue” is a standout track for me, but i also can’t get enough of the layered storytelling and the 2pac influenced flow of “reincarnated.”

field notes 48-page memo books 

i use one of these every day for my daily to do list. i’ve found that writing my list out every single day (categorized by life and work) usually helps keep my scattered brain in check. not always. but usually.

pentel energel liquid gel ink pens with 0.7 mm needle tip

i’ve tried every pen. yes, even that one. but this is the only one.