One of the more vivid memories of my childhood back in East L.A. (say it with the Cheech & Chong accent, go on) was watching my dad jump up and down in joyous excitement as Kirk Gibson of the LA Dodgers ran from plate to plate during his historic home run against the Oakland A's in the 1988 World Series. With a broken arm, even.
The names of those Dodgers stuck around for a long long time.
Kirk Gibson.
Steve Sax.
Tommy Lasorda.
Fernando Valenzuela (which I'll never forget because my dad's name is Valente)
I'd always hear my dad say, "Tonight, Valenzeula's going to peetch!" in his Mexican accent. (Even in 2011, he still says "Dah-yers").
So baseball has been intricately woven into my life. I even played for two years! Check it, yo::
(the legendary shortstop Chris Enzaldo, 1987-88 Toronto Blue Jays of L.A. Little League)
I think I hit the ball a couple times.
Then I discovered ice cream and got fat. We moved to Denver when I was 10, so my juvenile loyalty to the Dodgers waned and gave rise to a new team. Of a new sport, actually. The DENVER BRONCOS. Denver didn't get a national baseball team until 1993; and since then, I guess I'm now all about the Rockies.
The season started last week, and my old team the Dodgers wasted no time flying in to play my new team, the Rockies. Some scenes::
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