Aren't we funny?
One of the more painful aspects of living in Los Angeles -- which does indeed merit the label of entertainment capitol of the world -- is the sense that many people are in a constant audition to be discovered as talented, entertaining and witty even though they are none of those. I've come to this conclusion partly due to thousands of encounters with Dodger fans at Dodger Stadium -- they do one thing well, which is sing "Take Me Out to the Ballgame." Other than that, they are truly the stupidest sports fans anywhere, obsessed with batting around beach balls (play stopped half a dozen times today), doing the Wave even when the other team is up (Vizquel drove in the Giants 5th run today while the crowed was doing the Wave), mis-understanding strategy (such as the need to walk the No. 8 hitter with a man on 2nd and two out) and leaving well before the game's over even on Friday nights and Saturday days. What's truly pathetic, though, are the feeble attempts at humor such as today when Bonds was up in the 7th and someone in Loge 119 yelled out, "How's your father, Barry?" followed by appreciate chuckles from his seatmates. Readers of this blog will be hard-pressed to believe that my opinion of Dodger fans could go any lower, but it has. MEMO TO THE "COMEDIAN" IN LOGE 119: I WISH IT WERE WITHIN MY POWER TO HOOK YOU UP WITH BARRY SO YOU COULD ASK HIM THAT QUESTION TO HIS FACE.