Growing up about fifteen miles

Growing up about fifteen miles from “The Big A” I spent many Friday and Saturday nights under the lights of Anaheim Stadium rooting for the home team. I can track my increase in apathy of anything baseball related with the number of losing games I watched them play as a youngster. I can even remember the straw that broke the camel’s back. When I was 16, a friend’s dad got some tickets behind home plate, but was sick and gave his tickets to his son. None of us had been to a game in a few years and figured good tickets might rekindle our interest in the game.

While being close to the action was more fun than the typical nose-bleed seats, it was still the same old boring, losing game to watch. I think it was the 6th inning when we got up to leave with the angels down by 9 runs. That was the last time I ever went a major league baseball game, and I’ve never watched a game of theirs since.

There was one highlight though, back in 1982 I was at the game when they clinched the division championship. I vividly remember the happiness and the chaos, as everyone in the stands emptied onto the field. My brother and I were shouting happily, looked down to the field and then back to our parents with a “can we go join the melee?” look on our faces. Sadly, there would be no looting, pillaging, or ransacking for me that day.

Looks like they’ll be in their first world series, with my new local baseball team that I still have yet to get around to seeing play in their stadium. Too bad Gene Autry didn’t live long enough to see it.