Bonds Market

I went to see a show last night. The Barry Bonds Traveling Circus made a stop at Dodger Stadium for the opener of a three-game set.

Emotions were high and the hometown faithful showed a level of hatred usually reserved for the parking lot attendents.

The legendary Donkey Puncher was in town to meet up with his L.A. Posse, of which I am now a member, because the only thing that took more abuse than Barry was my liver.

We loaded up pre-game at the Shortstop, a half-mile down Sunset Blvd. from the stadium. It’s an old joint, dark and still reeking of stale cigarette smoke nearly ten years after the city’s ban on indoor puffing. I’ve never had any problems there, but last night was unjustly singled out by a passive-aggressive bartender who refused to serve me. My transgression? Standing next to the “service area.” I moved when he told me to and even though others didn’t, continued to stand in the way of the waitresses, he served them before me. I can only think there was something beneath the surface there, like a latent fear of brown people or a life-long hatred of guys with perfectly molded hair.

Seeing the writing on the barroom mirror, I grabbed DP, gave him the money and put him in my spot at the bar. He was served in 90 seconds. I’m not bitter.

We formulated our plan of attack for securing Bonds’s record-tying home run ball. DP said we were in left field, which would up the degree of difficulty, but this was no time for pessimism. Since I’m the sure-handed one (though not sure-footed; turns out there’s a step right there), I would take care of catching the thing, while DP and the rest of the crew played the role of muscle, clearing out the people around us before, and especially after, I made the historic grab. We promised to split the proceeds.

I thought about how much I’d ask for. I’m no mercenary. I wanted it to be fair. So, if MLB wanted it for Cooperstown, I’d ask for lifetime field level tickets for AJ and I, plus reimbursement of all the mobneys I, and my extended family of baseball fanatics, have spent at ballparks over the years and I mean tickets, parking, brauts and beer. Should be about the mid-six figures. If the Giants wanted the ball, I’d suggest a percentage of Barry Zito’s salary. Not like he’s earning that $126 mil. Or I’d give it to ‘em for free if Peter (The Dick) Magowan aceeded the territorial rights in the San Jose/South Bay area to the A’s.

Most likely, I’d sell it to an internet billionaire geek for 8 figures so DP and I can buy an island somewhere.

Alas, not only did Bonds not go deep, we found out our seats weren’t in fair territory. They ended up being in right field, which was an upgrade, but we were at a 90-degree angle from the foul pole, meaning we’d need some wicked spin, a couple fortuitous bounces and a 4.8 tremblor to even have a shot. Which made it easier, to be honest, for us to concentrate on drinking.

One of DP’s buddies, new to LA and on his maiden trip to Chavez Ravine asked me if beers were indeed $10 at the Stadium. I said no, but we ended up drinking $12 beers anyway. They were doubles, 24 oz., which is a pretty good deal. The stand was right behind our row, too, which made for easy access, as long as one could navigate that first step.

Because I’m not big fan of the Dodgers, Giants or Barry, I decided I’d play Devil’s Advocate all night and root against everybody.  So when the LA fans started their predictable “Bar-ry Sucks!” chant, I wondered aloud (really aloud) why Brad Penny just intentionally walked him then. I was quite disappointed with the home crowd’s lack of taunt imagination. BoycottBarry.com. “Got Juice?” signs with a syringe. Bad stuff. They could use a seminar from the kids at Cameron Indoor. The best remark was from a Giant fan taking a lot of abuse from a local guy in a USC jersey. The Barry-backer responded that at least Bonds hadn’t killed anyone like OJ.

Solid.

Bonds’s ABs were pedestrian. He struck out on three pitches in the first, which whipped the crowd (what there was of one; this is L.A. and the game doesn’t actually start until the 3rd inning) into a nice frenzy. Two walks and a pop-fly later, he was removed for the immortal Fred Lewis, prompting us to start a “Lew-is Sucks!” chant. Not sure anybody else got how funny that was.

Made a post-game pit stop back at the Shortstop. One more for the road. Cheers guys. That was fun.