Year In Reflection, Part I

Perhaps the greatest the joy to be taken away from the recently concluded season were the experiences shared with family and friends. Looking back, a few moments stood out above the rest, and the supporting cast present during those moments transcended simply being at the ballpark watching Dodger baseball. Time has erased the disappointment of an NLCS defeat, and has brought to the surface recollections of happiness that was the 2009 season. Please forgive the self indulgence.

NLDS, Game 1

My Dad, who taught me to bleed blue from a young age, somehow hadn't been to a Dodger playoff game since Game 4 of the 1963 World Series. Shameful I know. So when the Dodgers found themselves in the playoffs for the second straight year there was simply no way I was going to let him miss another series on my watch. Plus he always pays for the tickets.

Despite having the best record in the National League during the regular season the Dodgers were written off by the majority of the mainstream media, and were even predicted to get swept by the hometown newspaper, before the series even began. And for the first few moments of Game 1 it appeared the pundits would be correct.

The Cardinals loaded the bases to start the game in about three nanoseconds, and panic soon set in. The silence throughout the stadium was deafening, as if that was even possible. I slumped in my seat, crossed my arms and grumbled silently, "I made my Dad drive hundreds of miles for this?" A bloop single by Ryan Ludwick further compounded the frustration as the Cardinals jumped out to an early 1-0 lead. Dodger pitcher Randy Wolf was laboring, and the boys in blue were playing like the team we've grown all too familiar with over the past decade. The stadium breathed a sigh of relief however as the next batter, Yadier Molia, grounded into an inning ending double play. Escaping that inning trailing only 1-0 felt like a small victory.

Rafael Furcal started off the bottom of the first and stroked the second pitch he saw into left field. And up to the plate stepped Matt Kemp. Seemingly, before his name was finished being announced, Kemp sent the first pitch he saw into the bleachers, and sent the Ravine into an orchestrated ruckus. From our seats in Loge 158 I could tell the ball was gone the second it left the bat. That's not always the case on deep fly balls, but there was never a moment of denial surrounding that particular moment. One pitch changed the momentum, and proved that Los Angeles would not go quietly into the night.

Screaming and shrieking like a little schoolgirl I let out a scream that pierced the night. I have never screamed louder at any sporting event. My Dad, who joined in the celebration, abused his vocal cords to the point that he was noticeably hoarse the next few innings. It was alright however, sometimes spoken words aren't enough to capture what unfolds before the eyes. A great memory in great company. This is my town.