Hoping for Misery

I’m really looking forward to being miserable this Thursday night. I will be terribly disappointed if I don’t suffer. Have I become a masochist? No. I’m just human and in touch with the complex layers of emotions engendered by the Dodgers, the Giants and the prospect of Barry Bonds breaking the hallowed homerun record of Hank Aaron.

I am going to the Dodger/Giant game Thursday night and I want to be a witness to Bonds breaking the record. I’m hoping to be able to boo and curse and get into a righteous frenzy over Mr. Churl breaking the record of Mr. Nice. And the fact that he is a Giant (by dint of team affiliation and possible steroidal inflation) only adds to the exquisite agony of it all.

Looking deeper into my soul than is warranted over issues involving baseball, I’m in touch with my ambivalence. He is going to break the record. He is a consistently unpleasant fellow. He is a Giant. But all of this is trumped by the possibility of witnessing history.

I was at the fabled Roy Campenella game in the coliseum. I was at the first Dodger game in the Coliseum and at Dodger Stadium. These are iconic moments beyond winning and losing. It would be a pleasure (like wiggling a loose tooth) to be a part of Barry Bonds bashing the ball for the record. I want to howl in indignation. Will my rage be real of feigned? Good question. I actually don’t know. But I hope to let you know.