(Dodger Stadium, Courtesy of Creative Commons)

I like the incline drive entering the parking lot--a slow-motion roller coaster ascent where you can freely honk at the pedestrians. I like the hills that loom beyond the bleachers and temporarily delude the city folk into thinking they've made a trip out to the country (or Coors Field). I even like the omnipresent Nancy Bea Hefley tooting some seriously questionable show tunes on the stadium organ in between innings.

Most of all, I like being a part of the Orange and Black scar across Chavez Ravine's nauseating "blue heaven" when the Giants come to town.

But there was no joy to be had on Opening Day. After the game, a fight broke out between a few Giants and Dodgers fans. Things turned violent and one Giants fan was beaten unconscious; he now lies in hospital in a medically-induced coma.

Tragedies like this instantly deflate the fantasy universe of athletics and team pride. And no Frank McCourt, the brutal assault of a father of two is not a small incident within the larger candy cane forest of good family fun.

Wearing the proud colors of the recent World Series champs in a hated rival's stadium is no doubt a risk, but one I've been cautiously happy to take. I moved to Los Angeles in 2006 (dear God) and no summer is complete without observing a Jonathan Broxton meltdown at the hands of the good guys. Seeing his 500 pounds quivering on the mound while tenuously holding a one-run lead really needs to be seen in person.

I have been heckled at close range by legions of Dodger faithful as I enter the park. They arch their eyebrows as I cheer and point at me when their bumbling band of underachievers actually does something right. The extended insults usually revolve around Barry Bonds' steroid use or for rooting for a gay-friendly city like San Francisco.

Really, it's a wonder their heads don't explode out of sheer cognitive dissonance. What next, our homelessness problem? Proximity to the Pacific Ocean?

Mostly though, it all remains good-natured and a stark contrast to what transpired on Opening Day. 

And the narratives that have evolved out of that incident are drably predictable.

T.J. Simers of the Times has taken McCourt to task for his callous response, and for a lack of stadium security.

There's also the inevitable racial element coming out on message boards in the aftermath of the sketches and descriptions of the assailants -- two Latino men in their 20s (good luck with THAT lead).

So should there be more security on hand? Probably. I can't imagine anyone staking the argument that having more trained officers would make a sporting event less safe. But still, I would like to see stats that say the Dodgers have significantly fewer security officers or more violent incidents than other teams before I finger a true institutional problem.

The race angle feels almost too silly to dignify, especially when paired with a theory that the Dodgers gear is tied up with Latino gang culture. Of course a city that has gangs, ethnic and otherwise, will have some members wearing logos of the local team. You expect them to wear Sacramento Rivercats tees?

Based on my humble, personal observations, Dodger games are no Raiders Black Hole. Only once have I gotten close to blows in the stands, and it came courtesy of a white man, early 40s, wearing a cowboy hat and shit kickers, who was trying to act tough in front of his wife and two daughters. That numbskull would hardly raise a flag at an off-circuit rodeo.

What all the misguided blame assignment manages to do is distract from the true crime, which is that two belligerent felons are free right now. Their affront wasn't to the Dodgers or to baseball, but to all decent, civilized society. They should be found and justly punished.

A slight but noticeable pall permeated the crowd at Friday's game. I'm not sure if I can say the events of the night before accounted for that reaction; every game has its unique energy and levels of truculence.

A friend of mine at the game felt no hesitation walking behind enemy lines in an orange jumpsuit and hat. Were we “jittery?” If you say so, L.A. Times. But that could also easily be in regards to the Giants' circus defense.

I've yet to feel like I should worry about any other kind of defense at the ball park in a canyon. I hope it stays that way because I'd hate to have to miss it.

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