When I get the Dodger blues, I remember, baseball is the perfect game

There are lots of wonderful thing about this perennial Western Division leader of the National League. With its great history of breaking barriers from African American players to Latino players to Asian players, Dodgers management has been at the forefront of progressive thinking.

But let’s be honest: The team has always been a heartbreaker, too, no question about it. Just when you think they’re going to go all the way, some superstar gets injured; somebody stubs his toe, or an infielder pulls a hammy.

Yup, heartbreak is a big part of the Dodgers legend, especially in our household.

Nearly 20 years ago, for example, my son was totally enamored of the Dodgers, most particularly the catcher Mike Piazza. So, dutiful father that I am, I pulled a lot of strings (thank you, Carson Daly) to introduce him to Piazza and we schlepped all the way to Long Beach where some exhibition game was being played. Piazza was great to Max. Autographs. Pep talks. Tossing the ball around. Just like in the movies.

A few months later, however, he went and signed with the Mets. Broke my son’s heart.

What helped in his recovery was that hardly any of his friends care about baseball at all. They prefer the fast pace of basketball, with all those giants leaping around between child-custody updates and elevator-assault trials. They like pro football more, too. All the “physicality,” the brain hemorrhages, the colorful internal injuries. They even like college basketball better, despite the fact that some players go to bed hungry, even when they win the Final Four. No, baseball isn’t even on the kids’ radar.

And, OK, I get it. Baseball is slow moving. It takes hours and hours out of your life. And that’s if, God forbid, it doesn’t go into extra innings.

But there are quirky things that make baseball unique. For example, every basketball court and every football field are the same size. But every baseball park is different, with different dimensions and different little idiosyncrasies. That means every game has the potential for something unexpected.

And here’s another great thing about it. Miss an inning, head off to the head or go to the concession stand for a Dodger Dog and you’re liable to miss the only action of the game, the only runs scored. You have to be there for the entire game, not just the final minutes for the excitement.

And you don’t have to be any physical type, either. You can be chubby like Fernando Valenzuela. You can be physically freaky like any of these seven-foot relief pitchers. Or weigh 3 ounces like Elle. Or be a physical god like Jason Heyward. You can even be super short like Eddie Gaedel, who, on August 19, 1951 was sent to the batter’s box by the St. Louis Browns in a publicity stunt during the second game of a doubleheader. Gaedel, by the way, took a four-pitch walk. His jersey, which hangs in the Baseball Hall of Fame came with the number "1/8" on the back and thanks for the Bleacher Report for little bit of color. The point is, it takes all kinds to make a baseball team.

It's the perfect American game. They sing “God Bless America,” don’t they at the stretch? It all comes down to one player throwing a round object at you at 100 miles an hour and you have just a little stick to defend yourself and despite the odds that stick can send that ball 400 feet in the air and over the warning track. It’s pretty amazing when you think about it. And baseball gives you plenty of time to think about everything.

Stewart Weiner is a longtime west coast writer and editor and publisher of the art book “RadioEYES: Great Rock Lyrics Set to Art.” He can be reached at radioeyesstewart@gmail.com .

This article originally appeared on Palm Springs Desert Sun: When I get the Dodger blues, I remember, baseball is the perfect game