But I hope someone notices something else in this particular historical-political moment. The Dodgers were able to do enough to win because of its players who are immigrants. Let's acknowledge first the Japanese players, Ohtani, Yamamoto, Sasaki, who were each pivotal throughout the playoffs. Yamamoto, just signed last year for the highest sum ever paid to a pitcher who never pitched in the big leagues, is probably now underpaid in modern baseball economics. His pitching saved the Dodgers and will bring much in the way of economic activity to Los Angeles and Major League Baseball.
And we are not done. How about Venezuelan baseball player, Miguel Rojas, in the twilight of a decent, though not stellar, career? Rojas saved the Dodgers' season with an impossible home run he hit in the ninth inning off the Blue Jays' top reliever during the season. His defensive plays in Games 6 and 7 were key to the Dodgers' winning those games on the road in Toronto. Also, let's say a word for the Cuban refugee, Andy Pages, who hit terribly in the World Series, and much of the postseason, but who contributed during the season with his bat, and most importantly his defense. His catch of that fly ball in the bottom of the ninth or tenth inning, I forget which, was not Willie Mays. But it was ridiculously awesome as he ran over the half-Cuban, half-Puerto Rican, Enrique (Kike) Hernandez, and got to that ball.
Kike. Let's say some words about that guy! Kee-Kay, as his name is pronounced, is an American citizen, as much as Bad Bunny--and me and probably you. He was key in most of the playoffs, and the early games of this series. It was also fantastic, so pride-inducing, to see him, after his heroics in the field to end Game 6 for the Dodgers, to answer reporters' questions in his perfect English, and then watch him answer in what to me, a helpless English-only speaker, was perfect Spanish in response to a Spanish reporter's question.
I say all this not to diminish Will Smith, Freddie Freeman, Mookie Betts, etc. I say this to make sure we noticed what we are also seeing. For, just as the Brooklyn Dodgers truly became competitive in the late 1940s when they broke the skin color barrier with Jackie Robinson, Don Newcombe, Roy Campanella, and Joe Black, maybe we should take this moment, too, and acknowledge how the Dodgers' immigrant players have made the Dodgers stronger--and have strengthened the international brand of Major League Baseball. There were great white skinned players on those Brooklyn Dodgers, from Pee Wee Reese to Duke Snider and Carl Furillo, among others. But again those black skinned ballplayers were key to the Dodgers becoming a premier team. Cue Frank Sinatra, and the film and key song written by blacklisted people.
My final thoughts concern my Dad. My Dad and I watched every inning of nearly every game (I watched Game 3 end with my Mom at her home after I left Dad in the seventh inning). We also watched together every inning of Games 6 and 7. I must disclose, though, that as my Dad and I settled into Game 7, I had to explain to him what happened the night before. He simply could not remember. Dad's short- term memory is becoming really bad. However, for reasons I find intriguing, he still remembers that I am completing my Master's Thesis on Charles Francis Adams (1807-1886). In Dad's young days, in his thirties, Dad was a middle school History and Civics teacher while he attending law school at night. He had previously served in the military from 1956-1959 as a Captain in the Air Force. This, I hope, explains why I am named after a B-25 plane and was born near Vance Air Force base in Enid, Oklahoma.:)
Dad can still live in the moment, though. And boy, oh boy, what a set of moments the two of us experienced together last night. We were both listening to the television announcers in that ninth inning as they used the tone and language that was prepping everyone for Toronto to be crowned the MLB champions, and we watched that at-bat of Miguel Rojas when the impossible happened. Dad never moved from his bed, unlike in other games, while I was still able to jump out of my chair and jump around. He was smiling and not quite yelling, but it was not at all like last year's miracle against the dreaded Yankees. As I was ordering my championship t-shirt and hat, my sister texted, saying I should order a t-shirt for Dad, even though he didn't want one last year. So I ordered a t-shirt for Dad, too. Five years ago, it would have been a large. It is now a medium, as Dad has shrunk down to 130 pounds in the past eighteen months. It is tough to see for my Mom and me. However, I say it often, but every day is a blessing. As I have previously said, my Dad has rooted for the Dodgers since age 5 in 1939. He has marked the time through baseball, though his History teacher-mind does still sometimes think in terms of presidents and senators. It has again been a blessing to sit with Dad throughout these playoffs.
I will be seeing Dad on Monday evening to show him, on YouTube, the highlights of Monday's victory parade in Los Angeles. I am sure he will enjoy it.
And we are not done. How about Venezuelan baseball player, Miguel Rojas, in the twilight of a decent, though not stellar, career? Rojas saved the Dodgers' season with an impossible home run he hit in the ninth inning off the Blue Jays' top reliever during the season. His defensive plays in Games 6 and 7 were key to the Dodgers' winning those games on the road in Toronto. Also, let's say a word for the Cuban refugee, Andy Pages, who hit terribly in the World Series, and much of the postseason, but who contributed during the season with his bat, and most importantly his defense. His catch of that fly ball in the bottom of the ninth or tenth inning, I forget which, was not Willie Mays. But it was ridiculously awesome as he ran over the half-Cuban, half-Puerto Rican, Enrique (Kike) Hernandez, and got to that ball.
Kike. Let's say some words about that guy! Kee-Kay, as his name is pronounced, is an American citizen, as much as Bad Bunny--and me and probably you. He was key in most of the playoffs, and the early games of this series. It was also fantastic, so pride-inducing, to see him, after his heroics in the field to end Game 6 for the Dodgers, to answer reporters' questions in his perfect English, and then watch him answer in what to me, a helpless English-only speaker, was perfect Spanish in response to a Spanish reporter's question.
I say all this not to diminish Will Smith, Freddie Freeman, Mookie Betts, etc. I say this to make sure we noticed what we are also seeing. For, just as the Brooklyn Dodgers truly became competitive in the late 1940s when they broke the skin color barrier with Jackie Robinson, Don Newcombe, Roy Campanella, and Joe Black, maybe we should take this moment, too, and acknowledge how the Dodgers' immigrant players have made the Dodgers stronger--and have strengthened the international brand of Major League Baseball. There were great white skinned players on those Brooklyn Dodgers, from Pee Wee Reese to Duke Snider and Carl Furillo, among others. But again those black skinned ballplayers were key to the Dodgers becoming a premier team. Cue Frank Sinatra, and the film and key song written by blacklisted people.
My final thoughts concern my Dad. My Dad and I watched every inning of nearly every game (I watched Game 3 end with my Mom at her home after I left Dad in the seventh inning). We also watched together every inning of Games 6 and 7. I must disclose, though, that as my Dad and I settled into Game 7, I had to explain to him what happened the night before. He simply could not remember. Dad's short- term memory is becoming really bad. However, for reasons I find intriguing, he still remembers that I am completing my Master's Thesis on Charles Francis Adams (1807-1886). In Dad's young days, in his thirties, Dad was a middle school History and Civics teacher while he attending law school at night. He had previously served in the military from 1956-1959 as a Captain in the Air Force. This, I hope, explains why I am named after a B-25 plane and was born near Vance Air Force base in Enid, Oklahoma.:)
Dad can still live in the moment, though. And boy, oh boy, what a set of moments the two of us experienced together last night. We were both listening to the television announcers in that ninth inning as they used the tone and language that was prepping everyone for Toronto to be crowned the MLB champions, and we watched that at-bat of Miguel Rojas when the impossible happened. Dad never moved from his bed, unlike in other games, while I was still able to jump out of my chair and jump around. He was smiling and not quite yelling, but it was not at all like last year's miracle against the dreaded Yankees. As I was ordering my championship t-shirt and hat, my sister texted, saying I should order a t-shirt for Dad, even though he didn't want one last year. So I ordered a t-shirt for Dad, too. Five years ago, it would have been a large. It is now a medium, as Dad has shrunk down to 130 pounds in the past eighteen months. It is tough to see for my Mom and me. However, I say it often, but every day is a blessing. As I have previously said, my Dad has rooted for the Dodgers since age 5 in 1939. He has marked the time through baseball, though his History teacher-mind does still sometimes think in terms of presidents and senators. It has again been a blessing to sit with Dad throughout these playoffs.
I will be seeing Dad on Monday evening to show him, on YouTube, the highlights of Monday's victory parade in Los Angeles. I am sure he will enjoy it.
