Dodger blue, some tan lines and a husband who is not himself

So despite being viciously scolded for saying the Dodgers were in the World Series when they were actually in the National League Championship Series (another of my endless baseball blunders), the Los Angeles Dodgers are actually in the World Series starting tonight.

Edit: I started this waaaaaay before the score was 10–2 in favor of the team from Canada.

With that, my normally calm, composed, even “too cool for the room” husband will once again become a towel-biting, umpire-screaming madman in a T-shirt that’s older than both of us. The man is my husband. The T-shirt is a cartoon of a man named Orel (yet another mistake I made in my last blog) making the winning pitch in the 1988 World Series. Said T-shirt has not been washed since the Dodgers finally won again in the 2020 COVID season. He says it’s good luck — I say it’s a biohazard that somehow lives next to the perfectly preserved velvet box that held my wedding rings.

It won’t take long after the first pitch before he’s pacing the room, mumbling about how the Designated Hitter has ruined the National League and how interleague play is somehow the last vestige of a “commie plot” to ruin America’s pastime.

Yet somehow, he’s such a huge fan that Dodger baseball is on — TV or radio — nearly every night from April to October. Bubs goes way back with this team. He was born in Albuquerque, and apparently the minor league team there was affiliated with the Dodgers at the time. I also think he just likes the color blue — but what do I know? I’ve only known him since Sunday School.

His behavior for the next two weeks will not be very befitting of his personality, nor his position in corporate America, nor his rank as an Air Force officer in the reserves. But I love it. I love seeing him ignite with passion… because while calm, capable Bubs is like a steady stream, emotional Bubs is electrifying — and a little fun to tease.

He’s been to more games at Dodger Stadium than I think he can count. I’ve been lucky enough to be brought along twice.

The first time was when we were in college and took a several-week road trip from Texas to California. I was so excited to go to a game with him — not only because of his passion, but because he’d bought me a Dodger-blue bikini with a little embroidered “LA” on the left boob.

Things started to turn when I thought I was going to be the hottest girl in the cheap seats… only to be sat next to a group of sorority girls from USC who looked like they’d been stamped in a “hot and tall” factory. It also didn’t help that it was roughly 4,000 degrees in the LA sun.

Bubs learned early that the only way he was going to enjoy the game was to keep me full of snacks and beer (for the record, Dodger Dogs are delicious). I got so drunk he had to basically carry me to the parking lot. I passed out so hard on the way back to the hotel that it wasn’t until the next morning I realized I had an exact replica of the bikini in tan lines across my boobs — a memento of both sun and shame.

The second time was in 2022, with two kids in tow. Bubs was working in his LA office, and we stayed with him for a week in the company condo. I was so mad because Mr. Cheapskate declined to get us an Uber — he wanted the kids to “experience the culture” of riding the train to the big station and then catching a bus to the stadium. It was exhausting.

The kids were placated with snacks and merch, and Bubs was quite literally Dad of the Year — calmly explaining every single detail of what was happening in the game, the stands, and the traditions of Dodger Stadium.

It also turned out to be one of the best nights of my life. It just so happened that my sisters’ and my favorite suitor from the Katie Thurston season of The Bachelorette was sitting about two rows in front of us. I went full CSI, taking as many surreptitious shots as I could while texting the whole game with my sisters back in Texas, who were doing frantic Google Image searches to confirm it was actually him. (It was.)

So while baseball fans across the world tune into Game 1 of the World Series, I’ll be watching my husband turn into a sweaty superstition machine — wearing a sacred T-shirt and muttering things like, “You never make the second out at third base!”

And I’ll love him for it. Because like it or not, this crazy team he’s worshipped for longer than he can remember has given us some pretty amazing family memories.