The immediate focus on possible causes for the Dodgers going down to defeat after Thursday night’s loser-takes-nothing Game 5 of the National League Division Series between the Dodgers and the Mets was primarily on the heated exchange that took place in the dugout between player Andre Ethier and coach Don Mattingly.

How very aura- and karma-oriented (aka LA-LA-land) of those who attributed that argument to an increase in negativity that ultimately engulfed and doomed the Blue Crew.


Yes, I have a different point of view. The Dodgers lost the game, not because Ethier was pissed off at whatever he was pissed off at in the bottom of the third inning. They lost in the top of the fourth because that’s when a spell got put on ’em enducing a collective amnesia that let everyone on the field wearing a blue cap forgetting completely and entirely about that little bit of real estate they’re in charge of defensing, commonly known as third base. It’s kind of important.

Let me set it up as best I can. We’ve got a Met player named Daniel Murphy on first base. Another Met named Lucas Duda is at the plate. There’s one out. Pitcher Zack Grienke is on the mound working his magic. The Dodger infield, specifically second baseman Howie Kendrick, shortstop Corey Seager and third baseman Justin Turner have strategically super-shifted to their lefts away from their standard positions to better protect any hits getting through into right centerfield or right field and possibly execute an inning-ending double play. Seager’s moved closer to second base, Kendrick’s moved closer to first base and the most severe relocation of all, Turner stands marooned all the way out in shallow right field.

Duda ultimately draws a walk and in doing so Murphy advances to second base. Dodger catcher Yasmani Grandal tosses the ball back to Grienke. Next batter, right? Wouldn’t that have been nice.

See, here’s were the bell tolled for Los Angeles. Murphy, while on his casual trot to second and who’s apparently known for being one of the dimmest baserunners in the league, sees third base completely w-i-d-e open and simply continues around second until sliding safely into third and standing atop it with what has to be one of most casual steals in the history of Major League Baseball; certainly its postseason. Sure, Murphy broke into a sprint to get there, but he didn’t have to. The Dodgers were so glacially slow on the uptake he could have slowed to a walk. It was sooooo laidback — and the Dodgers soooooo zen-like in their complete lack of awareness — that he could’ve stopped between second and third and lit a cigarette. Or whipped out his cell phone and called his mom.

“Hey mom, guess where I am?”

“Well dear, it looks on the TV that you’re on your way to making the Dodgers look really bush league stupid!”

Only Grandal, yelling helplessly at the plate made an attempt in complete vain to alert his comrades to the theft in progress and they were all, whaaaaa-? Huunh? Ooooooh. Turner started to jog toward third figuring better to react late than never.

So egregious was this Dodger failure of How To Play The Game (committed, mind you, not at the speed of an actual base hit, but rather at that meandering pace of a base on balls) that third base  should heretofore be emblazoned with Murphy’s name because he now owns it. Flat out and forever. Mineral and air rights included. It is his. I will never ever be able to look upon it without thinking of him.

I cannot compound the disaster of this fail enough. We’re not talking weekend city softball league, we’re talking about Major League Baseball-caliber skill and play and strategery here. It should go without saying that players and a team that execute a supershift to protect a specific area of the field of play should then damn well unexecute it post haste to re-protect the area they left vulnerable.

Instead the Dodgers abandoned third base like a hockey team might pull a goalie from the net to assist offensively. The prime difference being that in hockey, such an effort is last-ditch, and not done midway through the second period.

Maybe afterward with Murphy camped out on the hot corner, the Dodgers tried to minimize it. Shake it off. Maybe they figured “Let’s just get the next two out and put this behind us.” Good idea. And the fact is they got the next batters out. Trouble is the first batter Travis D’Arnaud hit what’s called a sacrifice fly ball deep enough into right field to allow Murphy on third base to tag up, run home and score. And with that the Dodgers lead of 2-1 disappeared into a 2-2 tie.

At best if the Dodgers had protected third base after Duda’s walk, Murphy would have advanced on D’Arnaud’s sacrifice fly from second to third and been stranded there when the next Mets batter got out and the 2-1 lead would have been preserved.

What also would have been preserved was the Dodgers hopes for winning. But I think in the ensuing innings such an embarrassing and demoralizing failure to accomplish such a basic and fundamental element of their game was just dwelled upon gnawing away their confidence the way a flesh-eating bacterium chews up skin.

In pure poetry it was the same Daniel Murphy in the sixth inning who stroked a solo homerun off Grienke to give the Mets the 3-2 lead and ultimately the win. But to me the game wasn’t decided at the last out of the bottom of the ninth inning. It was written and done waaay back in the fourth.


To most SoCalians, nothing at all. And for me as that rare and weird combo of being a native Angeleno and a fan of Alabama it’s not so much about what’s wrong anymore as what’s typical of the L.A. Times Sports section.

See, it’s business as usual for its writers and editors to minimize if not entirely ignore the team that happens to be No. 1 in the country right now — even when something occurs like the thrilling victory over its arch-rival Auburn last night in the vaunted Iron Bowl. This failure to report is borne of an institutional disdain for the team that stretches back to the early 1960s and staffer Jim Murray whose columns denouncing the team and its Coach Paul “Bear” Bryant are widely considered instrumental in denying Bama an invitation to play in the 1962 Rose Bowl.

Here’s a fragment from a great post on the subject at

This brings me to the 1961 regular season. UCLA won the “Athletic Association of Western Universities” title (forerunner to Pac 8)and secured a Rose Bowl berth. Ohio State won the Big 10 title. UCLA-Ohio State Rose Bowl,right ? No. The Ohio State faculty senate, because of financial concerns and some concerns over a “pay for play” scandal with the West coast teams voted not to allow the Buckeyes to travel to Pasadena. Big 10 runner-up Minnesota had played in the Rose the previous year. The Big 10 had a “no repeat” precluding a team from consecutive Rose Bowls.

Enter Alabama, and LSU, for that matter.The Tide and Tigers were SEC co-champs and Alabama was #1 and unbeaten while LSU was #3 and once beaten. The Rose Bowl couldn’t really have a UCLA scrimmage game, so the committee looked to Alabama and LSU focusing mainly on the Tide to come to the Rose. The Tide had already won the National Title, with the polls being awarded before bowls. UCLA-Alabama would work out pretty sweet for the Rose.

When the national sports media got wind of this, it died on the vine. Led by local sports columnist of the Los Angeles Times and syndicated nationally Jim Murray, he and others vehemently opposed a southern team playing in the Rose, going into the litany of racial turmoil and no blacks on SEC teams (Murray hated all things Southern and piled on every time he could including the aftermath of the 1970 Southern Cal-Alabama game). In 1961, think of Jim Murray like Jim Rome,ESPN and Paul Finebaum combined. Murray’s sentiments went nationwide and the Rose dismissed the notion of Alabama,and LSU for that matter.But no where in Murray and his supporters was any addendum to their contempt of Alabama with “oh,by the way,Bryant is a dirty,cheating SOB !” Trust me,it wouldn’t have been overlooked if true.

The Big 10 compromised and allowed Minnesota to return to Pasadena and they beat UCLA, 21-3.

But! Had my Crimson Tide had lost yesterday? Oh well, then the headline would certainly at least have supplanted the news of Jordan Spieth in the upper right of the image. More likely it would have taken the top spot.

Instead they won, coming back from a horribly demoralizing first half to shut-down dominate a charging Tigers team that was threatening to runaway with the game. It was a victory that was thrilling and rejuvenating and one that made the sports world — minus the deaf-mute LA Times — stop and pay deserved respect.

Roll Tide.

I watched about 90 minutes of this Olympics. Some men’s diving. Some women’s beach volleyball. A few qualifying heats on the track. Some of the women’s marathon. It made me sad to be so apathetic, but it can all be summed up when I turned on the TV this past Sunday thinking I might watch the men’s basketball final — even though I knew the US beat Spain 107-100 because it was long over and already in the news.

Instead of the game I got Al Michaels, Doc Rivers and whoever is the headcoach of the Philadelphia ’76ers previewing the “upcoming” game and talking about how Spain either needs to hold team USA to 80 points or find a way to score more than 115, otherwise it was going to be a blowout. 107-100 was obviously not a blowout, but at that point the game was still 90 minutes away from airing. I changed the channel. Watched the last few minutes of the already-seen last-season finale of “Hell on Wheels.”

I know NBC struck ratings gold with its tape-delayed, condensed, US-centric version of what happened over those 16 days in London, and that makes me sad. Because it validates their methodology of serving up the glorious games as reheated leftovers. And the irony is that TV seems to be succeeding with a model that’s been killing print media, which struggles to make their products worth picking up and reading the day after. But that lack of immediacy that’s slaughtered so many newspapers and magazines is now working for broadcasting.

Perhaps my hindsight is rose-colored, but I remember when the Olympic events were aired when they happened — not exclusively, but substantially. Back then it seemed given that few shows on a network’s schedule were so sacred as this fortnight every four years and preemption was the rule, not the exception. I’m not sure when it changed. Maybe it began in 1988 in Seoul. Maybe 1992 in Barcelona. I can distinctly remember it in Atlanta in 1996, much to my incredulity. And it’s just gotten worse since.

NBC’s success at failure can only mean this is how it’s  going to be from now on. In 2016 I’ll be able to count on turning on the TV and see a packaged version of an Olympic event in Rio that’s already yesterday’s news.

Count me out.

Count me out.

I hadn’t yet been to a Dodger game this year, and frankly might not have made it out to see one this season had the good folks at Mr. Pink Ginseng Drink not invited me and Susan to their media event this evening– which just so happened to also be Kirk Gibson Bobblehead  (with Fist Pump Action!) Night.

We got a VIP tour of the place — including a visit onto the hallowed field during batting practice — before adjourning to a suite to enjoy the game. Sure, it didn’t end well… the Arizona Diamondbacks ended up winning 8-2. But whether the Dodgers are victorious or not, a summer’s late afternoon and evening at Dodger Stadium will always be one of my favorite places in Los Angeles and on the planet. Thanks, Mr. Pink!

Last year the Amgen Tour of California ignored Los Angeles, and the year before I had to go downtown to watch a bit of the time trial stage, but this year the Amgen tour’s course designers did me a nice favor in sending the final stage cyclists along Sunset Boulevard — literally a half-block from my Silver Lake front door. So at 10:20a.m., about ten minutes before they were scheduled to roll through on their way downtown, I set up my cam on a tripod with a backdrop of some appropriately complementary street art, and they literally WHOOSHED by only a few feet from my lens.

Man am I late to this funeral. My go-to driving range known as Majestic Golf Land on Melrose in East Hollywood is gone. Has been for more than 17 months apparently.

Hint: Not knowing about it for THAT long gives you a huge clue as to how little I’ve been golfing of late.

But I did pull my dust-covered and cobwebby clubs out of the basement a couple Fridays ago to go play a round at the Arroyo Seco Golf Course in South Pasadena with my friend Dave Bullock, and afterward when I didn’t throw the clubs immediately back into the basement in disgust I thought I might maybe just visit the nearby Majestic to go all hacktastic on a bucket’s full of dimpled devils.

Then, whilst biking home up Heliotrope Tuesday from Melrose, I glanced over my shoulder in direction of the range and found the protective netting was gone. Could they be remodeling? Or could the place have gone under?

Leave it to my friend Elson, to clue me in via this post in January 2011 at his Elsongeles blog:

Like many in the community, including LACC administration themselves, I had long anticipated the end of the 10-year lease, and the day had finally come, with the closure of the business towards the end of 2010.

As he states, Elson was one of many East Hollywoodians who had completely understandable issues with the monstrous range, and in his post he sheds no tears in announcing its closure. Me? I’m a little bit more saddened by the news because it was close to home and state-of-the-art as golf ranges go, but the statute of limitations on crying over its demise expired six months ago, so I’ll have to man up and just head up to the old-school Griffith Park range if I want to get my swang on.

But in memory of Majestic Golf Land, I offer this following multi-angle slow-mo video clip, of me making one of my better drives there back in 2008:

As part of a media event at the new Navitat Canopy Adventures, I was excited to be among a group of bloggers who got to experience this amazing new facility in scenic Wrightwood, Calif. And as a person with a distinct aversion for leaving perfectly solid ground and/or structures to go flying through the air, I was also more than a little bit terrified.

In the above helmetcam clip, I ride the longest segment of the course, a quarter-mile long cable strung across a deep canyon between two massive pines that can get you moving at 50 mph-plus. It’s literally mindblowing flying above and through the forest, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced or participated in ever before in my life. As you’ll see at the end of my ride, a come up little bit short on the end thanks to some serious winds and so I had to hand-over-hand it the last few feet to the platform. But after being unhooked by our lead guide Joe, I capture our other guide Lexie coming across and in for a textbook perfect finish. What an AMAZING place. Navitat’s season opens March 31.

Overall there are 10 different ziplines, three rappels and skybridges so I’ll have more clips and stills to come but in the meanwhile, for more info on Navitat Canopy Adventures and how to go get some of your own, visit

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