For the last 32 years, Dodger fan delinquents have left September or October with the taste in their mouths of a raw onion sautéed with your weird uncle’s dirty socks. Each postseason loss felt more devastating than the previous one.
Well this year I can proudly say that we finished the season flooding our palettes with glasses of elegant champagne. Moments like this are sure to swiftly break the tension at any awkward dinner because it manifests the question “where were you when the Dodgers won the World Series on October 27th, 2020?”
Because of my love for fine Italian dining and automobiles, I was delivering pizzas, wings and garlic knots in my silver 2005 Lexus for Zito’s Pizza (shameless plug) during the entirety of game 6.Heading into the shift it felt like 2020 once again was holding me by the reigns.
Knowing that I would not be able to witness the game around people that I’ve suffered countless heartbreaking defeats with made every drop of blood in my body boil. but as I started making my deliveries, I was truly rejoiced. Nearly every house was watching the game.
At the front door, when making the handoff to customers, I’d hear the voices of Joe Buck and John Smoltz waltz around family rooms. Normally these are two voices I’d want to be acquainted with as often as a clerk at the DMV, but on this fall night I was ecstatic to hear echoes of their belligerent nonsense.
During the sixth inning when the Dodgers were down 0-1 I was able to watch the game from the front door as a customer was signing their order receipt. Watching Austin Barnes gallop to home after a wild pitch from Nick Anderson to tie the game up was an electric feeling.
However, the look on the lady’s face after witnessing the multiple expletives that rang out from my mouth, and Jersey Shore-esque fist bumps looked like I might be the root of a bad Yelp review, but can you really blame me?
When the top of the 9th inning came around. I was in between deliveries and able to watch the game on the flat screens inside the store while folding medium boxes. Watching Manuel Margot hit a lazy fly out to Mookie in right field for the first out put my conscience in another stratosphere.
The images of the chaos that would soon commence all around Los Angeles were swirling around in my noggin. With one out in the top of the ninth I heard words that came from Satan himself- “delivery up!”
As a slave to excellent customer service, I had no choice but to drop off the 16 inch meat lover, two 12 inches with olives and mushrooms, and a two-liter of Diet Coke.
Leaving the game felt like my newborn was being taken away from me by child protective services. With two outs left in the 9th I had only one option, watch the game on the DirecTV app on my phone and drive.
With my phone propped right above my steering wheel I was able to witness Julio Urias pump fastballs right by Mike Brosseau and Willy Adames to end the 32 year drought and finally bring home a ring. So if anyone witnessed a white male driving down Main Street in the city of Orange screaming and enduring an endorphin overdose it was this guy.