Twilight Zone

 

It's hard to be a Dodgers fan these days. 

What with the stellar record during the regular season and their GOP-like collapse in the post season. Not just against the Diamondbacks this year, but also their embarrassing performance against the Padres last year.

Here's a Dodgers story that might just cheer you up. 

Or freak you out.

Last year, I believe it was in September, Ms. Muse and I decided to go to a game. As anyone who's ever crammed a $12 Dodger Dog in their gullet and washed it down with a $23 Modelo knows, the parking lot is a bitch (entrance and egress.) It moves slower than the 405 on a Friday afternoon.

As we were crawling up the hill past the Eucalyptus trees and discarded refuse from the previous night's game, we talked about how infrequently either of us actually get out to the Stadium. I average one trip a year. Ms. Muse, whose son works for the Minnesota Twins and is a natural baseball aficionado, went about twice a year. 

We'd both go more if it weren't so excruciatingly painful. Would've been nice if our Mensa city planners had run a train line to Chavez Ravine but these are the same genii who also just missed including LAX as a possible destination.

As we were discussing our fair city's dysfunctional planning, Ms. Muse whipped out her iPhone and found a photo from the last game she had been to. A playoff game against the Cubbies. You can see the photo here. I don't have her friend's permission, so I thoughtfully blocked out her identity.

As you can see, this was taken almost 6 years ago to the day.

While generously allowing a Mazda CX5 to  merge into my lane, I racked my age-addled brain. Seems to me, that Deb and I also went to game against an unnamed playoff-contending team from the Midwest. I had never been to a post season game, and Deb purchased the tickets as an anniversary gift. 

I asked Ms. Muse to hold the steering wheel while I combed through the thousands of photos on my iPhone, including a woman on stilts in downtown Boulder, a mariachi band eating lunch at a Panda Express and many, many graffitied sidewalk transformer boxes, one of myriad of odd fascinations.

I finally found the photo.

And quickly lost my breath...

Note the time stamp. 

Note the proximity in the upper right field deck. 

And note the foul pole, which gives this whole thing a very otherworldly feeling. (Please try to ignore my excess poundage, while you're at it.)

Suffice it to say, that when we discovered this, our jaws hit the floor mats of my prized Audi S5. 

If you've been reading R17 for any time you know I am the world's biggest cynic. I'm a self-avowed  atheist. Have no inclination towards the paranormal, horoscopes, or the supernatural. But this, and the fact that Ms. Muse and I worked together at Bozell Advertising more than 30 years ago and had no contact since then, is enough to make me believe other forces are at work here.

It also demonstrates the unnerving nature of widowhood, where one can be unfathomably sad and happy at the same time.

If this doesn't make you scratch your chin, I don't know what will.

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Editorial Footnote: Crazy right? Well, perhaps there's an explanation. From the most unexpected place. Or person. And like everything in the news today it involves Taylor Swift. Maybe you've heard of her. This article was published yesterday and I'm making this addendum because....well, because you have to see for yourself: 

https://www.nbcnews.com/pop-culture/viral/invisible-string-taylor-swift-inspired-tiktoks-rcna119914