It took about 155 games, but I finally made an emotional connection with the Dodgers last night. I don't know if it was the gutty pitching performance by Hideo Nomo, the late comeback, or the two-run rally in the ninth off of Trevor Hoffman, but I finally got it last night. On Wednesday, I attended my first game of the year, a depressing, dull loss to the Giants, where the only joy I got out of the experience was the companionship of my friend Deborah, who is just getting into the game; it must have been like how my dad felt, taking me to a game when I was just a lad, and I would say things like "do the best you can" when Steve Garvey or Willie Davis came up as the tying run in the bottom of the ninth, so as to take the pressure off them. The Dodgers this season were just another team to me, not as fun or interesting as the Angels; the Sheffield trade seemed to remove the one player on the team who gave a rat's ass about winning, so for most of the season I didn't care how they did, even though they were in contention from Day 1. I guess for me it's always about just one player; if I can identify with someone, no matter how obnoxious or arrogant or incompetent he is, then the team follows. Last night it was Nomo, a consummate professional, throwing some wicked stuff and laying down a perfect bunt in the fifth inning to set up the tying run; all night long, he had this look in the dugout, a cross between determined and pissed-off, that was so unlike the typical frat-boy attitude that has permeated the team since they broke up The Infield in 1982. This was someone who was upset that the team wasn't going to make the playoffs barring a NoCal collapse, that he had to share a locker room with the same morons who were now counting on him to carry the team, again, and he just wanted the damn ball. LOVE IT !!!