Matt Cain Writes the Coda As the Sun Sets on the Dodgers

The Giants finish the sweep of the Dodgers behind Matt Cain, as Hollywood's team bows out with whimpering bat and disillusioned fans.

As the Dodgers’ season sinks slowly behind the Golden Gate, their fans are left shuddering in the fringes of the pennant race, like the Children of Divorce they are. Dazed and ashen, they have been left to wonder what they did to deserve such a fate.

Why are they being punished for their devotion to this fickle team? Is the ignominy of being swept by the hated Giants and a 5-12 record since the All-Star break just reward for their blind support? Are the Baseball Gods finally rebuking them for their seemingly casual third inning arrivals and seventh-inning departures? Maybe so.

They deserve better. Who plunks down $15 to park, $30 bucks for a seat somewhere beyond the foul pole, and $17.50 for a beer and a dog for four innings of baseball? Twins fans? Heck no, Twins fans arrive before BP and hang around to help sweep up the peanut shells. Of course, the Twins organization spends more on payroll to put a decent team on the field than the pitifully cash-strapped Dodgers, a forlorn and tattered ex-starlet of a team that only draws three million (and change) every season. Apparently, the advent of “talkies” haven’t been kind to her. Poor thing.

You would think that ownership would recognize that the Old Girl fell short of Boffo postseason results the past two years, primarily due to the fact that she sported no bona fide ace on her pitching staff. You would think that at the very least, they could see that failing to improve this situation over the offseason might result in another supporting actress role, as opposed to the breakthrough box office success she and her fans crave. You would certainly think that The Producers know better than to downgrade personnel in this key department, wouldn’t you? OK, maybe you couldn’t land Angelina Jolie, but Randy Wolf was available, right?

But, she’s a trouper. She’s dusted herself off and made the most of what she had left to her. When it came time to show her stuff for her big second half scene, she chucked, floated and nipped every corner, and gave up less than two runs per game when it mattered most, alas, only to be let down by her limp-sticked leading man who could only deliver his lines at a four bingles per game clip while she tried to carry the show. She needed John Wayne and all she got was Ryan Theriot.

Her fans will still line up and buy tickets to see her. She’ll keep trotting out onto the stage in hopes there’s a little bit of limelight left, and that the Baseball Gods will smile on her one more time. Unfortunately, the cheapskate Producers will only be able to surround her with a third-rate supporting cast dredged from the back lot’s shadows. She’ll finish her run and slip quietly into seclusion and quiet.

Maybe she’ll move to Minnesota. They appreciate her kind out there.