What To Expect From A Night At The Dodger Stadium Dugout Club

I learned something about baseball tonight. It's always been a fascinating game. I've watched enough to know every little nuance on the field; the signs, the pitch sequences, the art of hitting. But what I saw tonight made the game on the field seem like an afterthought.

I've been to about 50 or so Dodger games. I saw Pedro Martinez's debut. I witnessed the first interleague game at Chavez Ravine. I saw Hershieser, Gibson, Garvey, Sax, Scioscia, Piazza, Yeager, Beltre, Murray and Fernando Valenzuela all play in person. This one night topped them all. This one reduced them all. At a baseball game the view from the cheap seats inspires awe but from the expensive ones the game never looked so small.

My grandfather introduced me to baseball at birth. Ok, not literally but very soon after. I had a subscription to Dodger Blue Magazine before I could read. I knew the player names shortly after I spoke my first words. I spent hours staring at a Dodger schedule in anticipation of future games I could watch on TV or promotional giveaways I dreamt of owning. To this day I can still name the Dodgers 1982 starting infield. My 'Heaven on Earth' at age five was a Sunday afternoon at Chavez Ravine with my grandparents.

As sweet as it was, in even my earliest recollection, we never sat close enough to see the game better then how it looked on television. The players always looked like ants. I've sat in the bleachers, the nosebleeds, and above the foul pole. I enjoyed every second of it, a true fan represents for their team. Besides, binocular vision can be really interesting. (If you don't believe me try watching your favorite manager for an entire inning and count how many times he uses the 'F' word.)

It wasn't a matter of ticket price. My grandfather was a successful executive and family man. We could have sat as close as he wanted to. As a child I never understood it, but after the Dugout Club I suspect he was shielding me.

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If you haven’t experienced a good traffic jam in L.A., you don't know traffic. Dodger Stadium parking (circa 2007) is three times worse then rush hour on the 101. I went to a game in May of this year and got into the parking lot traffic at game time, but didn't actually get to my seat until the middle of the 4th inning. I missed the opening pitch, all the scoring and my chance to vote for the all stars without leaving my seat.

For the casual Dodger fan, you're lucky to experience a mild disaster traffic-wise at any given game. Except....if you sit in the Dugout Club.

Dugout Club members get special lanes to avoid (common people) traffic. When you're to the Dugout Club you can laugh at the losers as you whiz by with your gaudy orange parking pass. I was a bit surprised when the parking attendant didn't offer to wash the windows and check the air in our tires. But there's always next time.

Oh, and don't even bother to ask how close the VIP lot is to the stadium. I was just thankful that Barry Bonds and Mark McGuire weren't playing home run derby that night or else our windshield was a goner. The opposing team bus was the only vehicle with a closer parking spot. The walk to the gates was a brief 30 seconds, which was in stark contrast to the average ten minute uphill and downhill death walk for the common fan. My favorite part was that both preferred and common fan parking seems to cost the exact same price: $15.

The tickets to the Dugout Club look impressive. As a first glance you might think they were gift certificates. The background is pure Dodger blue while a majority of the writing is done in chrome. On top of that, most Dodger fans know the seating system as Section 100 is the lower level, 200 is the second, and so on. These tickets were in Section 2 row CC.

Upon noticing my ‘chrome dandy’, the ticket taker was abnormally nice. She asked how I was. Not that she cared. I said something like 'Fine.' Not that I cared. And I was on my way.

The trip through the concourse was perhaps the dullest moment of the night. I glanced at the concession stands. (When did the Dodgers become obsessed with Margaritas?) I was particularly drawn by the thought of a Dodger Dog but I figured I'd get plenty of chances later. I kept an eye out for the condiment stand because at my last game I nearly threw up after trying to get some ketchup from a stand that looked like someone thought it was finger food. This time I was less disgusted but still not impressed.

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The entrance to the Dugout Club is like a club. There's a bouncer with a velvet rope in front of a glass enclosure. A friendly concierge checks your ticket and you're in. A murmur of anticipation ran through me as we passed into the gates of baseball fan heaven.

As I descended the marble staircase into the Dugout Club I noticed two things: One the doors to the left and to the right said "Entrance to Dodger Clubhouse". When I saw this the mystique of the L.A. Times Sports Page came crashing to the floor in my mind. I was standing where the reporters get their stories. The second thing that caught my eye was that beyond the glass doors in front of me appeared to be the loading station for the old Space Mountain at Disneyland. A slant ceiling-ed room highlighted with blue neon. Upon closer inspection it turned out to be the Dugout Club restaurant.

The food reminded me of graduation dinners and baptisms growing up. That is to say it was of the caliber that I would associate with a special occasion. There were chefs at the ready to slice garlic roast beef or glazed chicken. Gourmet sausages were served hot off the grill right onto your plate. The salad bar featured at least eight distinctly different types of lettuce and almost every type of dressing was available in both regular and fat free. This type of food was clearly no ordinary peanuts and crackerjacks.

While enjoying the decadent meal I sat there taking in the scene. There were families with small children running around as if it were Chuck E Cheese. There were older businessmen having company get togethers. Some thirty something year old guys sitting at the bar drinking like they were at the golf club. And an elderly couple or two were enjoying a night out.

Then I noticed it. A security guard dressed in dark pants and a white polo shirt was shadowing a 40-ish looking woman in a white all leather outfit. She floated around the room like a busy restaurant manager: Checking the salad bar for cleanliness, chatting with a couple of seemingly random people here and there.

I put two and two together and figured this was the Dodger owner's wife. I'd read things about her in the now less impressive L.A. Times. (Bad things)

Upon further investigation, I asked the security guard and my suspicions were confirmed. I re-examined what she was doing there. The woman she chatted up the minute before turned out to be Courtney Cox. The salad bar was immediately restocked at her order. (Still no salad tongs for the fresh fruit though) I got the sense that the security guard's main job was to keep a commoner like me from even getting close enough to breath the queen's air.

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I came to my senses after dessert and the sound of Vin Scully's droning tones reminded me I was at a baseball game.

I went through the doors from the dining room to the seating area and what did I find: Peanuts and Cracker Jacks. And not the stale cracker jacks they sell you for $4 at the concession stand, these were packaged today, fresh. Free of course, nothing too good for God's chosen children.

It was an alien experience watching the game from that close up. I was technically closer to home plate than the pitcher (which the Dodger web site will confirm). I was spitting distance from the visiting team's on deck circle and physically even with it because the seats directly behind home plate jut out a few more feet onto the field than the others. Watching the ball move around it looked very plain and unimpressive, like watching two adult league softball teams.

From my double wide theater style seat I was waited upon by the Dodgers best and brightest. Every half inning our concierge would ask us if we wanted anything off the gourmet menu. If you ordered a hamburger he'd say 'How about a cheeseburger?' intuitively knowing he's thinking of your best interests. God damn if I never felt more proud to be an American in that moment.

Growing up Dodger Dogs were an icon of Dodger baseball. Vin Scully would use his golden voice to evoke images of 'juicy, 100% all beef Dodger Dogs'. It got to the point where he was like Pavlov and we were his obedient dogs. Faithfully salivating at the thought of foot long Farmer John hot dogs. I didn't see Dodger Dogs on the menu at first glace. But upon review it was written way at the bottom in small print. Not exactly the icon treatment if you ask me.

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So I'm still watching this baseball game that has utterly no interest to me. The Dodgers are 6 games out of first place with about 30 to play and the experienced fan in me knows they are dead in the water this season. On top of that, over the last 20 years or so the Dodgers and I have grown apart. They've changed owners twice. Each one seems to be worse than the last. The current husband and wife team have traded away the soul of the old Dodgers and fielded a team of bad attitude mercenaries. When you take into account that I've grown a devotion to the Dodgers cross-town counterpart, the Angels, I was just not really interested in watching the game. Around the sixth inning, my friend and I decided to go back into the dining room.

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When we went back in to Dugout Club the place was a ghost town. The business crowd was long gone and based on my interest level in the game they must really have not given a shit about the outcome. The chefs had packed up everything but the dessert cart. That's not to say there wasn't anything on it. Everything was still gourmet and decadent, but there just wasn't as much.

I used to frown on people who left baseball games early but since most of the food and the people circus were gone; what was the point of staying? On top of that it was something like the 8th inning and the Dodgers were winning 4-3 so I guess it's as good as over.

The inning ended and I realized 'Hey this game could be over in 5 minutes. Run for the car!’ We walked double time to the car to beat the traffic but soon realized that getting out was even easier than getting in.

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As I sit here and try to gather my recollections of baseball luxury some striking thoughts come to mind.

First, baseball players look and act like employees. They don't interact with the fans. They go through the motions. They pretty much do what they're told. You really notice this when your up close.

Second, the seats I sat in tonight are designed to make you feel superior. You get gourmet meals, concierge service, velvet rope treatment and VIP parking. All included with your ticket price. Because you put down the big money you are the big man in the Dugout Club.

Third, sportswriters never looked more like roaches. When the seventh inning ended I was walking back from the bathroom when I was nearly trampled by writers running to the Dodger locker room. The game wasn't even over. They were more concerned about their story than the game. As a lifelong sports fan I'd always assumed writers were passionate fans like me. Based on what I saw tonight I couldn't have been more wrong.

Fourth, my love of baseball is completely contingent in me remaining in the middle class. If I were to sit in these seats any longer the experience of pampered luxury would become a requirement in every baseball experience. I would eventually become like a spoiled child. Oddly enough my grandmother always warned me when I was a child about becoming spoiled.

I will always remember this game. The difference between inside and outside of the velvet rope is like night and day. On one side you have the passionate fans who know all the players, the stats, the history, the game. On the other you have three hours in the 24 hour cocktail party lifestyle. Once you've experienced both sides you will know exactly how deep your passion for the game lies.  That’s what I learned tonight.