The truth hurts. Other than Pablo Sandoval's diabetic relapse or Zach Wheeler's imminent Cy Young candidacy, there's not much to root for as a Dodger fan these days. Fifty-four games to go, and you're secretly not sure you can handle one more viewing of that Kafka novella posing as a Carl's Jr commercial, let alone the sight of Aaron Miles batting fifth for a professional baseball team.
You pretend your rationalizations don't sound as absurd as they really are ("I know it's a Friday night and it's Houston and we're already down 7 runs, but I want to see how Ruby responds to walking 17 consecutive batters"). You insist to friends and family that yes, they may be 11.5 back, but the games are still enjoyable, especially when Kershaw is pitching and...well, when Kershaw is pitching they're enjoyable. You affirm with fellow fans that you were there for Dre and James and Kid K and the alien that now inhabits Matt Kemp's body when they were competing for division titles, and goddammit you'll be there for them now when they're competing to be an extra in a Brian Wilson Old Spice commercial.
But deep down, in the hellspawned recesses of your sports subconscious alongside memories of Jack Clark and Matt Stairs and Delino Deshields, lay the truth: these remaining Dodger games are absolutely brutal to watch. Borderline unbearable. If the Dodgers were a racehorse, they'd have been diagnosed with rickets and shot repeatedly in the head by June (no, we can't do that with Uribe, even if he's on the DL. I checked). If the Dodgers were a movie, they'd be Revolutionary Road. If the Dodgers were a book, they'd also be Revolutionary Road...or, if Ted Lilly is starting, some combination of Revolutionary Road and Night.
Luckily, I've developed a reliable method for coping with one of the most abjectly depressing second halves in Dodger history: a drinking game. As anyone's undergraduate experience readily attests, a drinking game serve as an effective antidote for just about any form of disappointing entertainment. A Friday night with you, your Mandarin-speaking roommate and a Super Nintendo that only works when you play Paperboy? Drinking game. A Felicity marathon you have no idea how you got coerced into watching? Drinking game. Batting cleanup for the Tigers and bored with how easy it is to slug .600 ever year? Drinking game.
What You'll Need:
- A fifth of your favorite shot beverage. I would recommend making something with "Swerveballs", James Loney's personal line of Courvoisier. You can get it for $9.99, behind the alley behind the parking garage behind the Inglewood Target. Ask for Snot Boogie.
- A forty of Steel Reserve.
- As much SumPoosie Energy Drink as you can purchase legally, which I believe the FDA limits to 10 ounces every four years.
- A Rihanna CD.
- A jar of pennies, a Dodger hat and an utter lack of self-respect.
How to Play: As the most agonizing part of this season has been watching anyone but Kemp attempt to hit a baseball, the game revolves around obeying certain drinking rules during Dodger player at-bats. Although on paper the rules may appear to require a dangerous amount of drinking, luckily our offense is so anemic that it's very unlikely we'll get through the order more than three times over the course of nine innings. As such, I wouldn't recommend this drinking game for fans of other teams. Except the Mariners.
Batting First, Dee Gordon: Take a shot for every ten-pound difference between your body weight and Dee's. Now take a shot for every ten-pound difference between your body weight and the combined body weights of Dee and Eugelio Velez. If you haven't taken at least six shots, you're grossly overestimating Eugelio Velez's BMI. If you haven't been emotionally capable of eBaying your Raffy jersey yet, bring it out and open up the 40 of Steely. If Gordon hits the ball on the ground--which he always, always should do--see how much of the 40 you can pour over the jersey before Gordon reaches first base. Then chug the rest.
Batting Second, Casey Blake: As Casey would bat no higher than seventh for any team with a semi-decent offense, take five shots. Take a shot if you have a beard. Take a shot if you have an adorably pointy chin. Take a shot if you were traded for Carlos Santana. If you have a beard and an adorably pointy chin and you were traded for Carlos Santana, drink as much as you want as you're probably on the disabled list anyway. Although if Loney catches you drinking something besides Swerveballs, he'll shit in your locker. Again.
Batting Third, Andre Ethier: Take a shot with your right hand holding the shot glass. Easy enough. Now place the shot glass in your left hand and repeatedly heave alcohol in the direction of your mouth but never let it make solid contact. Also, if you've somehow dragged your girlfriend into watching the game, take a shot every time she asks if he's single or applauds wildly when he singles meekly to left-center.
Batting Fourth, Matt Kemp: Sober up! Willie Fucking Mays is hitting! Don't let thoughts of when they're finally going to realize Juan Rivera hits fifth distract you from...holy shit another gapper! Go for three, go for three! Yes!!!!!
(If you're playing correctly, your bladder should be about to explode at this point. Take out the Rihanna CD and relieve yourself appropriately. If you're an expert player, you may want to take a shot for every million in Kemp's arbitration we're not going to able to afford, but this can get incredibly depressing very quickly.)
Batting Fifth, Juan Rivera: An adaption from King's Cup. Everyone in the room has to name a Dodgers left-fielder in the post-Manny era. Whoever blanks first has to drink. This will likely carry you through several innings.
Batting Sixth, James Loney: Take a shot every time Loney checks his beeper or tosses a burner in between pitches. Take a shot every time you wonder whether they just should have left his swing alone and let him develop into a poor man's John Olerud. And yes, take a shot every time you think back to that grand slam in the Chicago divisional series and ask, what the fuck happened?
Batting Seventh, Aaron Miles/Jamie Carroll: At this point, both Miles and Carroll will likely be indistinguishable from each other, so I've adapted this rule for both. Take out the jar of pennies and pour as much as you can into your Dodger hat. Firmly wrap the pennies in your cap and clutch it like a small, makeshift club. Wait for the camera to pan to Juan Uribe eating a Milky Way in the dugout while Vinny talks about his recovery timetable. Then smash your TV set. Although this isn't part of the drinking game per se, it is nevertheless highly therapeutic.
Batting Eight, Dioner Navarro: Vomit profusely. As most Dodger fans know already, this will likely occur even if you haven't been drinking.
Batting Ninth, Clayton Kershaw: Sober up! Our second best offensive threat is hitting!
