I have heard rumblings from members of our small but dedicated reading community in re their expectation that the Okie Gardener might offer some words of wisdom concerning Barry Bonds and his record-breaking 756th career homerun.

Reminder: Last spring, the Gardener penned a very fine mini memoir in re Baseball, which reflected in part on Barry Bonds and 713 (review here).

Roger Angell, in the New Yorker, offers an instructive look at the latest chapter of the story here. Angell points out that the baseball purists who bemoan the steroid-assisted record as violating the sanctity of baseball seem to assume erroneously that baseball existed undefiled. Angell is right to remind us that baseball never really was a "kid's game."

My thoughts: Like the Gardener confessed last year, I cannot care about Bonds or his contemporaries. Although my lack of concern springs from slightly different grievances, my apathy for modern baseball nevertheless overrides any feelings of excitement or disgust.

One personal note: I am glad Bonds did not break the record in Dodger Stadium. There was speculation that Dodger fans were set to "boo" the "surly cheat" from the detestable Giants. I am glad the historic ball field at Elysian Park played no role in this culmination.

Apropos in the most general sense, below are some recycled thoughts on my youth in Southern California and winning (and losing) the Dodger way (originally written in reaction to a piece in defense of rowdy "free speech" at publicly financed stadiums--the original in full here).

Perhaps the game wasn't purer back then--but I certainly was. Thoughts on the game from when I was a kid:

I love West Coast baseball.

I grew up going to Dodger games in Chavez Ravine. I still hear Vin Scully in my dreams.

An aside: different sport, but I continue to mourn the death of Chick Hearn. I came of age during a glorious period of sports broadcasting in the City of Angels.

My dad took me to my first baseball game when I was five or six. Someone told him that one-dollar tickets were available--but upon inspection of the grandstands, we opted for the three-dollar loge seats (FYI: those seats are now $45.00 per customer for walk-ups on game day).

There were no banners back then (or facial hair on the players, for that matter). The O'Malley's didn't allow that sort of thing; it wasn't in keeping with "winning the Dodger way." I can't remember anyone selling beer--but I know it must have been for sale. People must have been imbibing--but I can't remember any drunks.

I rarely sat close enough to see balls and strikes--or near enough for the ballplayers to hear anything I yelled--but I don't remember riding the umps or taunting the opposing players.

Undoubtedly, my memory has filtered out much ugliness; my mind tends to work that way. On the other hand, California was a more laid-back place back then.

For example, living our lives in the world's foremost car culture, hearing a car horn was extremely rare. And it was almost always friendly or essential (employed for the elevated purpose of avoiding an accident). People who drove around honking their horns were looking for trouble. The dominant Southern California subculture back then was "Okie" or Southern. Honking your horn, yelling coarse insults and/or obscene gestures was tantamount to "calling out" another motorist. The recipients of such calumny were honor bound to answer these insults with physical violence. One might reasonably argue that such retaliation was the opposite of civility--but, in effect, the strict code automobuello kept most folks relatively docile and polite. The influx of "New Yorkers" (meaning all East Coasters and Yankees from the "Old Northwest") and later Middle Easterners and other international cultures changed all that. Now there is plenty of honking, yelling and "flipping people off." Forgettaboutit! Of course, the one exception to all this communication involves motorists who look like they may be gang-bangers. For fear of lethal retaliation, most Angelinos mind their manners in confrontations with "dangerous looking" young people.

Having said all that, I can imagine Dodger Stadium is a much rowdier (and probably more dangerous) place than it was when I was growing up. Back then we were the guests of the O'Malley family; if we didn't treat their facility with respect, I think we expected to be asked to leave. We certainly would have never questioned the ownership's right to tell us to go home. Perhaps, such a request might have elicited an "easy, dude, I'm going" sort of huff--but I can guarantee none of us would have reached for our First Amendment lawyers.

We live in interesting times.

Disclosure: I have not actually been back to Dodger Stadium since the O'Malleys sold the club to Newscorp in 1998, which subsequently sold the team to some guy from Boston.