News
Amid Boston Overdose Crisis, a Pair of Harvard Students Are Bringing Narcan to the Red Line
News
At First Cambridge City Council Election Forum, Candidates Clash Over Building Emissions
News
Harvard’s Updated Sustainability Plan Garners Optimistic Responses from Student Climate Activists
News
‘Sunroof’ Singer Nicky Youre Lights Up Harvard Yard at Crimson Jam
News
‘The Architect of the Whole Plan’: Harvard Law Graduate Ken Chesebro’s Path to Jan. 6
The second-place Los Angeles Dodgers disembarked one night last week from a TWA constellation at Los Angeles International Airport, and big-league baseball came to Southern California. It was not Milwaukee.
Contrary to newspaper reports, there was no throng of thousands waiting; only a straggling collection of city officials, Senator Knowland, and some curious night-life.
There are four reasons to be skeptical about the 1958 baseball season for the transplanted Bums:
First, Angelenos don't like Walter O'Malley's shenanigans. When he won the mineral rights to Chavez Ravine, he lost the unquestioning trust which the sport-shirted Southern Californian bon vivant gave to open classification baseball.
Angels Are Left Out
Next, as the unsavory newspaper peddler at Hollywood and Vine remarked: "Nobody's them Angels." The Angels are the displaced persons in the westward movement. Last year's Pacific Coast League champs, they had a couple of crowd-drawers--a line-up averaging .304, a pitching staff with four 15-game winners, and a roly-poly slugger named Bilko who swatted 56 homeruns.
Third, the newspaper peddler notwithstanding, baseball fans are few in the Riviera of the West. Beaches are open all year-round. Santa Anita, Caliente, and Hollypark run races every day. Bull-fights and j'ai-lai games are just across the border. And there are too many parks and too much picnic weather.
Finally, of course, from Beverly Hills to Skidrow they don't want second-best.
Want to keep up with breaking news? Subscribe to our email newsletter.