San Francisco Giant uniforms do not like Los Angeles Dodger uniforms and vice versa. However, the hatred is only cotton-deep. Put the ballplayer in street clothes, stick 'em in a room, and most of the exchanges would be cordial.
Casey Blake might run into a couple problems and Pablo Sandoval might not share a warm embrace with Russell Martin , but the tension in the room would be considerably less than that manifested on the diamond.
For better or worse, the modern era has seen big money and fluid player movement erode much of the personal animosity generated by decades of traditional contempt as far as most of the athletes are concerned.
Even the storied Gent-Bum hostility is no different.
Nope, like any great rivalry, the West Coast's most bitter exemplar —which, admittedly, still places it in the "mellow" range (irksome little homicides notwithstanding)—is driven by the fanatics in the stands, behind television sets, and within earshot of radios.
They still make radios, right? Probably in the same part of town where they print newspapers?
When los Gigantes y los Doyers renew pleasantries this evening and continue to indulge over the weekend, there will be some sparks on the field to be sure. Yet the real fireworks will be in the Dodger Stadium stands.
Due to the symbiotic nature of the City and the City of Angels as well as the glorious I-5 that connects the entirety of the Golden State, there is plenty of Orange and Black in southern California.
Sadly, there is also quite a bit of Dodger Blue in NorCal.
Toss in the inevitable contrarian element that insists on rooting for the enemy and the result can get ugly. Especially when the clubs are at either extreme on the spectrum of competition.
If LA or SF is really bad, leave the women and children at home. The same applies if either team is particularly good.
Unless, of course, you've got premium seats—the wine-and-cheese crowd will never go beyond vulgarity. Granted, this extends to the majority of AT&T Park (I know because I have a wine-and-cheese uniform in my closet), but that inconvenient tidbit doesn't do wonders for the dramatic undercurrent so let's ignore it.
Besides, the Pac Bell bleachers can still channel the best of the boorish Candlestick nostalgia and Chavez Ravine never really lost its version.
Observations you will make quickly if both teams are particularly good/bad when they meet. In that case, prepare thyself for metaphoric battle because either the disparity in ability or the friction of equivalent strength tends to be ready fuel for any fire that might start.
And, oh happy day, that seems to be just the situation in which we find the Giants and Dodgers on the morning of their first 2010 series.
San Francisco is off to its best start since hitting postseason pay-dirt in 2003.
The pitching has been leading the way as expected, but the offense has done its share of heavy-lifting much to the delight of everyone following the organization.
Edgar Renteria has started to cool, but he wasn't going to hit .600 for too long. Furthermore, the loss is minimal because a lot of his heat seems to have been absorbed by Aaron Rowand and Little Money—both the center fielder and third baseman got off to stumbling starts only to come around of late.
The defense, thought to be a substantial chink in the armor, has shown a little frailty recently, but it's been nowhere near the travesty many projected.
In a word, the Giants are cruising.
On the flip side, the Dodgers have seen their worst nightmare realized over the first nine games. So I guess I should call it their worst mini-nightmare. Even so, the boys in blue remain dangerous, which is a testament to how much talent this side has in one facet of the game.
The splinters—a mix of steady veteran presences and bristling young firepower—will keep La La Land's favorite team in the hunt all year.
Regardless, the starting rotation remains a rickety mess, seemingly held together by duct tape and denial.
Every Major League Baseball enthusiast knew it would be the Achilles' heel. The consensus was the Bums needed superlative years from 22-year-old southpaw Clayton Kershaw and 25-year-old righty Chad Billingsley in order to be a serious threat. Otherwise, a third front-of-the-rotation arm would be needed to stay afloat in the postseason chase.
Neither Kershaw nor Billingsley has sprung from the blocks as hoped. Meanwhile, the McCourt divorce continues to preclude the imminent arrival of help i.e. the rotation is in bad shape at the moment.
But those bats are like a fighter's nuclear hands; they demand the Dodgers be taken seriously at all times lest you wake up to a circle of faces and a flashlight.
Which means two strong clubs should collide tonight for the first of many rugged affairs and it promises to be lively.
Because whoever survives might just get a division crown for their troubles.
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