San Diego, Not Cleveland, Is City of Suffering

A lot has been said in the past 24 hours about the anguish of Cleveland sports fans. In the aftermath of LeBron's "Decision," there has a been a piss-and-moan fest the likes of which I've never seen on blogs, in sportswriter's articles and, perhaps most notably, in Bill Simmons' all-Cleveland mailbag.

My response: whoop de doo.

Need I remind everyone that Cleveland has tasted a World Series victory as recently as 1948 (not forgetting, of course, the 1920 World Series champs led by Tris Speaker, one of the greatest players of all time) and has an NFL Championship from the just-yesterday year of 1964.

Meanwhile, the city of San Diego has never had a World Series champion, and hasn't had any football hardware since the Bolts won the AFL crown way, way, way back in 1963.

San Diego doesn't even have an NBA team to root for, or a nearby dominant state school like Ohio St. to call its own.

It's no competition really. If you want to talk suffering, let's talk San Diego.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go jogging on the beach, and then drive up to La Jolla to have some seafood and watch the sun set into the Pacific Ocean.

My Dad's Birthday

In honor of my Dad's birthday you see above a photo of the USS Chevalier, one of the ships my Dad sailed on during his time in the US Navy.

According to the website where I found this photo, it was taken circa 1969 near Point Loma in San Diego. It's possible my Dad was on board when this photo was taken.

We celebrate my Pops around here because it was he that moved to San Diego to join the Navy in the late 1960s, thus solidifiying a love for the San Diego Chargers that had started while, from his sofa in frigid Central Illinois, he watched Lance Alworth and the rest of the Bolts play in sunny Balboa Stadium and dominate the AFL with their high-powered passing attack.

A love for the Padres followed as he witnessed first hand their struggle as a fledgling franchise throughout the 1970s.

In 1978, facing economic pressures, he moved his family from San Diego back to his hometown of Peoria, IL.

The moral of the story is this: if my Dad doesn't spend those years in San Diego and become a passionate fan of the Padres and Chargers, I probably grow up as a Cubs and Bears fan.

Oh my.

Happy birthday, Dad.

Petco Park On A Quiet Thursday In January

Last Thursday afternoon - well before the debacle at Qualcomm on Sunday - I arrived in San Diego and took a stroll down to Petco Park. As the photos above can attest, the day was absolutely perfect.

As I walked around the ballpark enjoying the perfect warmth of a sunny 69 degree day, I imagined Jed Hoyer sitting inside in his office, reading some scouting reports, chatting up some agents by telephone and likely housing a fish taco lunch. Then I thought about his office at his last job, probably in some early 20th century windowless tank at Fenway, the frigid winds of a Boston January seeping through the crumbling concrete as he scarfed down a quick bowl of clam chowder in between "emergency" calls from Theo Epstein, pressing him for inconsequential data about some overpriced free agent.

And then I thought to myself: well played moving to the Diego, Jed. Well played.

Diego

I'm on the ground in the Diego.

Repeat. I'm on the ground in San Diego.

Currently at Java Joe's down the street from Petco Park. Things are pretty quiet this Thursday afternoon in the East Village. The weather could not be more perfect.

The calm before the Bolts-Jets storm.