If we were cynics, we’d guess the Dodgers were destroying their stadium to make way for massive new development

SARAH TILLMAN

I pulled into the parking space at Dodger Stadium having been directed by numerous flag-waving attendants taking their jobs slightly more seriously than the folks who guide jets onto aircraft carriers. Climbing out of the car, I thought how overstated the problem of the stadium’s new parking system had been and said as much to the guy parked next to me.

“Hey, it’s two hours before the game,” he said. “Just wait.”

The first week of games at Dodger Stadium has produced variations on a single theme: the place has become a hellhole—or maybe two themes: Southern California’s great meeting place is so ill-managed (the new parking system has been blamed for multi-hour waits on entering and exiting) and run down (long food lines, shortages of Dodger Dogs and clean bathrooms) that it barely resembles the local jewel that is supposed to be one of the best-run and -maintained sports stadiums in America.

This was probably the single worst day to judge the stadium’s shortcomings: Sunday, Jackie Robinson Day, commemorated the 60th anniversary of Jackie breaking baseball’s color line. Mr. Robinson is one of my heroes, as my son, Jackie, can attest, and I was pleased to see so much national and international media, as well as ESPN, which was nationally televising the game between the Dodgers and San Diego Padres. If ever there was a day that Dodger Stadium would put on a pretty face, this was it.

Still, I had to wait an inning and a half to get a hot dog. I had to wait in line just to get into the men’s room—the men’s room! Inside, I waited some more. And, yes, when it came time to leave the stadium, things bottlenecked at the exit I was directed to—six lanes converging into two—and it took half an hour just to get off the stadium grounds. By then, fortunately, the Dodger’s 9-3 blowout win had chased away most of the crowd. What if the game had been close? What if most of the 55,298 had stuck around for the final pitch? My half hour would no doubt have doubled, tripled or quadrupled.

When you’re sitting in a car for half an hour, your mind wanders to conspiracy theories: Dodger owners Frank and Jamie McCourt have been regarded with suspicion ever since they bought the team in 2004. Suspicion has centered on the fact they really couldn’t afford the team and were just leveraging that purchase for their ultimate deal: scrapping the stadium and developing the land—with its view of downtown, some of the most dramatic land in LA—for luxury homes and apartments, making millions and then getting the city to build a baseball stadium downtown.

Those of us who thought that was crazy said so because we knew Dodger Stadium is one of the few beloved structures in Southern California. But what if Dodger Stadium wasn’t beloved? What would happen after a few years of interminable traffic snarls and backed-up toilets and hot dog lines if Dodger Stadium became a place to be endured? What if it became so rundown and ineffective it was easier, preferable even, to let it go—or weren’t you around for the Reagan years? I’m old enough to remember a time when the LA Coliseum was considered a jewel and now, through mismanagement and neglect, the thought of scrapping it and building on its bones to attract the NFL raises nary a cry.

I dunno, it’s just a theory. Still, it was a beautiful day. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt so connected to my fellow So Cal brothers and sisters, most wearing Robinson jerseys and T-shirts, the only controversy being who sucked more—the Padres or Barry Bonds. It’s Bonds.

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