There Is No God And The Padres Are His Prophets

"I ain't an athlete, I'm a ballplayer." - John Kruk, aka "Mr. Padre"

Like all white sportswriters named Jason, I haven't played organized baseball since the 4th grade. My position: right field. My lifetime average: .000 (I'm told that getting to go to first because the ball hit you in the hands doesn't count as a hit, even if it happens in multiple games). I did play Work Softball for my department's team; there I played first base, and I was a rarity - a contact hitter who used speed to get on base. My team was The Fighting Dugongs: a dugong is a type of manatee, and my Work Softball League was the SeaWorld Coed Recreational. If you live in San Diego at some point you're required by law to work at SeaWorld. Living in Paradise carries with it a heavy price.

Dugong. This particular dugong was acquired by the Padres in exchange for Adrian Gonzalez, a deal that some Padres fans still question.

San Diego, of course, is not a Sports Town. I'm told that many years ago we had a professional football team - NFL, not XFL, even! - but apparently they moved to Los Angeles, which if you're not familiar with it is the blighted vomitscape where the two "Blade Runner" documentaries were filmed. There is a minor league hockey team that plays in the same arena where the San Diego Clippers used to play before they became the LA Generals. Football, basketball, hockey...these are sports that require passion, commitment, and lots and lots of jumping up out of one's seat and yelling. This is anathema to San Diegans. Look outside. It's nice out. It's always nice out. 72 degrees and sunny, 364 days out of the year. I'm in my seat. I'm drinking an IPA produced by one of our 120+ local brewers. I'm eating a fish taco. I don't want to jump up out of my seat. I'll spill my citrusy-piney-dank-with-slight-sourness-must-be-the-Brett-yeast beer. And yelling? It's So Not Chill. It's nice out! You should chill.

I will be discussing my deep and unabiding love for the Brown Jersey in a future installment.

No, we're not a Sports Town. We have beaches. Miles of them. Most of the time we'd rather be there, thanks.

But we are a Baseball Town.

Tony Gwynn. Dave Winfield. Trevor Hoffman. Tony Gwynn. Steve Garvey. Rollie Fingers. Goose Gossage. Ozzie Smith. (How 'bout that?) Ed Spiezio. Tony Gwynn. And Mr. Padre himself, John Kruk. Actual baseball players! A few years back, a really nice stadium went up in the heart of downtown San Diego. An actual baseball park! It's quite nice. They sell fish tacos. The Padres have even been to the World Series. Twice! Some of you reading this may have even been alive at the time.

Ed "The Splendid Speez" Spiezio, known to most fans as "Uncle Padre".

If the Padres are not beloved by San Diegans, in the way that the Dodgers are beloved by their fans, they are certainly...beliked. Petco Park sells enough tickets to keep the team here. Most of the games are televised. I suspect that the love isn't there because the Padres are what the actual sportswriters call a "small-market team"; the owners will never have enough money to pay for the great players, and when they get really good ones, they're usually out the door in a season or two. (Waves at Jake Peavy, Adrian Gonzalez, Chase Headley, Heath Bell...) Thus are Padre fans' expectations and accompanying emotions level-set. Like the Cubs and Red Sox fans of yore, we root for perennial Likable Losers, a team with little hope of World Series Glory; unlike them, we are generally happy folk who lead physically healthy and emotionally rich lives thanks in no small part to our beautiful climate. Padres fans are bereft of hope, our prayers to the Baseball Gods go unanswered, but at least there are burritos stuffed with French fries. I am a Padre fan, which is to say that like most San Diegans I enjoy watching them when the surf is flat, I'm hoping that they don't trade Wil Myers, perhaps this year I'll finally buy an authentic jersey, but it's more likely I'll opt for a cap. They're considerably cheaper and can help prevent sunburn.

Jason Avant
aka The Other White Jason