neighborhood Easter party, which raised ethical and religious
considerations, both of which passed rather quickly.
The Angels opened their season on Easter Sunday, the only team in the
majors to do so. We were told that this was because it gave them exposure
on national television ahead of everyone else, which turned out to be a
mixed blessing. I had planned to sneak off from the party to get my first
look at the new and improved Angels on TV when two Easter miracles
happened.
I had resigned myself to seeing most of my baseball this season on the
tube. Our piece of a season ticket was lost in economic austerity. The
extended family season ticket connections followed suit. Any ticket clout
I once had as a result of writing warmly about the problems of the
Angels' ticket manager some years ago in the Los Angeles Times were gone,
along with him.
Then, miraculously, rescue. From across the street and over the phone.
My lawyer neighbor, Ron Darling, invited me to join him at the Angels'
last exhibition game against the Colorado Rockies on Friday. And my
brother-in-law, Dan Angel, called in some favors to the Angel front
office, got tickets for the opener on Sunday, and invited my wife and me
to join his party.
The table was set on Thursday when Indiana quite remarkably won its
way to the NCAA finals. Then on Friday, the Angels lived up to all their
rosy predictions by beating up on Colorado. I went home that night full
of hope that the new Angels were loaded to deliver our first World Series
in history.
Then came Sunday and Monday. It would have been more exciting to stay
home and watch small people hunt eggs in our backyard than it was at
Anaheim Stadium. The Angels collapsed like a deflated balloon, losing 6-0
to the Cleveland Indians and looking very bad in the process. Cleveland
scored four runs before the Angels ever came to bat in this new season,
and I could actually feel the air go out of a capacity crowd once
inflated with hope. Then the following night, Indiana was creamed by
