Big Blue Traffic Accident

What a sad, sad tale this has become.

The soap opera that was the Los Angeles Dodgers existence over the past 15 years has now given way to the story of a traffic accident -- a catostrophic mess that has left many injured and no matter how gruesome it is, you can't help but to stop and watch.

Frank McCourt's era in Los Angeles has been frought with nothing but embarassment after embarassment topped by steaming amounts of disappointment.

Monday's bankruptcy filing is the last act of a desperate man (and he'd put on the first act of "Henry V" in Dodger Stadium if he thought he could make a bunch of money from it -- sorry, random movie quote reference).

And this is coming from someone who hasn't been a Dodger fan for about 30 years, and has more and more regarded baseball as the filler between hockey seasons.

The Dodgers have been a staple of the Inland Empire for years. San Bernardino has hosted an affiliated on and off for years, from the Spirit to the Stampede and the 66ers. They are now affiliated with the Rancho Cucamonga Quakes.

As a young boy, I loved the Dodgers. The infield of Steve Garvey, Davey Lopes, Bill Russell and Ron Cey was untouchable in my young heart. I copied Garvey's batting stance in my early days of Little League.

But the love affair ended as I grew up. Living in Orange County, it became easier and more fun to take in Angels games rather than making the drive through the traffic into LA. I still followed what the Dodgers were doing, but not as closely as the Angels.

Then Fox bought the team and I could care less.

The Dodgers became what was wrong with pro sports. Spending obscene amounts of money on players who probably didn't deserve it and passing the burden on to the fans. But, looking back now, they at least cared about the mystique that Dodger baseball mattered.

Frank McCourt has taken that mystique and wrapped it up in the wads of dollar bills (that it turns out he didn't have) and given it to lawyers, who he's now charged with helping him maintain the lifestyle of an owner. You know, the guy who gets to sit in the private box and wave to the people who are paying their hard-earned money to watch the team they love.

And he's and his crew have tried their best to wring every dollar they can. They've latched on to any promotional tie-in they can to get butts into the seats. They've had nights for USC, UCLA, the Lakers and Kings. Heck, they even had a "Phineas and Ferb" night featuring the characters and their creators throwing out the first pitch and a video featuring the stadium's code of conduct.

Mind you, my young son loves the Disney Channel cartoon (and so do I), but I'm not about to shell out money for tickets, gas, parking (how McCourt made his money in the first place) and refresments to see a Dodger game just because of the show.

It's becoming increasingly clear that many more people aren't coming for similar reasons. The expansion of seating at the stadium increased luxury, but forced more fans into the cheap seats. And let's not forget the bungling reaction to the Bryan Stow incident.

Every time he opens his mouth about getting a new loan or the TV deal with Fox that was rejected by the league, he seems more and more like a con man trying to keep his Ponzi scheme alive for just a little big longer so that he can cash out big.

Only, at this point, everyone knows what the scheme is and they aren't falling for it any more.

What I wish would happen now is for one of those high-priced lawyers he's retained -- or someone else in his inner circle -- to just stand up to McCourt and tell him to give it up. No one wants him there any more. Not the fans. Not the league. Not even his now ex-wife, who seemingly profitted just as much from the team as he did.

Go away Frank. Leave the Dodgers. Leave baseball. Leave LA. You've worn out your welcome.