When Adrian Gonzalez comes to bat at Chavez Ravine, at Dodgers Stadium, the PA blares a quick piece of “El Mariachi Loco” during his walk to the plate.
Lots people only get to one or two games a year. Most people only see one game in person. So, imagine the second generation Mexicano, sitting in the stands, the Dodgers threatening to score, and up comes Gonzalez, with his trumpety intro.
It’s not like “You’re the Best” before Danny-san uncannily kicks some kid’s ass, or like the theme music for Rocky and Drago’s training montage, full of energy, hope, and directive. It’s something else. It’s a chirpy little mariachi lick. It’s a strange but large part of Mexican culture. A part not necessarily associated with sports, or getting a job done.
It’s a mariachi tune. (or Mexican Ranchera)
It must be an exquisite experience for a Mexican.
It wasn’t basebally until now. It works. But, boy it sure makes me uncomfortable to watch his stride to the plate, seeing all the Mexicanos in the background, some of them oblivious to the music, some of them cautiously celebratory, some of them sitting awkwardly in their chairs, wondering what to do with the mixed emotions swirling through them.
It is not a comfortable combination of things: baseball, mariachi music, Chavez Ravine, perseverance, strategy. How weird.
But there’s something perfect about it. Something that reminds us of Fernando Fever.
Go ahead, listen.