When the team you love stops loving you back

I’ve been a Dodgers fan since I was 8 years old.

The first time I saw the sun setting over the right field bleachers and the emerald grass of Dodger Stadium, I asked myself, “Is this what heaven looks like?”

Like many kids growing up in working-class Los Angeles neighborhoods, Dodger Blue was more than just a team, it was a dream. A symbol of hope. A shared language between fathers and sons, uncles and cousins, neighbors and strangers. It was magic.

But that dream has been fading. And today, I’m asking Dodgers fans like me, especially those who grew up loving the team from the margins of society, to stop pretending everything is okay. It’s not.

At 14, I started working at Dodger Stadium. And even then, race and class were impossible to ignore. Black and Latino teens, like me were assigned the hardest jobs: hauling 50-pound bins of soda and ice cream up the bleachers under the scorching sun. Meanwhile, white managers from the Danny Goodman company sat comfortably, collecting bigger checks in air-conditioned offices.

I’ve sold it all: programs, peanuts, nachos. I’ve walked those aisles until I could barely stand. During day games, they handed us smelling salts so we wouldn’t faint. I didn’t just cheer for the Dodgers, I sweated for them. And that’s what makes the betrayal hit even harder.

I stood by this team through the heartbreaks of 2017 and 2018. I watched alone in 2020 as Julio Urías threw the final strike of a championship during a pandemic. That’s what loyalty looks like.

But love isn't blind. And Dodgers management keeps proving they don’t deserve ours.

Three families are now suing the Dodgers after allegedly being assaulted by security. I had to take the team to small claims court myself after their customer service failures cost me $10,000. This is not how you treat people who’ve supported you for generations.

And on the field? The decisions aren’t just questionable, they’re tone-deaf. Remember when the team pulled Tyler Anderson mid-dominance against the Padres? It echoed the same boneheaded call the Rays made when they pulled Blake Snell in 2020. Cold, calculated management moves like these kill momentum and morale, because they treat the game like a spreadsheet, not a heartbeat.

Then came the final straw.

I watched Dodgers players grin at the White House as they shook hands with Donald Trump, a man who called my people rapists and criminals, who empowered ICE raids, and who turned hatred into policy.

And what did the Dodgers do? They smiled. They posed. They legitimized a man who stoked fear in the very communities that made this franchise great.

Yes, Jackie Robinson broke barriers. Sandy Koufax stood tall. Fernando Valenzuela gave generations of Chicano fans someone to believe in.

But what do we stand for now?

Because it seems like the current franchise is more interested in tax loopholes, shady gondola deals and political photo ops than in standing with the people of East L.A., Boyle Heights, South Central, or Pacoima.

Let’s not forget: Dodger Stadium was built on land seized from Latino families in Chavez Ravine. And now, decades later, we still pay $40 just to park on stolen land. And the McCourts, the very same McCourts who nearly ruined the team once, want to profit again, pushing a gondola project no one asked for while real public transit is ignored.

The cycle continues: displacement, profit, erasure, repeat.

I never thought I’d say it, but I’m breaking up with the Dodgers.

To the real fans, the ones who tear up when they hear Vin Scully’s voice or still wear their old Fernando jerseys, this is for you.

We kept the flame alive through the O’Malley years, the McCourt chaos, and now the Guggenheim greed. But the flame is dying, not because we stopped loving the Dodgers, but because they stopped loving us back.

This isn’t just about baseball anymore. It’s about dignity. It’s about history. It’s about truth.

If you still care, speak up. Ask questions. Push back. Demand that this team reflect the values of the city it claims to represent.

Let’s stop being passive spectators. Let’s be the conscience of this franchise.

Maybe one day, the Dodgers will deserve our love again, not just through walk-offs and title runs, but by walking the talk.

Until then, I’ll be watching from home. Waiting for the day Dodger Blue remembers who really bleeds for them.

Until then, wake me up when the nightmare is over.