Work Text:
Steve straightened out his stained Dodgers jersey before digging through his things to find his baseball glove. He practically tore apart his room in search of the glove. Every drawer had been opened, emptied, and search. He had crawled under almost every piece of furniture in the room. He had never gone to a game without it and didn’t plan on starting a new tradition in that vein.
He silently cursed at himself for keeping everything such a mess. Putting a hand on top of his head, he racked his brain as to where he could have left it the last time he used it. He was so deep in thought that he hadn’t heard Bucky come into the room.
“C’mon, punk! At this rate we won’t make it to the first pitch of next game,” Bucky said.
“Calm down; I can’t find my glove.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, “Did you look behind your dresser?”
“No, but I doubt it’ll be–“ Steve sighed as he reached behind the dresser and found the glove.
Bucky grinned, and Steve suppressed a smile as he made his way over to him. They walked out of his room to leave for the game. Steve’s mother gave them each a kiss on the cheek, warning them to ‘Be safe!’ They promised they would, running out of the apartment before she could get on them for the fight they–or rather Steve – got into at the last Dodgers game they went to.
The way Steve viewed it, he wouldn’t have gotten into the fight if Giants fans didn’t have such big mouths. Naturally, Bucky had to jump in and help when things started getting bad. The fight overall resulted in the two of them returning to the Rogers’ residence bloodied and bruised, much to the horror of Steve’s mother.
The game Steve and Bucky were headed to, however, was a Dodgers versus Yankees game. A strong rivalry, but not near the one the Dodgers and Giants had. Regardless, Steve held a fierce disdain for both teams, mainly because they weren’t the Dodgers. Sure, the Dodgers weren’t the best team in the league, but any Brooklynite would be damned if they didn’t defend the team to the grave, Steve and Bucky included.
Steve and Bucky’s commute from Brooklyn Heights to Ebbets Field in Flatbush went relatively quick, mainly because the street trolleys were actually on schedule that day. The line at the ticket booth was moving speedily, much to their relief. They had spent countless summer days waiting in the heat for tickets to see the Dodgers play. They spoke with some fellow Dodgers fans about the season and laughed about the prospect of the Dodgers making it to the 1935 World Series.
After getting their tickets, Steve and Bucky made their way to their seats. They weren’t the best in the field, but they were still able to see everything they needed to. They spotted the guy who usually sells Cracker Jacks and waved him over, buying a bag each. Steve opened his bag right away, but Bucky, as usual, was waiting until the game began to open his.
Minutes later, the teams walked onto the field, and the crowd was on their feet. After the anthem, about half of the crowd sat down, and the rest, including Steve and Bucky, watched the first pitch with bated breath.
What started off with the Dodgers leading 3-2 for three innings eventually turned into a disappointing game. Not that it was much of a surprise, the Dodgers didn’t have a reputation for being all that good. Bucky wanted to leave before things got terrible, but he knew that not even god could get Steve out of Ebbets Field before the game was over. Steve ate maybe half of his bag of Cracker Jacks, setting it aside to become more engrossed in the game. Sighing, Bucky decided to finish the bag himself.
The eighth inning came and went, and by the top of the ninth, the Dodgers were losing to the Yankees, 7-3. People had begun to clear out the stands, having lost hope for the Dodgers well into the sixth inning. Bucky sighed, leaning on his hand as he forced himself to watch the rest of the game. Steve still sat on the edge of his seat, hoping for some kind of miracle to bring the Dodgers back from losing terribly to the Yankees.
“God, at this point I’m considering rootin’ for the Yankees,” Bucky said.
“Like hell I’d ever root for the Yankees,” Steve grumbled, narrowing his eyes at the Yankee at bat.
The bat cracked against the baseball, which went flying out of the field. Bucky groaned, covering his eyes with his hands.
“It’s a massacre, Steve. Do we really have to stay and watch this?”
“Yes.”
Bucky pulled the bill of his baseball cap over his eyes, slouching in his seat. Steve, however, kept his attention on the game as if it were tied. The bottom of the ninth inning soon began, and Steve was holding out for his team. Every Dodger that went up to bat struck out, and the game ended on that sour note.
Steve sighed as he gathered his things, shaking Bucky’s shoulder a bit to get his attention. Bucky raised his cap and could tell by the look on Steve’s face that the Dodgers hadn’t performed some kind of miracle.
The two got up and began exiting the stadium, disappointed but loyal as ever. Several proud Yankees fans left the stadium cheering, while Steve, Bucky, and the other Dodgers fans in their midst shouted, “Wait ‘til next year!”
Steve and Bucky trudged over to the trolley stop. It was obvious the trolley was running off schedule at this point, so they sat on the curb. Bucky took off his baseball cap and stared at the Dodgers symbol on the front of it.
“At least they’re consistently terrible,” he said, earning a laugh from Steve.
Bonus:
Steve turned on his TV, reading a Post-It note containing instructions on how to use the channel guide to find what to watch. He scrolled past dozens of uninteresting titles until he found ‘Yankees v. Dodgers @ Yankee Stadium.’ He smiled, finally something familiar. Sitting down, he selected the channel.
“And the Los Angeles Dodgers lead 3-1 in the bottom of the fourth!” the announcer proclaimed.
Steve furrowed his eyebrows, leaning in a bit. He could have sworn he misheard something. The announcer couldn’t have said Los Angeles. That was absolutely –
“Los Angeles has really picked up the slack this season, and it’s definitely showing in this game.”
“No,” Steve whispered. “No. Los Angeles?”
He was sure this was the culmination of the horrible dream that was the supposed 21st century. He would wake up any second to find his beloved Dodgers in Brooklyn, where they belong. The more he waited, however, the more he heard the announcer mention ‘Los Angeles.’
In a worried daze, he ran over to his computer and carefully typed in ‘Brooklyn Dodgers.’ The first link to appear was a Wikipedia entry on the team. He clicked the link, scanning the page for what the hell had happened to his team. Upon reading, he found that they moved to Los Angeles in 1957 when their owner sought a more lucrative real estate opportunity in LA.
Steve leaned back, his hands on his forehead. His shock quickly turned to outrage. He didn’t know how anyone could desecrate a Brooklyn institution by moving it to Los Angeles. After all, Brooklyn was the reason why the team was called the Dodgers in the first place.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to read the rest of the article. The Dodgers hadn’t played in Brooklyn in nearly fifty years. Not only that, Ebbets Field, his home away from home, had been demolished in 1960. Heartbroken, he had a moment of silence for the loss of what he honestly considered a loved one.
After his moment of mourning, Steve typed ‘New York baseball teams,’ desperately searching for some ray of light from Google. His search produced two results: New York Yankees and New York Mets. Reluctantly, Steve clicked the link to the Mets’ Wikipedia article. Like hell he’d ever root for the Yankees.