So, this story takes place in Venice Beach, California, somewhere between 1978 and 1981......

I’m a little vague on the details; I’m older now. But back then, I was a kid living in Venice with my mom, and we had a roommate. She lived with us in a small, two-bedroom apartment. I don’t remember the street name, but there was a tiny playground right behind our place. We were on the lower level, so it kind of felt like a house to me, though I’d only ever lived in apartments.

Anyway, I’d go out to the backyard, outside the gate, and across the little road was this small cemented park. It had swings and half a basketball net, with the rim about 8 feet high. I think that was all that was there. To the left was a small store, round-shaped, right by the marina. We were on the edge of Venice Beach, near the marina.

I’d go there all the time, shooting hoops and reenacting Celtics-Lakers games. It’s just what I liked to do. I was always by myself. But I did meet this little kid from the neighborhood. I can’t remember his name, but we used to hang out. Looking back now, I realize his family was well-known. They used to call me "the local white boy," but it was all in good fun. They were nice to me—good memories.

So, that’s where I was living, around 1978 to 1981, and it was the World Series with the Dodgers and Yankees. My mom had a boyfriend named Steve, from New York. He’d watch the games with us, and my mom was a Dodgers fan, so they’d argue back and forth. I was about 9 or 10, born and raised in L.A., so I was kind of a Dodgers fan too. My mom rooting for them made sense, and my friends were Dodgers fans too—Dodger blue everywhere.

Then I was at my grandfather’s house, watching a game together, like we always did. He lived in Santa Ana by a big golf course. He asked me why I was rooting for the Dodgers, and I told him, "Well, I live here, right? We’re Dodger fans, right, Grandpa?" And he said, "No, I’m a Yankee fan. I spent my young adult years in New York before I moved out here." He shared how he came over from the East Coast, his love for Joe DiMaggio, and his story. That day, I became a Yankee fan. At that point, what was I going to do?

So, I set aside my Dodger loyalty, except for my friends, and became a Yankee fan. Now, 43 years later, I finally get to see the series again, and I’m excited. The history of this series is unbelievable. The players I grew up with—Billy Martin was the manager, Goose Gossage, Ron Guidry, Willie Randolph, Dave Righetti, Reggie Jackson, Mr. October. My first baseball bat was a Reggie Jackson from Toys R Us, bought by my grandmother.

The Dodgers were stacked too: Steve Howe, Dusty Baker, Steve Garvey, Pedro Guerrero. Fernando Valenzuela, God rest his soul. Tommy Lasorda, what a manager. That rivalry was intense. Goose Gossage hitting Ron Cey in the forehead—crazy moments. After the series, we moved from Venice Beach to Santa Monica, near the airport. I went to McKinley Elementary, then we moved again, to Stanford Avenue. Things got different for me after that.

One of my favorite memories there was using the wall outside Dino’s Bar as my own baseball field, next to a Mercedes dealership on Santa Monica Boulevard. Sometimes, in the city, it’s hard to get a bunch of kids together, or things are just different. So I’d play baseball on this wall by myself. I had rules, like "over the line." Certain spots were doubles or triples, depending on where the ball hit. I’d throw it really hard to ricochet off the wall and try to get it over the fence behind me, then leap in the air, trying to catch it at the fence. I’d play a whole game there, while the guys in the garage worked on cars and watched me. The people in the bar always had things to say too. Later, Dino’s became an Irish pub—not really my scene, but still, those days were fun.

I’d holler out names like Rick Monday of the Dodgers, thinking of that time he saved the American flag from being burned. Another thing about living on Stanford was when my mom got me into the Boys Club, now probably the Boys & Girls Club. Back then, it was just down the street, maybe two blocks from the beach, and they would take me to Dodger games all the time. I practically grew up in Dodger Stadium. From hanging out near the home run area, talking to pitchers by the bathrooms, to running around on the upper levels, trying to catch the elevators down—it was crazy, man. Most of the time, we didn’t even watch the game. We’d roam around, trying to meet people and hang out. The Boys Club had a rule: you had to sit for the first two innings, but then you could wander as long as you were back by the 7th inning. So for those five innings, my friends and I just ran wild around Dodger Stadium.

One time, I was wearing Vans, and as we were goofing around, kickboxing, my shoe flew off the edge, hit the Channel 4 truck, and I never got it back. We probably ran off because we were scared, but it was funny. Dodger Stadium was an amazing place. Loved the Dodger Dogs. I’d root for the Dodgers for my friends but my loyalty to the Yankees stayed strong, tied to my grandfather. The Yankees, just like my other favorite team, the Raiders, have been this bond to my past and to my grandfather, Edmund Tagliaferri. I’m very proud of him.

Tonight, I’m about to watch the World Series with everything set up: my Joe DiMaggio jersey, an old Yankees hat that’s barely hanging on, my old all-star jacket with our last name, some Twinkies, and a couple of drinks for my grandfather. My wife and a couple of my kids might join me—it’s exciting.

I hope everyone enjoys the World Series as much as I will. I want the Yankees to win, but if the Dodgers pull it off, I know how happy people in L.A. will be. I’ll still be cheering for the Yankees, though, watching with my grandfather in spirit. I’m thankful to the universe for letting me see this again 43 years later. Baseball has given me so many memories, and I’m grateful for the Yankees, Dodgers, and all the greatness that makes this game so special. Peace.