Baseball and a Dodger Dog … or six

I went to watch the St. Louis Cardinals play the Los Angeles Dodgers the other night with baseball a distant thought, for I had forged through apocalyptic rush-hour traffic to take a seat in the all-you-can-eat right field pavilion at Dodger Stadium.

Absorb those words again, my friends:

The all-you-can-eat right field pavilion.

Somebody in the Dodgers organization with a deep and cynical understanding of these United States conceived this can’t-miss scheme. You turn the sorriest seats into a smorgasbord and – bang! – you have a sold-out section of fat and happy fans.

It had been an $8 bleacher seat; now, for $35 in advance or $40 on game day, the ticket includes everything you can eat. Spago, it ain’t: You have a choice of hot dogs, nachos, popcorn, peanuts, soft drinks and bottled water. Depending on your appetite, it’s either the bargain of the century or the blunder of the century.

I have an all-star appetite, so I arrived just before 6 o’clock for a 7:10 p.m. game.

There were six serving areas; I figured I’d go to a different concession stand each time to be less conspicuous in my consumption.

I started slowly, with two Dodger dogs and a Diet Coke.

A few minutes later, I got some nachos, a bag of peanuts and another Diet Coke.

I took a short respite, then got two more Dodger dogs, a bag of popcorn and a third Diet Coke.

It was only 7:03 and I already had exceeded my RDA – recommended dietary allowance – until the end of the month. In fact, by the start of the game, I was too bloated to sing the National Anthem or boo Tony La Russa.

But I felt a sense of peace and harmony as never before, for there is nothing better than eating salted, roasted-in-the-shell peanuts in a cool breeze on a spring evening with the full knowledge that endless bags of more free peanuts are just a few steps away.

This is why people come to America, this is why people stay in America.

(Column Intermission: “Beckham Fever” is contagious. This month, MLS games have attracted throngs of 7,426 in Kansas City, 7,802 in New York and 9,508 in New England. One fan in Houston even thought she sighted David Beckham, but it just turned out to be a good-looking grad student from Rice wearing a Subway sandwich board.)

The only problem, comfort-wise, was that the Cardinals were ahead, 8-0, inside of an hour. If the beer were free, we all would’ve been looped by the third inning.

I wanted to feel guilty about my gastronomical excess – I had my fifth hot dog in the fifth inning – but all around me, there was a belly-or-bust mentality. Families loaded up like they were about to cross the Mohave Desert by foot. Others stuffed their pockets as if they were preparing for the next Cuban missile crisis.

These were bleacher seats where – dare I say – we felt a sense of superiority. Sure, we were in the shadow of the swank Dodger Stadium Club, where big money, beauty and Botox converged behind enclosed glass. But so what? They had tablecloths and silverware, we had a bigger buffet than Caesar at Caesar’s Palace.

I got some nachos in the sixth inning because, well, it had been a couple of hours since I had gotten some nachos.

Alas, the all-you-can-eat pavilion does stop serving, after the seventh inning. Thus, while the rest of the 35,000-plus in attendance enjoyed the seventh-inning stretch, us bleacher brunchers embarked on the seventh-inning sprint. It was like last call at a bar – one last, mad rush for a Dodger dog or two.

Note: I would reveal my final, total intake of food and beverage, but I am technically still on the singles market and don’t want to scare away any last-minute suitors.

Anyway, I left Dodger Stadium a little early, stuffing two bags of peanuts into my jacket for the ride home with Vin Scully. I felt full, fit and fulfilled. And I’m glad I wasn’t around when the game ended; watching Tony La Russa win gives me indigestion.

Ask The Slouch

Q. Why would Floyd Landis’ business manager try to blackmail Greg LeMond in regard to LeMond being sexually abused as a child? (Todd Bauer; Racine, Wis.)

A. It might’ve been part of a script for a new ABC reality show.

Q. I heard on ESPN that Vince Young is on the hot seat in Tennessee in just his second year in the NFL. Were you ever on the hot seat this quick in any of your marriages? (Terry Ziegler; Tacoma)

A. Hot seat? What hot seat? My second ex-wife had me standing during our entire honeymoon.

Q. When the bloom falls off the poker craze, how long will it take you to get into shape to slide in the PBA booth? (Randy Jaster; Houston)

A. Every time I drive through Ohio – and occasionally New Jersey – I dream of broadcasting bowling on television.

Q. Is it true that half the teams in the National League now flash signs in Spanish? (Bob Cohn; South Euclid, Ohio)

A. Pay the man, Shirley.