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Your Guide To The Los Angeles Dodger Brian Wilson

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Brian Wilson. Not a Giant. Weird!

But wait, it gets better, or worse, or both. We all theoretically understand that Wilson is a Dodger, the way we all theoretically understand that the global climate is increasing due to man-made factors -- right? -- but until ice falling from a melting glacier actually crushes your favorite uncle's hunting dog, it's sometimes hard to feel it deep down.

But you will feel it. Rim Fires, floods, 100-year storms, and perhaps as soon as 9.30 or 10pm tonight, Brian Wilson will take the mound. Or perhaps it will be tomorrow night, or perhaps the next. And you'll mouth the words, "What have we done?"

Or more pertinently, what can we do? Boo him? Of course you can, he's a Dodger. He made the choice. He could have been a Twin, or a Red Sock, or a Mudhen, I guess. He could have been a Giant, perhaps. We'll probably never know for sure what kind of discussions or non-discussions happened through front and back and side channels. But I think we can assume it didn't come down to Wilson either being a Dodger or a Safeway bagger at checkstand six. He had baseball options, and he chose the most disgusting one.

Be careful how you boo, though. Be sure. The beard is off-limits if there but for the grace of Sabes go you. In other words, if Wilson were back in black and orange and you were dusting off your "Fear the Beard" muscle shirt, you don't have much standing to mock the beard now. Same goes for the rest of his package. So to speak. The post-game arm-cross gesture, the tattoos, the variations-upon-a-mohawk, the smarmy quotes. Perhaps a few months' distance gave you a fresh take, and you were ready to sit on your hands for Wilson's first few appearances were he to return bayside. Perhaps your love required context, a winning atmosphere. Turns out it wasn't unconditional.

Then go ahead. Tell yourself you were ready to cut the cord anyway. Or, as we say in the bleachers, "Fuck that guy." Kind of like we in the bleachers accuse opposing left fielders of steroid use. Hey, that's a good one! Of course, anything goes in the bleachers, including -- and particularly -- lobotomized homerist hypocrisy. You're either with us or against us.

But away from the hoot and holler of the sporting arena, as you stare at your flat screen tonight, or tomorrow night, it gets a little more complicated. Is Brian Wilson truly against us? Do the last seven years mean exactly nothing? This series is the perfect chance to reflect and build your case for when the Dodgers come to town in a couple weeks. Study the bearded figure in blue. Watch his gestures, read his quotes (if he gives any). There's nothing much at stake right now; if he and his new team succeed, the Giants creep closer to a protected draft pick. If they don't succeed, well, Beat LA and all that. It's like one of those cooling-off periods the governor imposes upon labor unions threatening to strike. You don't have to come to a conclusion right away.

But if this silliness continues into next year, you'll have to make a decision. We all will. At a certain point, the world cannot turn back.

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Header photo courtesy of Flickr user eviltomthai under a Creative Commons license.