Los Angeles Dodgers vs. San Diego Padres
Congressional fuckers say it’s ‘roids, but schlong swinging is p.u.re beisbol like spikes-up homophobia and back-turned racism, and the Dodgers, led by frathauze prez Jim Tracey, man up with the worst of ’em. That the LAD persist in their back-page chest-thumps while playing bananarama “smartball” (a term those London post-feminists would ovulate all over) is most peculiar — isn’t flypaper bunting the sissy-est move of all? The semantics of the “sac-out” come way-too-clear (but Jeff Kent can wash my car anytime). The Pads play true smartball, even if Brian Giles is MLB’s Scissor Sisters — no love at (or for) home, and the Elton histrionics tire like second encores. But the Dodgers are a pianoman car-crash waiting to happen. B

Oakland A’s vs. Seattle Mariners
When Kurt wore Raincoats T’s on eMpTyV, it was like alt-rock’s dub history coming to life. And when the Mariners lose 100 games this year, it’s like the Seattle Pilots never left. In Seattle, they never forget. Lost in the Moneyball hype was this fact: the A’s are simply the Raiders, and Beane is Al Davis with a bouffant ‘do: air it out, bite and claw for every inch, watch the castoffs gladiate for PT. But the Nonathletics’ anti-stances bore like backpackers — fuck who you aren’t, be who you are. This one should be played in cardigans. D

Robert Christgau, the Dean of American Rock Criticism, writes for the Village Voice.