Alright, folks, listen up! It’s kinda sad. Once upon a time, Dodger games were like the mecca for families, a chill hangout without burning a hole in your pocket. Thanks, Shaikin, for throwing light on this wallet-busting drama. But now? It’s like you gotta rob a bank just to get a decent spot in the stands without selling your firstborn.
I’ve got Dodger blue running through my veins, for sure! But man, the prices are a punch to the gut. Parking alone feels like I’m donating to some secret millionaire parking fund. Yeah, yeah, basic economics 101—supply, demand, yada yada. As long as Dodger Stadium packs ‘em in, prices ain’t budging.
Now, on another note, there’s Trump, yapping about prices. He ain’t wrong, but, uh, isn’t he the one yanking the economy’s chain, fiddling with the market and all that jazz? Makes going to a game even tougher.
Over in Valley Village, Jim’s got a point. Profits over people, that’s the Dodgers’ game plan. Forget your unforgettable experiences, just line the pockets. Money talks, am I right?
Then there’s Murray. Poor guy just wants to enjoy a game without remortgaging his house. Sixteen bucks at Angel Stadium, no bleachers? Sign him up. Dodger Stadium is a different beast altogether.
Let’s throw some politics into the mix, ’cause why not? Blue state blues, contrasting visions. Kasten’s Dodgers tossing out tickets like candy to “deserving communities” sounds noble, but doesn’t help your average Joe from taking his kids out for the night without selling an arm and a leg. Can you feel the irony? Trump gets it, hammers it home, and Kasten’s crew seems oblivious.
Bottom line: Dodger magic, priced out of reach for the fams that built its legacy. Feels like a hometown heartbreak saga. Dodgers, we love ya, but can you throw us a bone here?
