If you've evah wondahed why something feels off to you when you watch a Ken Burns piece on baseball but can't quite ennunciate it, then commit this line to memory:
"Boring New Yorkers who know squat-all about baseball will be trying to bum me out about the Dodgers and Giants when I’m on my deathbed, wrapping it all up in a bow of insufferable and inaccurate nostalgia that attempts to validate their mildly sad junior high school days by impugning the greatest-ever sport’s greatest-ever players: i.e., the ones playing right the hell now."
Absolutely. My eyes always glass ovah when some ol curmudgeon stahts bloviating about how he quit baseball forevah, forevah!, when the (insert Giants or Dodgahs) left New York.
Seriously. It's like, dude, shut your livah spotted bagel hole already.
To stop liking baseball because the Giants or Dodgahs moved to the West Coast is like no longah liking beauty moles and nice tits aftah Marilyn Monroe died.