A Valley Viewpoint Narrative
There’s a funny thing about America’s great celebrations. We love the roar of triumph, the confetti, the civic pride swelling in the chest when a hometown team finally brings it home. The Dodgers did just that — a World Series crown, earned over seven games, the kind of Hollywood ending Los Angeles lives for.
And what did some in that same city do with that moment?
They burned it.
Not in memory — in literal flames.
Instead of champagne popping and kids on shoulders waving blue towels, we got streets overrun, buses torched, fireworks fired at police officers, and tear gas billowing through downtown like a war-zone training exercise. Officers hit with explosives, crowds surging, storefronts rattled. The city didn’t watch a celebration that spilled over — it watched pride descend into a tantrum.
Once again, the script writes itself:
Victory on the field, chaos in the streets.
We always hear the excuses:
It’s just passionate fans.
It’s youthful energy.
It’s a few bad apples.
Funny — those “few bad apples” always seem to show up right on cue when the sun goes down and accountability is off the clock. We manage to hold parades in cities across America without turning downtown into a demolition derby — yet somehow, in moments where civic pride should be at its highest, we see the worst instincts crawl out.
Here’s a radical idea:
If your team wins and you respond by looting, lighting fires, and attacking cops, you’re not a fan — you’re a vandal with a foam finger.
LAPD officers didn’t go out last night looking for a fight. They went out hoping to keep the peace while neighbors celebrated something joyful. But when fireworks become weapons and beer bottles become projectiles, police don’t have the luxury of waiting for someone’s moral compass to kick in. Tear gas isn’t a party trick — it’s a last resort.
To the 99% of fans who celebrated with class: thank you. You represent what sports are supposed to be about — community, pride, memory. Kids seeing their heroes delivered glory, not seeing their city set on fire.
But to the street-riot hobbyists treating a World Series like an excuse to cosplay “The Purge” — ask yourself this:
If you destroy the city that hosts your triumph, did you really win anything at all?
The Dodgers earned their glory.
Los Angeles deserved a victory lap.
And instead, a loud, reckless minority handed the headlines to chaos instead of champions.
Next time, let’s remember:
A win is for lifting each other up — not tearing the city down.
And if you can’t tell the difference between celebration and destruction?
Maybe the problem isn’t the game.
It’s the team you play for up here — in the head and in the heart.
The Valley Viewpoint 