Game 6: Dr. Steve Lombardo - Rice Crispy Cheese Basketball Chips

A couple years before he died, I found out my grandpa thought I was Puerto Rican. I don’t remember the exact context. I was 15 and we were watching TV together like we did every Sunday afternoon. All I know is that I mentioned something about being Mexican. “But you’re Puerto Rican,” he replied in detached confusion. I sputtered out a correction and his attention went back to the game, but I sat there in a panic. Had I been mishearing things my whole life? Was I actually a proud Boricua?

No, of course not. 

I knew I was Mexican because my dad is Mexican-American and his mother is from Mexico and we ate Mexican food in the Mexican neighborhoods (Echo Park, Highland Park, Frogtown, Glassell Park) where he’s lived since moving to L.A. as a teen. My Mexican heritage was a frequent topic he drilled into me since he made Mexican folk art and I was a white boy with freckles and a mop of curly hair being raised by a white woman, albeit in a Mexican neighborhood in one of the most Mexican cities in the United States. But because this was my grandpa, the male authority figure I saw most frequently and whose rendering of masculinity (and mustache) I still copy to this day, I had doubts about my ethnicity for a week. He was the smartest person I knew, a gastrointestinal doctor whose “hobby” of master’s degree-level knowledge of history and politics and current events instilled in me a belief that if you weren’t well-read on these topics, then you really didn’t know shit. Another belief he indoctrinated me with was a love for the Los Angeles Dodgers. 

Dodger Stadium in 1962. Major renovations are happening right now for the 2020 All-Star Game.

These wasn’t just a fandom he glommed onto when he and my grandma moved to Los Angeles in the late 1950s. They were his employer. Like Dr. Steve Lombardo, who was the Showtime Lakers’ team physician under chief physician Dr. Bob Kerlan, Dr. Howard Goldstein was a doctor for one of L.A.’s new sports teams. Sort of. My grandpa was a stadium doctor at Dodger Stadium shortly after its 1962 opening. His role was to be on call in case there was an off-field medical emergency. So basically, he got to see games for free.

While he didn’t work with the players, he did tell me about seeing Sandy Koufax getting steroid injections into his arthritic left elbow, a diagnosis by Dr. Kerlan that would be career-ending. He said that the person who injected Sandy did so improperly, chipping off pieces of bone in the process. I believe this story because it came out of his mouth, but have no idea if it’s true. From his storytelling, that medical trainer could’ve been any of the American Airlines customer service reps or Beverly Hills drivers who were on the other end of his signature brand of curt dismissiveness. I inherited his testy stubbornness, our worst personality trait, along with a lifelong devotion to the Dodgers. Lately, as each October begins and ends like a horror movie with beats that are mapped into my conscious, they’ve begun to meld together.

My grandpa also worked for the UCLA men's basketball team during the height of John Wooden’s dominance. He remained a diehard fan until his death, getting to see one last run of Bruins dominance thanks to the likes of Russell Westbrook, Kevin Love, and Jewish basketball legend Jordan Farmar. He even met Aaron Afflalo, who was caring for a sick relative, during a chemotherapy session. But one team he was not a fan of was the Los Angeles Lakers, or professional basketball in general. I like to joke that guys who like NCAA basketball and hate the clearly superior NBA (“they don’t even play defense!”) have a giant blaring neon warning sign above them that says I HAVE THOUGHTS ABOUT THOSE YOUNG BLACK BOYS WITH THEIR BAGGY PANTS. But despite not knowing his grandson’s ethnicity, this wasn’t the case. My grandpa couldn’t stand 99% of people, regardless of race, but turned into a big softy for his grandchildren, most of whom are not white. His preference of of college ball was likely rooted in two facts: 1. College ball was a better product than the NBA for most of his life. 2. His stubborn nature would let him admit he was wrong.

At our favorite Beverly Hills Italian restaurant, Trilusa.

When the Showtime Lakers won their first title in 1980, the decisive game 6 was broadcast by CBS on tape delay, so as not to bump reruns of Dallas and The Dukes of Hazzard. Magic and Bird would soon make the entire country fans of the flashier professional game, but not Papa Howie. Give him Washington State vs Arizona, 35 second shot clocks, and zone defense. When Kobe hit those game-tying and game-winning shots in the first round of the 2006 playoffs, I watched Vic the Brick and what felt like all 18,997 people inside Staples Center jump on The Black Mamba’s back in my grandpa’s living room. But for once, he wasn’t sitting in the recliner to my right. He was upstairs, either taking a nap or reading a 1,200 page history book. Being alone with his cancer was preferable to him than watching the Los Angeles Lakers.

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Rice Crispy Cheese Basketball Chips

1 stick butter, softened

½ teaspoon salt

½ teaspoon cayenne pepper

1 ¾ cup flour

2 cups Rice Krispies

½ pound Cracker Barrel Sharp Cheese, brought to room temperature

Cream butter and cheese. Add flour and pepper and mix. Add Rice Krispies and mix with hands until very dry and mealy. Press small scoops of mixture flat in the palm of your hand and arrange on cookie sheet. Bake 15 minutes at 350 degrees. Sprinkle paprika after baking.

Trash.

These were putrid. I know I’m barely into an 82 game season, but it’ll be hard for any recipe to rank worse than this one. There’s a decent amount of typos peppered throughout this cookbook, so the only explanation is they misprinted the amount of flour needed or left an ingredient off entirely. 

They were completely inedible and tasted like eating a cookie made out of the dust in my iPhone case… with a hint of cayenne pepper. I didn’t even bother taking photos of the cooked product because it looked almost identical before entering the oven. On the plus side, I now have ¾ of a box of Ralph’s brand Rice Krispies.