Thank you, L.A. sports teams, for saving me during the worst year

This was the last story I wrote before everything changed.

It was January 5, 2025, and I marveled at the Rams' courage in their shorthanded loss to the Seattle Seahawks.

“It was strange” I wrote. “It was wild.”

I was so witty. I was so wrong.

Two days later I was running for my life, driving through the narrow streets of Altadena with a fireball behind me and a nightmarish future unfolds on the smoky streets upcoming.

It was strange and wild.

The year 2025 was more turbulent than any silly football match and the exhausting metaphors that came with it. It was a year that knocked me off my feet, tearing me away from many of the things that had once held me together, leaving me afloat in a sea of ​​guilt, despair and utter uncertainty.

Today, I have a house but no home. My days are filled with the honking and growling of bulldozers. My nights are shrouded in the silence of emptiness. What was once one of Los Angeles' best-kept secrets has become a veritable ghost town: vast empty spaces populated by howling coyotes and prowling bears.

And I'm one of the lucky ones.

Much has changed in the 12 months since the Eton fire spared my home, but destroyed my Altadena neighborhood. I say a daily prayer of thanksgiving that I did not endure the horror 19 people who died and thousands of others who lost their homes. I am incredibly lucky to live in what is left behind.

But there is practically nothing left. Venerable, well-kept houses were replaced by vacant lots overgrown with weeds. Familiar local businesses are now empty parking lots. New construction can be seen from time to time, but much more common are “For Sale” signs that have seemingly been there for months.

After living in the limbo of hotels and Airbnbs for two months while my home was renovated, I was lucky enough to be back to four walls and running water, but I was wracked with guilt for having a front-row seat to the pain of many who had lost everything. I was spared, but no one in Los Angeles was spared, and it was only in the middle of the year that I noticed a constant light from the strangest source.

Every night I looked Dodgers. At least once every couple of weeks I visited Sparks game with my daughter, MC. Soon there will be Saturdays featuring one of our college football teams, then Sundays with the NFL, and then baseball playoffs leading to crazy game 7 and transforms into an annual Lakers winter drama.

By the last weeks of December, I realized that one thing had always kept my spirit strong, perhaps the same thing that had helped our city survive challenges far greater than mine.

Sport.

The ups, the downs, the drama, the despair – it was all there when there was nothing, there was a feeling that even though everything had passed, you still belonged to something.

From Dodgers fun To Laker despairfrom USC Football Disappointment To The Greatness of UCLA Women's Basketballsport was the bright wallpaper in Southland's year of darkness.

It was sport that kept me going, kept me grounded, and somehow made me believe.

In the worst year of my life, it was sport that saved me.

The path to normal life began two weeks after Eton fireas I left my temporary hotel room to attend the press conference for the Dodgers' latest Japanese import, Rocky Sasaki.

“Invincible”, I wrote about the updated team compositiona word that was so comforting at a time when everything in life seemed fragile.

After the press conference, I returned to the hotel, wrote my story, like thousands of others in my situation, packed my things and moved to another hotel.

Shortly thereafter, late one evening, I was awakened by news of The Lakers acquired Luka Doncic. I wrote this column in a rented house, preparing to move to yet another new place. My clothes were in a plastic bag. My house was still in ruins. At least in Doncic. there was hope.

A few days later, I attended Doncic's press conference, asked a question, and Doncic asked me to repeat it. It turns out it wasn't a language barrier, but a sound barrier. I spoke too quietly. It was then that I noticed that the trauma from the fire was making my Parkinson's disease worse, which was affecting my voice, one of many symptoms that would later lead me to acknowledgment of my condition in a difficult midsummer column.

Yes, it was a hell of a year.

The good news returned in early March when it was announced that the Dodgers made Dave Roberts the richest manager in baseball, giving him a new four-year contract worth $32.4 million. As luck would have it, which hasn't stopped me from bragging about it ever since, 10 years ago I was the first to publicly push for Roberts' hiring. In such uncertain times in our city, Roberts has become a new Tommy Lasordaand his presence turned into a necessary smile.

In early April, I wrote a column I never thought I'd write – Bronny James went from circus performer to employee. I also wrote a column that I might wish I hadn't written so soon, JJ Redick has found success with the Lakers.

By then, writing about the Lakers' conflicts had become a refreshing respite from fighting fires. We returned to the house, but were we safe? Have we tested enough for toxins?? And how can we look our neighbor in the eye when she comes to inspect the huge empty scar where her house used to be?

At the end of May I sadly said goodbye to my second family when I wrote about the end of my 22-year run on ESPN's hit series “Around the Horn.” game show. This isn't the first time in 2025 that a column has brought me to tears. watch the video right after the fire. I agree, I spent a year showing so much emotion to someone so lucky. But I guess I wasn't alone.

Two weeks later I wrote about my new family: group of boxers I joined in the fight against Parkinson's disease. This was the hardest column I've ever written because I was admitting something I had refused to admit for five years. But the fire seemed to ignite the disease, and I could no longer hide it.

The year continued with columns about Clayton Kershaw, soon to retire, greatest Dodger pitcher with the best opening song. Listening to “We Are Young” as he took the mound continually gave me hope that, despite the betrayals of the summer that marked escalation of these crazy ICE raidswe can continue to strive for rebirth.

This is what sport has consistently provided in 2025: hope that, from the wreckage, we can all fly again.

I expressed this hope in Rams preview column that predicted they would go to the Super Bowl. I later wrote a Rams column predicting they would actually win the Super Bowl. I stand by my stories.

It all led to a series of Dodger playoff columns that hopefully reflected the building energy of a passionate city. After them Game 7 win over Toronto Blue JaysI was so exhausted that I hyperventilated for about an hour.

“Eventually, they not only ran back, but they drove him back, hit him back, and then finally literally brought him back.” I wrote.

In retrospect, these words could have been written not only about the team, but also about a city that resists, remains strong, the results of its struggle reflecting the Dodgers' successive championships, overcoming despair, from struggle to strength.

In 2025, sports showed me that life could get better, life would be better, that if we hung in there long enough, we could all hit a Miggy Ro homer, catch Andy Pages, and stay young forever.

And so I welcome 2026 with a warm and hopeful welcome.

Let's.