It's a rare mid-week day game for the Los Angeles Dodgers, the finale of a brief two-game home stand against the hapless Milwaukee Brewers. Surveying the scene from the very top of the upper deck, just where the press gate is located, I find myself thinking back to the last sunshine-blessed affair I saw here.

The Dodgers were beginning a playoff series against the Cincinnati Reds. Television demanded a mid-afternoon start. But the date was October 4, 1995, just 24 hours after a Downtown jury had acquitted O.J. Simpson of a double murder in Brentwood.

Some 10,000 seats went begging, unheard of for post-season play, apparently because fans were afraid to risk contact with a public whose values they could no longer trust. Bizarre things began to occur. Someone dressed like Judge Lance Ito appeared on the lower deck. At one point the crowd, tense and preoccupied, let loose with its loudest cheer: "Guilty! Guilty!"

The spiritless Dodgers lost 7-2. Amid the eerie disquiet, I put my arm around my daughter, then an eight-year-old baseball junkie. I remember wondering if it was time to leave Los Angeles.

But I am still here a year later, at another Dodger home game. But no such negativity infects today's crowd.

Expense account boxes near home plate and the dugouts, normally the most sought-after of places, are all but deserted. The see-and-be-seen set is trapped at work. Instead, die-hard Dodger rooters and day camp kids in neon T-shirts crowd the nosebleed seats and outfield pavilions.

"C'mon, big blue--turn two!" implores a guy carrying an unlit cigar and a crumpled newspaper as the Brewers somehow get a man on base. "Gary! Gary!" chant the summer campers in the outfield after the Dodger's Sheffield launches a homer in their direction. The stadium is starting to have that magical inside-out feel to it.

Even the Dodgers seem different. After fielding a tough, gritty crew in 1988 that won a World Series, during the mid-1990s the team sank into a morass of corporate colorlessness. Mediocre, even heartless, performances piled up.

Now there are signs of life. Led by the miraculous Paul LoDuca, the Dodgers are overcoming injuries and filling holes thanks to once overlooked players intent on performing like all-stars.

LoDuca treats the appreciative fans to an amazing display -- three hits, including two doubles. But it's his defense that really sparkles. Three times, the diminutive catcher cuts down would-be base-stealers, twice to end innings and cut off potentially troublesome Brewer rallies. He delivers the ball to second base so fast that the runners actually quit before sliding into the bag.

Even chronically grumpy veterans like Gary Sheffield are loose and productive. The Dodger outfielder, who earlier in the year sparked a torrent of criticism when he demanded a trade and later accused baseball of racism, seems energized by the campers. Perhaps he likes kids. He rewards their chants by clubbing a second home run on the first pitch he sees, this time to deep center field.

"Back to back!" exclaims a dad with two small kids, sitting in the far reaches of the middle deck. We bump fists in celebration of the reborn team.

It's the fourth inning that really tests the new Dodger resiliency. Taking advantage of slow velocity knuckle balls that just don't flutter enough, the Brewers score four runs and mount a 4-3 lead. Everyone waits to see how the Dodgers will respond.

Of course, the Brewers are hardly a test of toughness. They've lost 17 of their last 22 games. "On a brighter note," struggles the team's media guide, "the Brewers have won two of their last four on the road." Despite such obvious ineptitude, in recent years the Dodgers all too frequently failed to beat such losers.

Not today. The blue crew come roaring back in the bottom of the inning with three runs, and never again fall behind. Suddenly the Dodgers don't disappoint but actually inspire.

During the rally, an obvious group of counselors calls to a clump of well-scrubbed Pacific Palisades campers: time to go home. The children merrily scamper over the seats, grab the last of their hotdogs and cotton candy, and march out the gates en masse.

A few older fans spread out in the block of seats the kids leave behind. None of the ushers mind. Filled with sunshine and a cooling sea breeze, Dodger stadium feels relaxed and confident. The way it was always meant to be.