The Author Enjoys a Trip the Ballpark and the Local Nine Wins

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I must have a different brain from the one I had ten years ago. It used to be that I’d go to between fifteen and thirty baseball games a year. One season I went to thirty-nine. I went to my first of this year yesterday and as much as I enjoyed it doubt very much that I’ll got to more than two more between now and October. I’m more of a theater and museum guy now. I never miss a Cal football home game and catch most of Cal’s women’s basketball team’s home games. If I lived in anywhere near London I’d go to as many Arsenal home matches as possible. I still love baseball but a lot of that love is out of nostalgia. I’ve been going to games for sixty years. Early in life I mostly went with my Dad and that evokes special memories. Later in life I’ve taken a nephew and my oldest daughter. Of course I’ve gone to a lot of games with friends, some of whom are — as they say — no longer with us. I’ve also gone on dates to the ballpark, some with the woman to whom I am now blissfully married. But for the most part I feel more at home with the people I attend plays or the museum with than your typical baseball fan. Maybe this speaks to some kind of evolution on my part or simply a different way of viewing the world. Besides, attending a game has gotten expensive. This is equally true of all professional sports and many college athletics as well.

One thing that’s ruined baseball for me is my ever-increasing love of soccer (more properly known worldwide as football). Matches are compact, ending in just under two hours, excepting cup ties which can go into overtime. There’s also not the constant stopping and starting that has become so annoying to me in other sports. There are no time outs, no commercial breaks until half time. I also love the game itself more than any other. It’s beautiful to watch. Plus it’s the sport I was best at so I can better appreciate it. I love the English game with it’s grand traditions, fierce rivalries and storied players. I lost touch with baseball and although aI know of virtually everyone on the Giants roster, know few opposing players anymore. Time was when I could rattle off the starting line-ups for most major league teams as well many of the pitchers and a few of the reserves. I still love reading about the history of the game but today's version is less appealing.

Anyway…. 

It was chilly but sunny at the yard. I had good seats behind first base. They were far enough from the field (row 32) that I was in the shade so I didn’t have to deal with sunscreen or sunburn. I took a stroll all the way around the yard before the game and then again in the middle. Both walks were pleasant. The Giants won comfortably, 7-1 which guaranteed a good day. The win was especially nice because before hand I’d convinced myself that the locals were going to lose. After all they’d won four in a row (couldn't last, I reasoned) and they were facing their opponent’s best pitcher. The Giants’ hurler was a mediocre journeyman. Anticipating a loss makes a win all the sweeter.

But I wasn’t overly invested in the result. I needed a day out. I needed to get away from the writing desk and do something different.

It was a fun and relaxed atmosphere, especially after the Giants assumed a big lead. It’s nice to be around thousands of people who are in good spirits.

The park itself is beautiful, nestled right against the bay. Indeed it is considered by many the most beautiful baseball park in the majors. The views are spectacular. It was also unusual for me because I haven’t gone to a day game in probably over a decade. I’d forgotten just how nice the park looked swathed in sunshine. It is pastoral and bespeaks the old days.

I was blessed with a smooth, fast and easy commute home, returning to my abode exactly one hour after the game ended. Nothing can take the joy out of a pleasant visit to the ballpark like an uncomfortable commute with overly-crowed trains boarded after long waits. When the team has lost and you suffer a bad return trip it’s like double jeopardy.

The best part of coming home was chatting with the missus and telling her about my day and in turn hearing how much she’d enjoyed a bit of solitude. Was glad to have provided it.