81 Dates

I’m back in the ballpark with Eric after three days on a camping trip with no real wifi. I missed the return of Bruce Bochy with the Texas Rangers over the weekend, but I’m told that the Giants really didn’t make a huge deal about it. I tried to check in on the MLB.TV archive, but they didn’t show any of the pregame stuff – the lineup exchange or roster announcements – so I can’t really say. Instead of Bruce Bochy, I’m getting the Tampa Bay Rays, but there is a Bruce on offer tonight – it’s Bruce Lee Tribute night. I have to confess to not ever having been a big Bruce Lee fan; his time was a little before mine.

Eric is with me again tonight, his third or fourth appearance. Eric’s always an extra-value guest – it’s like having a copy of the Baseball Encyclopedia sitting next to me. Not that I ever really need statistics, but he’s always good for adding detail to stories I want to remember – when I’m thinking about great brawls in baseball history to tell Marty about and I mention Marichal v Roseboro and Harper v Strickland, Eric reminds me of Varitek v Rodriguez, which of course put me in mind of Martinez v Zimmer, and when I’m trying to think of fan rivalries in which the home team could be outnumbered by the visitors, Eric sees Oakland/San Francisco and raises me Mets/Yankees and Angels/Dodgers.

Even though I’m not a big Bruce Lee fan, I am a fan of swag, so i have signed up for the Bruce Lee Night T-shirt, for which I have to walk up to the third deck distribution center; on the way down the arcade, Eric points out that we can hear the water cannon in the brick towers gurgling and sloshing hollowly, waiting to be let loose for a Giants homer (as it happens, they will be waiting for a while). Once we get there, it turns out that there are only two shirts left, and they’re both smalls. My time in small shirts is well over, but it was a nice walk anyway, and we stop in to take a look out over the Bay from 324 or so, which is a pleasing panorama. I never tire of noticing that there is not a bad view in the place.

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I made sure to get there before the end of the fourth, which is when they close the window down, but it turns out we could have taken a long walk and had a better time than we have watching the game, which the Giants lose handily, 10-2. A couple of SF runs are briefly exciting, but there’s never really a point where the game is in any doubt for the Rays – 5-1 by the end of the fifth is as close as it gets (the final is 10-2), and I have to content myself with good company and a temperate night – after the weekend I spent camping in 100+ heat, an evening at 65 is no small blessing.

One thing Eric does not know, but which I guessed correctly, was how to pronounce this guy’s name: Osleivis Basabe. I don’t know if this makes sense, but I think it’s Os-lei-vis, not O-slei-vis.

What Did You Think of the Evening, Eric?

“I thoroughly enjoyed being together with you at the game this evening! Some of the many highlights we shared included meeting a diehard Giants fan who lives in Southern California and was sporting a Splash Hit hat. I was under the impression that the very small number of kayakers in McCovey Cove who have snagged a Splash Hit were awarded the hat as a welcome into the fraternity. When we asked the fan where he got the cap, he incredulously said that he found it in his family’s home! That is one incredible souvenir to come across, Giants supporter… nicely done. It was a thrill to listen to you speak with a retired Air Force service member, who happened to be standing behind our seats with his daughters, about a Cold War story that Russia stunned U.S. military personnel. You are so well versed on a wide variety of topics of discussion, and I appreciate your willingness to share your vast knowledge with me and anyone who is fortunate enough to stroll by Section 152. Traversing through the ballpark to reach the View Level was another high point of the evening, quite literally. You found one of the best views in Oracle Park by happenstance as we walked by a portal along the concourse, and the last time I was up there, the Mission Rock buildings were merely blueprints on paper. Time seems to go by quicker each day, yet the three-plus hours that I had the pleasure of joining you for made me realize just how much excitement and conversations can be packed into a limited time. Until the next opportunity to see you, I thank you for indulging my myriad of questions and ideas, my friend!“

• 1 October: Farewells and Almosts
• 30 September: For the Love of God, Max Muncy
• 29 September: Flower Mary Child Lavender Blossom
• 27 September: Junk Time
• 26 September: Mathematically

When I first met Justin, we sat down at Red’s Java House and I asked him (in more elegant terms than this) exactly what the fuck the deal was. My friend Myla had mentioned a friend of hers who has season tickets in the Arcade section at Oracle Park (that name will never not be strange to me) and likes to take a different date to every game. He then writes about the experience on his blog. He was also looking for new recruits to join him at the yard.

Sign me up!, I said. But I wanted to meet the guy first. It was on that day that I learned that I would, indeed, be going to the Giants-Rangers game in August that would be the setting for the return of Bruce Bochy.

Quick background for the uninitiated: Bochy managed the Giants from 2007 through 2019. In that time, the team did something that no other San Francisco pro baseball team had done, despite more than 50 years and more than 8,000 games of trying. They managed to win not just one, but a whopping three World Series, spoiling generations of fans, creating new ones, and ultimately (because baseball gonna baseball), breaking our hearts.

We’re fairly deep into the post-Bochy era now. But the old skipper did a funny thing—he came out of retirement to head the team of my childhood: the Texas Rangers. And, because Bruce Bochy is not like you and me, these Texas Rangers came into town with the third best record in MLB, a comfortable amount of games ahead of their closest AL West rival, the Houston Astros (whose manager, Dusty Baker, got the Giants to exactly one World Series … but I digress).

The game I went to with Justin has been chronicled. I’m here to tell you about my game, as it were. The one I went to with training wheels off, on my own, without Justin. I chose an old friend as my guest.

I met Sonia back in 2006 when I got a journalism job fresh out of journalism school (which I’m still paying for now! Thanks for nothing, Clarence Thomas). In a musty South of Market office on the third floor of a building that felt older than it probably was, I settled in to copy edit, first the Peninsula edition of the newspaper, and soon, The (capital T) City edition.

I wouldn’t say that the newsroom was a boys’ club, exactly. But it was fairly full of testosterone and bravado. Don’t get me wrong—I met several people on that job with whom I’m still friends to this day. But! No relationship would endure, in both duration and degree, more than my friendship with Sonia.

Together, the two of us have experienced the following in our 17 years of friendship: cancer, weddings, the death of beloved pets, the birth of Sonia’s son, cheating partners, divorces, the 2016 election, the pandemic, my other wedding … that’s just off the top of my head.

Now, we were about to experience the return of Bruce Bochy together.

Sonia and I are those kind of friends who, when we get together, which isn’t even close to often enough, laugh hard. Like, can’t breathe for a second, cry, cough, can’t talk hard laughter. She’s a walking pop culture encyclopedia, so I sometimes don’t get her references. But, as we’re both kids of the ‘70s and ‘80s, there’s enough overlap for some deep guffawing. That night at the yard proved that nothing has really changed between us.

We caught each other up on the major life items since our last hang—her kid, travels, our respective podcasts (hers is What a Creep, mine Storied: San Francisco), and work—over strong beers at Public House. Then we headed over to the Arcade and Section 152 for what we falsely presumed would be some type of pre-game ceremony for the return of our beloved Bochy. It’s not that the Giants didn’t honor him; it’s more that it wasn’t what I expected. Maybe they’ll save that for the Saturday or Sunday game?

What we did find shortly after arriving in Section 152 was … well, let’s just go to the film:

Quick sidebar: Probably dating myself here, but I learned the old proverb that “assholes live forever” from one Richard B. Cheney. As I write this, somehow, that turd is still breathing. And now, our world is full of so many glorious examples. Many of them are in positions of power. I appreciated this fan’s jacket, so there you go.

And the book, well, it was sitting on the bench next to a group of three or four young men sitting in front of us in 152. It remained there throughout the game. Sonia has read it. I have not. But a quick search reveals what the book is about. A little on the nose, Universe!

The early innings being the boring affair that they were, we headed over to the Anchor Brewing bar in Scoreboard Plaza, that area behind the Jumbotron well-known by Giants fans for its Crazy Crab sandwiches. It had been reported early that week that this would be the last place (in SF? on Earth?) selling local brewing favorite Anchor’s beer. We were super-excited about this, both of us being the beer nerds that we are. Alas, they ran out of draft Anchor Steam just before we ordered, so we settled for tallboy cans. $15 tallboy cans. Delicious, though!

I forgot to mention that it was Peanuts Night at the yard. I distinctly heard the old favorite “Linus and Lucy” over lineup announcements. Oh, and I didn’t get a photo, but the giveaway that night was this cool black and orange baseball cap with black stripes made to look like Charlie Brown’s shirt.

In the top of the sixth inning, the Rangers hit back-to-back solo home runs. One of them went into the water. Not a Splash Hit in the technical sense, and it bothers me when non-Giants hit those, for no legitimate reason. But it happened. Giants’ bats were mostly quiet all night.

Thanks to Justin, we made our way into Club Level with our slices of Tony’s Pizza. This was kind of a big deal for Sonia, as she’s been vegan for years. She’s also never tried Tony’s. As we sat down in Club Level to eat, I asked why she became vegan to begin with. “Cancer,” Sonia told me, matter-of-factly. I almost did a spit take.

The Giants finally made things interesting in the bottom of the ninth. Still down 2-0, Heliot Ramos doubled in the leadoff spot and scored on a Thairo Estrada fielder’s choice. But it wasn’t enough. Giants lose, 2-1.

Special thanks to Giants employee Bob, who let me and Sonia sit in seats in the upper row of Section 204. Thanks also to Justin for the tickets and Sonia for joining me that night. And eternal thanks to Bruce Bochy for helping provide all the wonderful baseball memories. Hoping we get a rematch of the 2010 World Series this year. That’d be cool, right?

• 1 October: Farewells and Almosts
• 30 September: For the Love of God, Max Muncy
• 29 September: Flower Mary Child Lavender Blossom
• 27 September: Junk Time
• 26 September: Mathematically

The sun keeps threatening to come out, but never really does. There’s a moment, around the middle of the third, when it actually does peek through, and I think it’s going to be one of those days where Thor or Fujin or Tempestas or whoever is in charge of the wind today remembers just a few minutes late that there’s a game, waves a hand, and the clouds are gone. Whoever’s running the show isn’t a baseball fan, though, and although it never gets cold or too windy, it never gets hot, either. Luckily, Nina and I know how to dress for San Francisco.

Nina is a relative of a sort-of relative – first cousin of a family friend who has known me since I was born. In spite of more than fifty years of proximity, we’ve never met before this, although we have almost certainly crossed paths in the ballpark. Given that I’ve been to about three hundred and fifty ballgames since 2017 and that she has participated in several season ticket packages in that time, it is nearly inconceivable that we haven’t been within about five yards of each other at some point. Maybe the moment when we meet in the shadow of Juan Marichal (or what would be the shadow of Juan Marichal if the sun were out) is the first time, but it seems unlikely.

It’s International Trading Card Day, apparently, and the gate giveaway is a pack of Giants trading cards. I give mine to Nina, who has young relatives who will want them. It is a mark of how mature I am that I feel only a momentary pang of loss when I hand them over – they are appealingly glossy and just for a second I want them back because they were free and I had them in my hand, but I remind myself that I have never opened the packs of trading cards that I got the last four times I was here on International Trading Card Day, and I wouldn’t open these either. It’s for the best.

The game is by no means boring, but the first few innings consist of a lot of good pitching and defense. A Lamonte Wade homer – not quite into the cove, but close – in the fourth inning turns out to be the only run of the game, but we are pretty much riveted to our seats anyway. There’s a lot of family stuff to talk about – family members we haven’t seen for a long time, family members I didn’t know about, connections I wasn’t clear on.

We also discover, in a cordial way, that we disagree on a lot of things. Not family things; Nina is a big fan of the all the new rules speeding up the game. She likes the pitch clock, she likes the batter’s clock, she likes the shift being outlawed, she likes the bigger bases, and, to my barely concealed (I might be fooling myself about having concealed it at all) horror, she is also in favor of the free runner on second base in extra innings. It is that more than anything else that finally makes me aware of the difference between us, and between me and a lot of people. The truth is that other people – some of them baseball fans – have other things to do that are more important to them than being at the ballpark. It’s not that Nina and her like don’t want to stay till the end of the game -they do, but they want the end of the game to be sooner. I don’t care how long it is. If I don’t get to work on time in the morning, well, that’s just too bad for work. This definitely brings up some other truths about me, but we don’t get into that.

We’re a little closer together on the issue of booing. Nina thinks it is unsportsmanlike and, I get the sense, possibly unconstitutional. I don’t know that unsportsmanlike enters into it – fans aren’t sportsmen (sportspersons, I guess) but I do think most of the things fans boo about are kind of stupid. I could write an entire post about people on the arcade, who are ten feet from being outside the stadium, offering opinions about the home plate umpire’s eyesight, and I think it’s time we stopped booing Manny Machado (I’m okay with booing Justin Turner, though).

One thing we are in complete agreement about – it’s pretty far down the list, but we get there – is that the new patch on the Giants uniforms is a travesty and a sign of baseball’s final descent into the depths of barbarism and greed. It’s a “collaboration” between the Giants and Cruise, a driverless car company; it’s appalling, huge, out-of-place, and it seems to be the first herald of a trend tat will leave baseball players looking like NASCAR drivers. The Giants are going out of their way to make it seem as though there’s some kind of tradition being honored here, like Cruise was the company that rebuilt San Francisco after the 1906 earthquake, or maybe a Cruise vehicle was the first one to cross the Golden Gate Bridge when it was completed, but it is nothing more than a gaudy money grab and everyone knows it. I doubt that the universal revulsion will matter – Cruise paid a lot of money to sully the uniforms with this abomination – but the organization ahs to know it’s a misstep.

Less upsetting, which is to say not upsetting at all, is the T-shirt I saw on the train on the way over – if Patrick Bailey is the new Buster Posey, this woman gets to say she knew it first.

What Did You Think of the Afternoon, Nina?

“If you speak to a Giants baseball fan, you are guaranteed a lively discussion.  Do you like the pitch clock and extra inning ghost runners?  Is booing at a game just clean fun or bad sportsmanship?  Should Barry Bonds be in the HOF?  Conversation is mixed in while waiting for a Giants homer.  Defining ‘baseball’ is our national pastime, as much as hitting and catching.  Should baseball evolve or stay traditional?”

• 1 October: Farewells and Almosts
• 30 September: For the Love of God, Max Muncy
• 29 September: Flower Mary Child Lavender Blossom
• 27 September: Junk Time
• 26 September: Mathematically

Stephanie is the fifth nurse who has come to a game with me this year. Like the last one, she works in an Ob/Gyn clinic. The only profession more strongly represented in attendance in Section 152 under my aegis has been “ahiftless layabout,” with 53 appearances. Unlike the last one, we didn’t get into any nurse talk at the game. Instead, this is one of those games where what we talk about is so widely varied that there’s no real narrative to be had.

The narrative of the week is getting clearer – the Giants have played five one-run games in the last week. They’ve won four of those, but the lack of hitting, even in victory, has been worrisome. You have to go back a ways for a convincing win against a good team (given Oakland’s record, the 8-3 win on 26 July hardly counts). Still, the lack of hitting has been disturbing before this season, but wins are wins, and the difference between a boring 2-1 game and a riveting 2-1 pitcher’s duel is, in many ways, subjective. Tonight’s game starts off with Geraldo Perdomo on first and Patrick Bailey eyeing him predatorily, which is exactly how last night’s game ended, which feels a little déjà vuey. The Giants will win this one 4-2, but as has been the case with most of the games recently, it never feels like it’s in the bag until it’s actually in the bag.

To say there’s no real narrative to the conversation with Stephanie is not to say it’s not interesting. The only notes I took last night are “game starts with perfomo on 1st” (misspelled) and “ballsout!” (incomprehensible), so I only have my memory to go on. Her boyfriend, who introduced us, told me by way of…not a warning, exactly, but let’s say an advisory, that if she had an opinion about something, I was going to hear it, which set me to prepare for a constant stream of commentary on anything and everything. That was not really the case. I can’t think of anything she had to offer that wasn’t a pretty reasonable take on whatever we were talking about. The boyfriend also warned me (this one actually was a warning) that she was a left-handed Aries, about which I have to admit I had fewer preconceptions, which is to say I had none.

My main fear about taking Stephanie to the game was that anyone who saw us together was going to call the police on the assumption that I was a human trafficker who had kidnapped her from a modeling shoot or possibly a burlesque show. We hadn’t met before the game, and almost every picture I’d seen of her was of a sleek, stylish retro elf. She’s posed in front of vintage cars or vamping on stage (she really is a burlesque dancer (I didn’t just say that for color), sprinkled with tattoos, hair the color of one (occasionally all) of the My Little Pony herd, Stephanie is definitely the kind of girl who rates a companion with more going on than a Mayor jersey and a different hat every day, but I’m who she’s got tonight. Fortunately, she dresses down, in just jeans and her own Giants shirt, so I’m off the hook. Sort of. She insists that her outfit represents the real Stephanie, but I still feel like I should put on a zoot suit and take her to John’s Grill.

It’s Grateful Dead Tribute Night, so before the game we take a little trip up to the third deck to pick up my special event hat, a tie-dyed number in black and orange with that Dead head patch on the side. Along the way, we pass through the club level and up the 2d Street entrance elevator; at the top, in what I guess you’d call a foyer, there is a Bill Veeck quote that says “Baseball is the only thing besides the paper clip that hasn’t changed.” A lot of the quotes posted around the park still speak to the essential spirit of baseball, but I can’t help feel like this one needs maybe an asterisk these days.

What Did You Think of the Evening, Stephanie?

“The evening was amazing! I did not know what to expect, but when I hit the BART platform I was pleasantly surprised! There waiting for me was this enthusiastic gentleman that matched my energy… I knew right away that I was completely comfortable and safe in anything that could/would happen.

The fact that our first stop was to pick up a ‘Hello Kitty’ hoodie not only put me at ease, but made me feel “seen” as this gentleman clearly paid attention to our text conversation as he offered me the sweatshirt to wear (and promptly promised to pick me one up soon in the correct size!)

It was possibly the most exciting home town team game that I have ever attended. The conversation was impeccable, the kindness and attentiveness was stellar, and not only did I get to meet a new metamour, it was the first blind date that I have ever been on! Not to mention, the Giants won! Definitely an evening to remember, and a beautiful new human to share experiences with!”

• 1 October: Farewells and Almosts
• 30 September: For the Love of God, Max Muncy
• 29 September: Flower Mary Child Lavender Blossom
• 27 September: Junk Time
• 26 September: Mathematically

Remember Al? You better. I took him to the game on Monday night; it was Firefighter Appreciation Night, and apparently the last warm day of the year. I asked Al, as is my practice now “Could you send me a couple of sentences or a quick paragraph in answer the question ‘What did you think of the evening, Al?’” Some people respond with things like “It was great!” or “Thank you for taking me to the game!” Al, as I mentioned, is a busy and important civic functionary in Winters, and so he couldn’t get back to me right away. “Come on, Al,” I thought, “It’s just a couple of sentences, bang it out!” But Al is not a man to half-ass things (remember that when you’re voting in Winters), and because he went above and beyond, he gets his own post. Take it away, Al!

“It was a very fun and enjoyable evening getting to know about you and just talking baseball,  not so much from a statistical point of view, which has its place, but from a personal history point of view – where you first saw baseball, who were the teams, who we remember.

I came to realize that for many of us that connection ties back to our fathers. The young man Jeremiah, sitting alongside us, made many references to his “old man” this and that about baseball. You too made reference to your dad. For me, even though I lost my father at the age of five, I feel a strong connection to him because of baseball and his introduction to the game when I was a toddler. My memories of being at Seals Stadium at 16th & Bryant Streets, along side the Hamm’s Brewery and the big goblet of beer atop the building behind home plate which would fill-up with sparkly amber colored lights, then foam -up and over the brim in white, over and over! Or the time my father went for a foul ball where we sat, up in the wooden bleachers. I don’t remember if he was successful in catching it but I remember the action, the bright cushions many brought to make those wood bleachers a bit more comfortable, and the vivid green of the grass on the playing field which still today is awesome and strikes  me visually!

The National Anthem – what can I say? Over all the years, it is that moment when I stand with and join the many thousands of fellow fans at a ballgame for the Star-Spangled Banner as a moment that I most feel like an American! I agree fully with you,  the firewoman who sang Monday evening’s rendition was most beautiful! Solid, pretty and strong, soprano-alto voice that when she came to that section at “wave” onward, where it goes way up the scale and so many get showy or crack, she was restrained in handling the lyrics and the music and it was beautiful! Well done!

Finally, after missing live baseball for going on four years, I’d forgotten what a scene it is in person. The colors, the sounds, the people. All coming together to watch a bunch of guys hit and catch, pitch and run! To cheer your team on! To talk about who’s hot, who’s not doing so well. It’s quite the deal! I guess that’s why it’s called the Game.

Thanks so much for the treat. It was good meeting you and making a new friend. It’s always an adventure heading into the City and figuring out how to get around.

I believe the last season the Seals played at 16th and Bryant was the 1957 season, not 1958. The Giants became the SF Giants that year and they played at Seals Stadium while Candlestick was being built.”

Thanks, Al!

• 1 October: Farewells and Almosts
• 30 September: For the Love of God, Max Muncy
• 29 September: Flower Mary Child Lavender Blossom
• 27 September: Junk Time
• 26 September: Mathematically

Tonight was not the coldest night I ever spent in San Francisco. It was, honestly, not even close. However, it was pretty cold, and we didn’t expect it to be. My plan tonight was to buy a sweatshirt from one of the guys across the street (the ones you figure must be dealing in unsanctioned goods but who always seem to be there, operating in the very shadow of the park, unhindered by authority), and wear it to the game tonight. Accordingly, I came in just a couple of thin layers and a topcoat, so when Joy showed up in even less, I gallantly offered to let her wear my new sweatshirt, which left us both just very slightly underdressed. Not tragically, not enough that we had to seek shelter, but enough that for the first time this year, I went and bought a hot chocolate.

Also not wearing enough clothing was José, who brought his son from San Diego for the day to see the park; they are at the beginning of a dad/kid project in which José will take Braden to every ballpark – this is their third, which shames me because I have, in spite of everything, only been to three myself. Anyway, José and Braden, dressed for the San Diego they left this morning and not for the San Francisco they came to, have been a little disappointed by not having been able to see the Golden Gate Bridge for the fog, and they are pretty cold by the middle of the fifth; José tells us he’s going to take his boy back to the hotel before they both freeze solid.

It may not surprise you to hear that, as a seven-year veteran with more than three hundred games under his belt, I have developed some strategies around access to cool places at the ballpark; I’m not going to tell you how, because a man has to have some secrets, but I know some People in some Places. Accordingly, when José asks how he can get his kid a ball (wondering, as everyone does, if 152 is a good place for foul balls), I tell him that the 415 is a better spot – that watching the visitors warm up and having a kid with a mitt is a good way to get a pitcher to throw you a ball, and I send him down there to check it out. Twenty minutes later, he comes back with Braden, who has a ball in his hand. It turns out it’s the game-tying homer that Brandon Crawford just hit into the Arizona bullpen, which all the D-Backs pitchers refused to touch, and which a security guard handed to Braden. The night seems a lot warmer after that. It’s not, but it seems that way.

Joy isn’t totally new to baseball, but football was more her sport when she lived in Florida and went to see the Hurricanes, and sometimes the Patriots when they were in town. Still, she knows the rules, knows when to get excited, and there are some good exciting moments tonight. Three Arizona home runs put us in a hole, but three Giants runs in the bottom of the sixth get us back to sea level and a Lamont Wade homer in the seventh seals the deal, although these things are always precarious. The last nail in the coffin is a spectacular pickoff throw to first from Patrick Bailey to end the ninth inning, and we walk out all aglow.

Before the game, on the way in, this guy was in front of me coming off the MUNI train; I told him that was a sharp jersey, and he complimented me on my cap with the rainbow Rivercats logo.

• 1 October: Farewells and Almosts
• 30 September: For the Love of God, Max Muncy
• 29 September: Flower Mary Child Lavender Blossom
• 27 September: Junk Time
• 26 September: Mathematically

Al might be the most important person I’ve ever taken to a ballgame. i find out midway through the game that he’s a City Councilman in Winters, which is where my friend Irene lives, which is why they know each other and how Al ended up here with me tonight. Like almost everyone who comes with me and is already a huge fan, Al has been into the game since way before I arrived. We do have in common, though, that our first baseball games were both PCL games – his a Seals game at Seals stadium in 1958, mine a Sacramento Solons game at Hughes Stadium in 1974. I didn’t know anything about baseball back then and didn’t care to learn; my only memory of that game is that my dad gave me a half-dollar to buy food, and I immediately dropped it and listened to it roll away down the rows of seats in the stadium. On reflection, it couldn’t have gone that far – it wasn’t a smooth slope or anything – but in my memory, it rolled forever.

Also evoking my childhood is the kid in the front row of 152 who’s reading a book instead of watching the game. I probably had a book at that Solons game; I know I had one at the first rock concert I ever went to, an impromptu trip to a Jefferson Starship show in Davis in the early eighties. I had books with me pretty much everywhere I went as a kid, and still do. These days it’s a Kindle, so I have several hundred, although I don’t use it much while there’s a game on any more. I get a picture of him that is almost clear enough to read the text and tell what the book is – I could have just asked, but I get a kick out of trying to figure out what people are reading by looking over their shoulders.

It’s Firefighter Appreciation night at the park, and there’s a fireboat in the Cove with the hoses going, turning in a lazy circle during the national anthem, which is nearly as perfect a performance as I’ve ever heard. Maybe it’s my deep streak of sentimentality and the idea that the boat and the Appreciation Night are memorializing a branch of public service that is more or less unimpeachable, but I find myself moved in a way that I seldom feel. It also helps that the singer makes the anthem straight and clean; she’s not trying to show off her skills. It’s just her clear, lonely voice, with no accompaniment.

I didn’t ask what Al thought of the anthem, but he probably has an opinion – aside from being a City Councilman, he plays the mandolin with a few friends in Winters. He mentions at one point that he needs to learn how to play ‘Bye Bye Baby’, the Giants home run song, and I realize that I’ve never once thought about how a person might need to learn how to play a song. I mean, you pick up your mandolin, you think about how the song goes, and then you do things with the strings that make that song come out, right? All that time I lived with musicians in my family when I was a kid, you’d think I would have had some inkling. Al also mentions having had to learn to play “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” for a show in Winters, where a friend of his put together a museum exhibit about Winters baseball. All the talk of small town stuff is making me want to live in Winters, where the City Councilmen will just go out to a ballgame with you if you ask. Try that in a big city.

Speaking of ballgames, this is another tense one. It seems to be following a pattern of recent games where the Giants score early, grit through a few innings, cough up a couple of runs, and then have to struggle in the late going. It’s been working out a lot, but tonight the ball bounces elsewhere. A 2-2 tie in the ninth leads to extras for the second night in a row, and a run for each team in the tenth ratchets up the tension, but when Arizona scores in the top of the eleventh and the Giants can’t quite cash in their free runner, we end up heading out of the park with a loss. I keep coming back to “them pesky Giants,’ but they couldn’t quite manage that extra pesk. A recent tradition has surfaced again – back in 2017, the crowd at the park started turning on their cell-phone flashlights, a nod to the old lighter-waving tradition, when the Giants needed a rally. It is both cool to see and difficult to take a picture of. I didn’t manage a good one, but I stole a photo from an online Chronicle article to show you. Aside from the inspirational aspects, I think it’s nice, on Firefighter Appreciation Night, that we’re not all waving actual flames around.

The one thing that I’ll remember most about Al from this game is that I can’t remember looking at him and not seeing a grin. I like to see a happy guy at the ballpark.

What Did You Think of the Evening, Al?

Al is a City Councilman and has things to do, but he will get back to us soon.

• 1 October: Farewells and Almosts
• 30 September: For the Love of God, Max Muncy
• 29 September: Flower Mary Child Lavender Blossom
• 27 September: Junk Time
• 26 September: Mathematically

It is a gorgeous day at the park, and everything is conspiring to make it an absolutely perfect baseball day. There is a guy dressed up as the hitherto difficult-to-find Waldo in the front row of Section 152 – the jokes write themselves – and there are a couple of kids up there too, including a girl, maybe eight or nine, all decked out in her Giants gear and cheering her head off. I love seeing Giants wear treated the same as princess dresses or mermaid outfits.

This is the second time I have brought a minister to the park this year. Carol is semi-retired, but still does minister stuff from time to time, including committing to the funerals of friends who have seen other funerals and been less than satisfied with the officiating. I was told before the game that Carol was new to being a Giants fan, but that turns out to have been misinformation. She does admit to being the kind of fan who doesn’t pay much attention to statistics, which puts us in the same category. When I ask if she has a favorite player, it takes her a few minutes to settle on Yaz, which is understandable. With all the new guys on the team, it’s hard to get a sense of who’s who and what their personalities are, especially when you want to invest in someone as a long-term prospect. By way of complimenting me on my Mayor/152 jersey, Carol also opines that it’s silly to get a player jersey since they often move on so quickly, which makes me feel a little foolish about the Bailey road jersey I bought yesterday, but I am hoping he will stick.

The other kind of fan, the kind who does love statistics and can remember everything about given season, is sitting on both sides of us. John, who is at the game with his wife Kassandra, is on the right, and Ben, with his two sons, is on the left. John, in spite of having grown up five minutes from Candlestick Park, is a Yankee fan; he says he got to it by being an avid reader as a kid and only having access to literature about the Yankees, which makes sense. He’s a little older than I am, and remembers listening to the radio in the sixties. I remember the sound of it from when my dad listened in the summers but nothing more specific than that.

Ben is a little younger than I am and became an Angels fan in 1982 when they signed Reggie Jackson (that is already more information than I had in my head about the 1982 Angels) and has never looked back. He rhapsodizes about that team, and he and John get going about their American league stuff ifn a way that I can’t keep up with at all, but have to endure because they are on opposite sides of me and Carol but are happy to talk across us. I’m happy to listen. I said to someone recently at another event that I love listening to nerds talk about whatever their nerdery is, and it’s true: even if it’s nothing I want to know about, the joy of it is intoxicating. Both of them come and go in the seats for the whole game, but Carol and I pretty much stay on one place the whole time.

I was told that someone called yesterday’s game a nailbiter, which is not really accurate since only about half an inning involved any nailbiteable action, but today’s is a lot closer to being an actual nailbiter. The Giants score early, with one run in the second inning, and manage another in the fifth, but the Red Sox get one in the seventh, and when the usually pretty reliable Tyler Rogers gives up a two-run go-ahead homer in the top of the eighth, things look bleak. They looked bleak last night, though, and that worked out okay. Sure enough, the Giants manage to squeeze a run across in the bottom of the eighth, and we end up in extra innings. Carol is on the edge of her seat, and out of it, for most of the game from here on in – she’s the kind of person who reacts instantly to every ball leaving the bat, every half-swing, and it’s a good time to be that kind of fan.

When I’m watching the archive game later on, there are a lot of balls, strikes and check-swing calls that the crowd disagrees with, but most of them – as usual – aren’t bad calls. The ninth, tenth, and eleventh are definitely nailbiting time, but we get a chance to relax a little in the bottom of the eleventh. Even the Giants, who have a real talent for getting the least out of a situation in general and have left twenty-eight men on base in the last three games, would have a hard time not scoring with the bags loaded and no outs, which is the situation they find themselves in. A free runner on second, a hit batter, and a perfect bunt leave them in a situation where it would take real talent not to score at least one run. After all that, a simple single does the job for a 4-3 win, and the Giants walk away with a series win and some momentum going into a Diamondbacks series that could make a real difference at the end of the season.

The last few innings, with the Giants refusing to give up, chipping way here and there, reminds me very much of my dad; he used to employ the phrase “them pesky Giants,” and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen a game or a series where they’ve been peskier. Hey dad! Thinking of you today.

What Did You Think of the Evening, Carol?

Carol was unavailable for comment at time of publication.

• 1 October: Farewells and Almosts
• 30 September: For the Love of God, Max Muncy
• 29 September: Flower Mary Child Lavender Blossom
• 27 September: Junk Time
• 26 September: Mathematically

My second day with Marty is an adventure in loving San Francisco as a visitor. It’s more than just a ballgame date – it’s the Pinecrest diner for a noon breakfast, a trip on the newest and most (maybe only) attractive MUNI line, early arrival at the park to secure the very fine gate-giveaway (a Hawaiian-style shirt featuring Giants Hall-of-Famers), a jaunt into the dugout store for a jersey for Marty (he who last night wrote that he would be afraid to wear Giants gear for fear of being caught out as an impostor) (and I can imagine writing a Scholastic book for preteens or a noir murder mystery called “A Jersey for Marty”), a dip into the 415 for a feel of the club atmosphere, and then to our seats in time for a very Indigo-Girls-ish rendition of the national anthem.

A lot of things happen immediately in this game: in the first inning, Austin Slater immediately singles, then Wilmer Flores immediately doubles him in. In the ninth, Camilo Doval immediately gives up a walk, immediately after that gives up a double, and immediately after that gives up another double to Justin Turner that scores the two runs the Sox needed to tie the game. Three outs later, the Giants come up in the bottom of the ninth and JD Davis immediately – first-pitch – hits a home run to left for a walkoff 3-2 win. In between, there is a whole lot of less immediate stuff. Twelve runners left on base for the Giants, two for the Red Sox, and a trip to the dugout store to pick up Marty’s personalized Giants jersey – a black one with the name Fogelfoot and the number 69 on it. Ask him, if you want to know.

Marty gets me talking. It’s his thing, and it’s a thing I’ve tried to pick up from him ever since we worked together at Gamelink back in the olden days – say, fifteen years ago or so – interviewing adult performers. He has a way of asking you questions that make you think about your answers because they’re not questions anyone has asked you before. His inquiry is probing but not intrusive, and he makes you want to be smart enough, eloquent enough, clever enough, to reward him for asking you whatever he’s asking you. Like I said, it’s a skill I’ve tried to cultivate since I met him and travelled the byways of the Adult Entertainment Expo in the mid-oughts. I think I’ve gotten good at it, but he’s a master, and by the time the day is over and I’ve told him about Marichal and Spahn and The Greatest Game Ever Pitched, about the politics of booing Justin Turner and Manny Machado but not Joc Pederson or Sergio Romo, about the greatest white ballplayer of all time, my favorite baseball movie, the longest career in the game, and the lack of empathy in the men in my family, I realize that I’ve forgotten – neglected – even to ask him what he’s doing to get by in the world these days. I doubt he did it on purpose – it’s just the journalist he is.

After the game, we head up to John’s Grill on Ellis, into which we tried to wander in last night, but they were just closing up. The look of the place was so insanely attractive – Headquarters of the Dashiell Hammett Society, it says out front – that we vowed to come back after the Saturday game. The place looks like the offspring of a Hollywood cafe, with rows of celebrity photos on the wall, and the kind of cozy restaurant owned by generations of the same family, with dark wood panelling, dim lighting and immaculate waiters. How does that relate to baseball, in this baseball blog? Well, only in that we were afraid that showing up in jerseys might disqualify us from entry, given that the place looks like it might require ties. It makes me want to come back in tails, or a trenchcoat and a fedora. Filet mignon and a baked potato, beef medallions for Marty, and I think we both roll out of John’s Grill with the sense that we have had the best San Francisco day it was possible for us to have.

• 1 October: Farewells and Almosts
• 30 September: For the Love of God, Max Muncy
• 29 September: Flower Mary Child Lavender Blossom
• 27 September: Junk Time
• 26 September: Mathematically