More Than a Game

 

Sometimes my favorite things to write about are in fact the most difficult to write about.

The hours following yesterday’s games was one of those times. I will admit I went into it with some apprehension. After all, this was supposed to be our year. In April the entire baseball world had their eyes upon us and the last time it was this was when we opened Petco Park.

I’ll start at the beginning. The day began with what I hoped was not a harbinger of things to come. I made an early trip to a local market for tailgate supplies yet for some reason, the employee at the service counter insisted I was not lined up in the right spot. This although she had no problem with the three people that cut in front of me. Speaking silently with my wallet I decided they did not want my money. So taking a half hour away from precious tailgate time, I chose a much more guest-centered market closer to home.

Aside from the score to the game this was the only negative experience of the day. It has been said these past two games were a microcosm of the historic collapse of the second half of the season. Still, I came away from our Summer Home with a heart overflowing with gratitude; this because the entire day from arrival downtown was a microcosm of everything I have loved about Padres Baseball since 1998.

As I have written many times before, I simply cannot have a full gameday experience without a tailgate party. Maybe it is due to the fact my first ever game in 1983 started and ended with a tailgate. Several red snapper tacos, nachos, chocolate chip cookies and a Pepsi later I was ready to pass through the gates. As is custom, just as my ticket was scanned Our National Anthem began.

Being that we only had general admission seats for Park at the Park (I’ll start calling it Gallagher Square when they start paying me. Maybe…) we did the most natural thing; find an usher we know and get some better seats. It didn’t take long, as we were quickly seated near the Field Level employee section by Patty Cahill, who is one of the kindest people I have met in or out of baseball. As often happens during a sellout game those seats didn’t last long. Of course, I was out walking around at the time and ran into yet another member of my Family of 40,000. Harry Maker is well known not only in the Ballpark but across baseball. His somewhat good natured and clean heckling of opposing left fielders is the stuff of legend. Next time you see me ask me the Luis Gonzalez story. Better yet, find Harry and ask him. He is easy to spot; he is the guy with the Rollie Fingers mustache who can always be found near the home dugout during batting practice and front row in left field during the game.

The following is a big reason I have had some difficulty in getting my words out, as this part of todays story goes back two decades. Sometime in 2002, I met a family of three with a two-year-old daughter. That family is now a family of four and that “little” girl is a twenty two year old nursing student. That in itself would have warmed my heart if it was the only part of the story. But that’s just the beginning.

When our son Trevor was on his way my wife and I had some reservations regarding the hospital we had chosen for delivery. Not the hospital itself or our doctor but the head nurse in the prenatal unit. I’ll just say every interaction with her was far from pleasant. After a series of negative experiences with this woman my wife and I decided we would prefer to deliver at Sharp Mary Birch.

When I related the story to my friend, the father of that family of four, he asked who our doctor I gave him the name of our doctor. He replied “He doesn’t delivery at Mary Birch… but I do!” That conversation took our friendship to another level, as Chris Lafferty became the OB/GYN for the births of both Trevor and Joseph. As luck (or maybe it was the Baseball Gods) would have it, there were six available seats next to Chris and his wife Monica.

Much as I loved spending time and catching up with them, I have never been good at sitting still for long so again I made another foray out into the stands. During one trip around the concourse I ran into yet another old friend from the stadium days. From that conversation I came away with enough steak sandwiches, garlic fries and cokes to feed the whole family.

The last game is always bittersweet and today was no different. Considering how well the team had played through June and into July the bitterness stung a bit more than usual. Yet equally sweet and bitter were the quiet moments; as I thought of the loved ones we’ve lost over the years. Like looking down the stairs to the media gate, where the kids’ Fairy Godfather Bruce Ragland used to greet all with the warmest of smiles. Or up to Section 301 where my dear friend Keith Milledge was always ready to share a laugh or lend a shoulder. And of course Field Level 108 where Mark Gomez used to brighten even the darkest days. Or Al Wilkinson, whose conversations I cherished so much I made a tradition of spending late-inning downtime with him and his lovely wife Tracy. Last but certainly not least, I thought of the knowing grin I would get from Summer Serrano when relaying yet another story of bending the rules for the sake of the Fan Experience. I have said it before and I will say it again (and again); if baseball fandom were military, Summer would be part of Seal Team Six, the Best of the Best.

Yet of all the experiences of the day, the greatest of all came in the bottom of the 9^th inning. Jake Cronenworth led off and we were down one run. I leaned over to Chris and said “If he gets on, I’m gonna go down to the concourse and rally the crowd like the old days…” Sure enough, The Rake drew a walk and off I was, my sons in tow. I start the old routine, giving three quick claps and encouraging the crowd to join in. out of synch with the usual rally sounds these days, I caught on quickly and was able to choose my spots. Manny walks, crowd gets louder. As they quiet down I get back into my routine. It had been eleven years since I had done it but it felt like I had not skipped a beat; literally and figuratively.

Tatis comes to bat and I’m getting the same adrenaline when we had names like Vaughn, Finley or Caminiti at the plate. The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Behind home plate and on the first base side the crowd is strangely quiet, maybe they do not recognize this now-graying kid running around in the Finley jersey. Yet the third base side is rockin’ and I think about my buddy Joey, a now grown man who was rocking ‘til the end on Opening Day in 2005. So we decide to stick to that side. After all, I knew well as long as I could get a section or two going, everyone else would join in sooner or later.

Alas, it was not to be. After Tommy Pham walked to load the bases with only one out, the game ended much like the entire second half of the season and now our season did; swinging futilely.

Yet even after coming away with the loss, after knowing we would have no joy in Padreville this October I came away with enough gratitude to share with the other 39,999 family members in attendance.

For you see, as much as I love the Sacred Game; everything about on and off the field, I think of all the love; the hugs, the high fives, the smiles, the reminiscing. I think of all of that and never have trouble reminding myself:

Baseball is just how we met.

Thank you Larry…