I left Henry’s house and told San Diego to “stay classy.” Heading up the coast I was thinking back on my time in Arizona with my dad. Sitting on the train I wrote a blog post about Derek Jeter and how I felt he should have attended the All-Star Game. The game meant a lot to me and I wished it had meant as much to him. Why was it important to me?
There are many reasons why I think baseball games are fun. Those reasons are intensified when it comes to something as cool as the All Star Game. But it was because I went to the game with my dad, the guy who taught me to love baseball, that the experience was special. At the core of my enjoyment was something very human: shared experience.
I started to recognize this as my track turned north. My steadfast focus on sponsorship and being a righteous steward for alternative transportation was beginning to mellow. In its stead were the desires to meet interesting people, reconnect with old pals, and to be shown what it was that these people enjoyed about their cities. When it came time to blog about what was on my mind I was choosing to write about the good times I kept having with all of my friends. The relationships, however fleeting or rusty, and their linkage with my quest to see baseball in 27 different cities was what was really exciting me.
Speaking of relationships, by this time I was starting to get the feeling that I could be at the cusp of a relationship that was romantic in nature. In fact, it was when I was in Los Angeles at dinner with Blue and Tess that I first dared to mention that I “might actually like someone.” I was speaking about my sub leaser, Kate. She was on my mind because I had taken advantage of a couple of situations to exchange some emails with her, and they were going very well. First I sent her a Happy Bastille Day note that had initiated a flirtatious back and forth.* Secondly I was looking for suggestions of what to do while I was in San Francisco. Since Kate had recently moved from San Francisco to Portland I thought she could point me in the right direction. She did.
*Katie's birthday is Bastille Day
Post:
A week after my first All-Star game and I still miss Jeter
It has been a week now since my Dad and I took in the midsummer classic in Phoenix and I'm still buzzing from it. Dad and I had a fantastic time. The game was a very special event that generated an energy in me I'm finding too difficult to describe. I loved seeing all of the best players (in theory anyway) and being there with the guy that taught me about the game. But for all of the excitement and wonder that I experienced, as I look back there is something else that I need to say.For many years now there has been talk of the game of baseball and the waning of its popularity. In Phoenix that was difficult to detect; baseball appeared alive and well. For good reason too. The Major League Baseball All-Star Game is one of the best sporting events there is. Unfortunately that appearance of vitality was soon tainted. Where was Derek Jeter?
The tradition of the All-Star game in baseball is rich and seminal. Other sports attempt to emulate baseball's invention, but fail to capture its spirit. There are several reasons for this, but none more prominent than the fact that baseball, at its core, is a game of individual contests. Sure each player is on a team and teammates help each other win. But the essential ingredient in baseball is the contest between pitcher and hitter. The All-Star game showcases the pinnacle of these contests: the best hitters against the best pitchers. It's a lineup of individual greatness taking on individual greatness for three straight hours. Speaking strictly as a fan of the game I can't think of anything much better than watching these greats compete against each other (Carl Hubbell vs. Babe Ruth, Warren Spahn vs. Ted Williams, Roy Halladay vs. Derek Jeter?).
Wait, no Derek Jeter this year. I know A LOT has been written about this and it is old news now, but I wanted to add my two cents. I love the game of baseball and enjoy people that play it well. I respect Derek Jeter for all that he has accomplished and think he has been very good for the game. I like the game so much that I traveled over 1,000 miles to celebrate its top achievers. Bodaciously, my father joined me in the celebration from over 1,000 miles away in another direction. There were many things about the game that we were looking forward to. But as the date approached we kept talking about one thing: will Jeter have 3,000 in time for Phoenix? I was so excited to have an opportunity to see and honor a 3,000 hit man on the stage built for the greatest active players, that I actually watched Yankees' games. Then he got it, and in such dramatic fashion that I was swept away and became a Derek Jeter fan.
But that didn't last very long. Derek Jeter, a man who makes millions upon millions of dollars playing the game of baseball, an enterprise supported solely by the appreciation of its fans, did not show at the one event intended to celebrate those very fans and the reverie they have for their favorite players. I've never had any sympathy for a baseball player that doesn't come to the All-Star game. Especially ones that were voted in by the fans. Especially ones that were voted in by the fans and just got their 3,000th hit. Especially ones that were voted in by the fans, just got their 3,000th hit, and don't have the on-field performance to warrant a position in the lineup (but have been voted in all the same because the fans want to SEE you).
Come on Derek, it's the All-Star game. It is one of those special things about baseball that sets it apart from the other sports. How is baseball supposed to retain its spot as the national pastime if one of its greatest ambassadors won't even show up?
Bike:
July 19: San Luis Rey River Trail (18 miles)
I was feeling a bit restless, a little on the quiet side, and rather lethargic. At this point in my life I've come to recognize these signs as symptoms of a lack of exercise. This has been a very good discovery for me because a remedy isn't usually too far away. On Tuesday night the cure was a sunset ride along a very nice trail.
I assumed the bike path would take me along the coastline and I thought a ride along the shore would be a great way to take in the sunset. Almost immediately the trail turned inland and took me away from the water, and the sun. Initially I was disappointed and considered turning around to see if I could find a road to keep me near the shoreline. As soon as the thought of making an about-face came to me it floated away. I was taken in by the flocks of seabirds flying as silhouettes against the backdrop of a rose-yellow sky. The smells from the trees and abundant plant life filled my head and I quickly discovered I had a desire to go further.
The idea of watching the sunset over the Pacific still intrigued me and I figured that I could go out for 2 miles, turn around, and still make it back in time. Before I knew it I was on mile 3 and didn't care to change course. The trail followed some railroad tracks before creeping up to the south bank of the San Luis Rey River. Why not open it up a bit and let it rip for a couple miles?
Mile 5 came and again I decided against turning around. I was having fun exploring the new territory, breathing hard, and seeing what was around the next corner. I went past the basketball courts of Guajome County Park and saw a girl's team at soccer practice. As I sped by I wondered if they were inspired by the U.S. National team and how they felt about being part of an exciting new American tradition.
At each new mile I decided that the next mile would be where I turned around. None of these decisions stuck around for very long. The sun was down now and the dragonflies came out. I almost caught one right in the eye. Somehow I shimmied my face to the left quickly enough to take a shot full of buzzing insectitude goodness to my right ear. "Sokay? Sokay. Salright? Salright." And the path spit me out into a neighborhood at mile 8.
Why not tool around the neighborhood for a bit? Even though the sun was down it was still light outside. The area looked to be an established middle-class community that reminded me of the old neighborhood in Waterville, OH where we used to round up guys to shoot hoops behind the library. As I was daydreaming about taking O'Hare to the hole and hitting turn around jumpers over "The Funk" I saw up ahead that the path picked back up.
There were many people out using the bike route. I saw bike riders breaking sweats, laughing with spouses or just enjoying the evening. Families walked together with tricycles full of kids and wagons full of toys and freshly picked flowers. Friends ran alongside one another discussing the things they didn't want to discuss with anybody else. It was obvious that I was not the only one enjoying this inexpensive, private, convenient and usefully paved path through the natural preserves and backyards of southern California. We weren't distracted by any stop signs, revving engines, or honking horns. Instead, it was just a nice place to leave all of those things behind.
I took the trail for another mile to where it ended. I saw a traffic light with a lineup of cars waiting for their red light to change to green. I thought, "My signal has been green this whole time." That's when I finally decided to turn around and head back.
Train:
July 19 and 21: Pacific Surfliner -- San Diego/Oceanside/Anaheim/L.A. (4 hours, 120 miles)
I love this little commuter train up and down the coast. To ride costs very little money and it got me to where I needed to be. One of the perks was that it dropped me right at Angels Stadium. I picked up the train from Oceanside in the morning and took it up to Anaheim. Then, after the game I re-boarded and wound up in L.A. What a great way to get from place to place. I wish there more places with trains like this.
Post:
Ted Williams: greatest fisherman ever?
Last night I turned on the tv and watched the Padres whip the Marlins 14-3. Sometimes, if the announcers are crafty, these are great games to watch simply for the stories that are told to make up for the lack of anything competitive occurring on the field. Such was the case last night with Dick Enberg and Mark Grant.Somewhere around the 6th inning the guys started swapping stories about the self-proclaimed "greatest hitter of all time": Ted Williams. They talked about Williams and laughed about how his ability to hit was rivaled only by his ability to talk. "But what about fishing?", Grant asked Enberg. "Did you ever get to go fishing with him?" Enberg replied that he hadn't but someone he knew had.
Enberg continued to say that Teddy Ballgame was a hell of a fisherman. This was a fact that was not lost on Williams himself. Evidently at one point Ted turned to Enberg's lucky friend and, imitating the cocky proclamation of his younger self asserted, "I'm the greatest fisherman to have ever lived." Enberg's friend asked, "What about Jesus?" To which Williams replied, "Well, you had to go back a hell of a long way!"
People:
James- I met James back in 2007 in Crested Butte. I hadn't seen him since. He's living in LA doing his thing at a recording studio. I know a few people in LA that moved there from somewhere else. All of then love it and James is no exception.
I took the train from the south, James from the north. We met at the station for Angels' Stadium. This park was incredibly convenient to get to. The train essentially drops you in the parking lot and it only costs $6 coming from LA. Why doesn't everybody take the train there?
We saw one of the fastest played games possible. I think it lasted less than 2 hours 30 minutes. But we had enough time to drink some beers and chat about everything from the bewitching, mercurial, labyrinthian splendor that is woman to our old mountain days. We reveled in our achievement of similar viewpoints through contrasting experiences. Sometimes two people just know what the hell they're talking about. Cheers James!
Games:
*July 21: Angels Stadium of Anaheim or 'The Big A' -- Anaheim, CA
Texas 0
LA Angels 1
Man this game sped by. As soon as we sat down it felt like we were in the fourth inning. That's because we were watching two of the best pitcher's in the American League, Jered Weaver and C.J. Wilson. They didn't mess around either. Going straight after every hitter, outs were being made every time you sipped your beer.
I also remember some really excellent catches. The best was made by Ian Kinsler, the Rangers second baseman. It was early on in the game, maybe even the first inning, and Kinsler, racing backwards towards right field, tracked down a little Texas leaguer. He punctuated the play with a leaping grab that took him off of his feet so that he finished the catch with his belly on the ground, sliding away from home plate.
The Rangers and Angels are developing a rivalry and these guys were playing hard. Kinsler wasn't the only one making diving grabs. The Angels rookie center fielder, Mike Trout, chased down a sinking line drive that brought the hometown fans to their feet. Incidentally it was also Mike Trout that brought smiles to the fans faces as they, angling for a laugh or two, reeled off one liners and puns associated with his last name. At least that's what was happening in our section.
Before we knew it the game was over. The Angels had won 1-0 on a run that was scored in the second inning. It was a heated contest and was exactly what I would expect out of two teams battling for the A.L. West crown with their aces on the mound.
Time of game: 2:31
*July 22: Dodger Stadium -- Los Angeles, CA
Washington 7
Los Angeles 2
Ah, Chavez Ravine. I had finally made it to the third oldest park in the majors. This stadium is the site of my all-time favorite baseball moment.
The engines of the 1988 L.A Dodgers might have been Orel Hershiser and the pitching, but the team ran on Kirk Gibson. Gibby's high octane playing style propelled the Dodgers, improbably, to the World Series against the heavily favored Oakland A's. Unfortunately for the Dodgers and their fans, Gibson injured himself and was unable to play in the October classic. At least that's what we were told.
In the bottom of the ninth of game one, with the A's ahead 4-3, Dodger manager Tommy Lasorda inserted Gibby into the line up as a pinch hitter to face A's closer Dennis Eckersley. With a man on Lasorda was looking for just one good swing. Nobody, including myself, thought Gibson had one to offer. Eckersley immediately got ahead in the count 0-2 before Gibson started battling back. He took two outside pitches for balls and fouled a strike off. With the count full Eckersley tried to sneak a backdoor slider past the hobbled hero:
The game I was going to see wasn't quite so dramatic. The fifth place Dodgers were hosting the fourth place Washington Nationals and the stands weren't as full as I'd hoped. But the weather was perfect, the stadium was gorgeous, and the great American game of baseball was being played.
It was actually a really good game. I was able to see Andre Eithier's sweet swing and the great Matt Kemp patrolling center field. Long ball Lannan was on the mound for the Nationals and pitched almost as well as he hit. He took Dodgers' starter Hiroki Kuroda deep to put Washington ahead 3-0 in the second inning. L.A. battled back with two runs in the fourth and it remained a tight, 3-2 game until the ninth. That was when Dodgers' reliever, Matt 'Meatball' Guerrier, gave up a bomb to Jerry Hairston. The Nationals pinch hit Hairston earlier in the game and left him in the lineup. It paid off as he smoked a grand slam over the left field wall and gave Washington an insurmountable ninth inning lead, 7-2.
People:
Blue- It is appropriate that I watched a Dodger game with my old friend. So many years ago now I used to call him by his middle name, Chris. His given first name is Blue and not only is that what he prefers to go by now, but it is also a symbol of the Dodgers. Their motto is: Think Blue. Although it was fine to call him Chris, I kept telling myself to "think Blue".
Other than the name, not a lot has changed since high school. Blue is still hilarious, astute, erudite, mildly inappropriate at times and kind. So is his wonderful wife, Tess, whom I met for the first time. They let me crash at their cozy and inviting West LA pad for two days. We went out and had a FANTASTIC burger at Father's Office, which is a very "LA" upscale pub with a great draught selection. I got to know Tess and learned about the days of the young couple's burgeoning romance and a bit about the life they've built together so far. It was an enjoyable time and for me a moment pregnant with hope for my own romantic future. I'm happy to report that loving, fun, respectful marriages are still alive and well.
I laughed quite a lot at (with) Blue and Tess over the two days and I hope I was able to provide a little humor for them as well. It felt good to laugh hard. Blue's baseball announcer (part Hank Azaria, part Vin Scully) had me bent over from hilarity for the first five innings of the game: "Here comes Jayson Werth who signed a $126 million deal in the off-season to prevent the Nationals from competing for a pennant this year"; "Kuroda kicks and deals to the listless Werth who's down 0-2 and has probably given up all hope for a hit this turn at bat"; "Friends remember that Thursday night is Let's See If We Can Win One night at Chavez Ravine. Come on down and show your support by staying at least five innings."
We traded Jayson Werth shots back and forth all night long with his friend Eric who also joined us. Of the four games yet, this one ranks number one for baseball banter. Players discussed included: Wade Boggs, Rick Sutcliffe, Lou Whitaker and Alan Trammell (you can't have one without the other) Kirk Gibson, Joe Carter, Tony Gwynn Sr. and Jr., George Brett, Dan Quisenberry, Brady Anderson, Howard Johnson, Jose Vizcaino and Jack Morris among many others. Thanks guys, it was fun.
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Post:
All-Dodger Team
I'm traveling away from LA on a bus. It's an Amtrak bus shuttling me to Bakersfield where a train waits to take me to Oakland. As I stare out the window at the Six Flags nestled amongst all these anonymous burnt-brown hills I have the Dodgers on my mind.It is sad to see such a storied franchise limping along; playing uninspired baseball; entertaining only the cynical or naive. At the game last night, between Vin Scully impersonations and google-informed hecklings of Jayson Werth, I experienced very real pangs of understanding Dodger significance to both baseball and cultural history. I was mid-pang when the Nationals' Jerry Hairston smoked a grand slam in the top of the ninth putting the game out of reach and cementing my vision of a Dodger freefall from grace.
So, in sympathy with, and total respect for all things Blue, I've compiled my all-Dodger team:
C- Roy Campanella
1B-Steve Garvey
2B-Jack Roosevelt Robinson
3B-The penguin, Ron Cey
SS-Pee Wee Reese
LF-Pedro Guerrero
CF-Duke Snider
RF-Kirk Gibson
LHP-Sandy Koufax
RHP-Orel Hershiser
Trains:
July 23: San Joaquin -- Bakersfield to Oakland (7 hours, 315 miles)
So I was originally scheduled to take the train straight from L.A. to Oakland. Unfortunately I didn't get to the station on time to get my bicycle on board, so I had to come up with a new plan. That plan involved taking a bus for two hours from L.A. to Bakersfield and then catching the train up the San Joaquin Valley to Oakland. This proved very easy to do and I enjoyed the ride through Central California. I like California's trains. They treat their customers well while running often and on time. It seems that California is hip to the train culture and it is reflected by the efficiency and ease with which they transport their riders.
The line itself is interesting for showing off an important, but frequently neglected part of the country. Riding up the center of California's San Joaquin Valley one sees every type of fruit and vegetable imaginable growing in great quantity. Well, not every type, but damn close. This section of California produces an enormous proportion of the food we eat everyday. Yet I saw mostly poverty along the way. Why is it that the people that harvest our food are living in such squalor? Aren't we dependent on them? So what is the cause for this vast inequity? Do we care or don't we know? Can it be changed? Where's John Steinbeck? These are just a few of the questions that raced through my mind as we chugged upstate.
People:
Diana H- A gypsy by heart, Diana loves to travel. She is from Germany and I met her on the train taking us north through the San Joaquin Valley. Diana is a delightful person that was visiting the western U.S. for the first time, but she is no stranger to the America. She spent her mid-teenage years attending high school in Boston. Because of her previous time spent here she has many friends that she enjoys visiting. I enjoying meeting Diana and talking about everything from the Kingdom of Galicia to our favorite foods. I was advised to someday try one her favorites from the homeland, koenigsberger klopse (meatballs and potatoes). Games:
July 24: AT&T Park -- San Francisco, CA
Milwaukee 1
San Francisco 2
This was a heavyweight match-up between two first place teams, National League style. The Giants were the defending world champions and they were taking on the young, powerful Brewers. The game was held on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon and I was anticipating an exciting contest in an old school ballpark.
The Giants' stadium is nearly perfect. I don't like the name, but other than that I can't think of how anybody could change it for the better. I enjoyed every minute of my time there: making my way to the stadium via BART with the masses of Giants fans, approaching the cozy park on foot, taking my hour-long pregame lap around the field through the crowded concourse and out to the jam-packed right field deck overlooking McCovey Cove, sitting amongst all types of fans in the sun-drenched bleachers, and cheering on the Giants with the other 42,261 spectators in attendance.
The young lefty, Madison Bumgarner was on the mound for San Francisco. His job was to stop the prolific Brewer offense led by Ryan Braun and Prince Fielder. Bumgarner, only 21, had a fantastic rookie season, but has stumbled a bit this year. Of course this can be expected from someone that has made it to the majors at such a young age. What is also expected from Bumgarner is that he will make the proper adjustments to utilize the gobs of talent he possesses to not only solidify his slot the Giant rotation, but challenge Tim Lincecum for staff ace.
He didn't get off to a good start. In the top of the first inning Ryan Braun crushed a 1-0 fastball high into the left-center field stands. This didn't surprise me. I knew how good the Brewers hitters were, and I expected more runs to come. I was wrong. Bumgarner put it into shut down mode and Milwaukee didn't muster another run the rest of the game. While their pitcher did his job the Giants' offense was able to push runs across the plate in third to tie and the fourth to take the lead. That was all Bumgarner needed. He went into the eighth before giving way to Sergio Romo and, the beard, Brain Wilson.
The place went crazy as Wilson trotted in from the left field bullpen. The eccentric closer has become a darling of media and fan attentions with his long dark beard and colorful personality. Another way to say it is: the man is crazy. Even though there are pitchers out there that throw harder, I wouldn't want to hit against him. I'd be scared shitless, actually. Who knows if he's going to throw a cutter, a four-seamer at my head, or toss up some robot ball? Evidently the Brewers were perplexed by him too. With two strikeouts, Wilson sent them down 1-2-3 in the ninth and the Giants won 2-1.
People:
Lisa, Lora, Shane, and Connor- We sat next to each other in the bleachers at the Giants' game. Lisa and Lora are twins originally from the Chicago area. They each moved to California 20 years ago and had boys (Lisa-Connor; Lora-Shane). Lisa and Connor now live an hour north of San Francisco in the Sonoma valley. Lora and Shane came up from Orange county. Shane's favorite players are Aubrey Huff and Tim Lincecum, "It's a tie." Lisa sat next to me for the majority of the game. I really enjoyed her company while answering all of her questions about my trip. Like most everybody you meet at a ballgame, she was happy and fun. It was a good time.
Nyki, Matt, Tony, Kyle, Mike, Sam - What a group! None of these lovely people had ever been to a baseball game and I was lucky enough to sit next to them and help them understand a bit about what was occurring on the field at the Giants/Brewers game. Tony is the patriarch and originally from South Africa. Now he lives in Vancouver, BC with Kyle and Sam. Mike and Matt hail from New Zealand, but Matt and Nyki have paired off and reside in London. Got all that? It sure took me awhile. All I knew was that they were all from countries with an English influence and the only bat and ball game they were familiar with was the game of cricket. Although they picked a low-scoring affair for their first game, it couldn't have been in a better place. The home of the defending World Series' champs was buzzing with the excitement of their team's 2-1 triumph over the NL Central's first place team. I sat closest to Matt and Nyki and they were excited to learn as much about the game as I could teach them. Although at one point I had to convince Matt to try some sunflower seeds, "It's traditional Matt. You sure you don't want some?" I truly enjoyed the experience of seeing the game through a first-timer's eyes. It helped me understand more about why I enjoy baseball so much while meeting some great new people.
After the game I headed straight towards the mission district. In our email exchange Katie had advised me to head there in search of a burrito.
Post:
My Mission in the Mission
Most of what follows is true.It all started in the "soldiers wanted" section of craigslist. Recently home from two trips: one to the Arctic Circle to wrestle polar bears and the other a failed attempt to replace Carl Crawford in left field for the Tampa Bay Rays, I was seeking an adventure a little more conducive to my laid back demeanor. Voila! Baseball Games, Trains & No Automobiles was hatched. That's where craigslist comes in. I needed a subleaser and found Lieutenant Colonel Eingurt. LTC Eingurt responded to my ad saying she had just finished a seven-year tour of duty down in San Francisco and was looking for a nice place in Portland for her two-month leave. Things were working out nicely.
Craigslist is a wonderful idea that has previously helped me out in 100 ways. Although I use the site frequently I had never explored "soldiers wanted". This is where you voluntarily solicit a favor or favors from a commissioned member of the armed services in exchange for an individual enlistment. I was skeptical at first, but the advantages of this situation for both parties soon became mutually obvious. I was to receive guidance and discipline from an experienced source while she could order me to do whatever she wanted.
Under a Tahitian moon and with soft grey-green eyes that betrayed a stone-set jaw and healthy teeth clenched around the demolished end of her Corona Maduro, LTC Eingurt commanded me to carry out two objectives, both of which have proved enjoyable. The first, a leisurely directive, required me to frequently correspond with her via email under the expectation that the messages would be both humorous and thought-provoking in nature. This would be easy and was in fact a cover for the second objective, which was my true mission.
The Lieutenant Colonel had spent a lot of time in the bay area and my trip was to take me there for two games (Giants and A's). So it seemed reasonable that her order would take place in San Francisco. Scrawled in squid ink she handed down the real objective on a yellowed parchment. I was ordered to stealthily infiltrate San Francisco's Mission district and devour a burrito: "... eat a burrito in the mission. Not all burrito joints are equal, and everyone has their favorite.You will need to walk into the nearest bar and ask the bartender what their favorite burrito place is and then go there."
I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself, so I began my approach on foot at AT&T Park where I could blend in with the other 41,000 baseball fans. The stadium was over 3 miles away and gave me plenty of time to assess the situation and analyze my best options for advancing upon my target. I approached from the northeast and my path was soon blocked by a group of confused hipsters that believed they were extras in a STYX video. But I persevered and discovered an unguarded pass along 18th street.
Now I was in the thick of it all. The first step was to identify the appropriate bar. I passed a place called the Double Play bar and grille and decided against entering due to its rally-killing connotation, but I was still searching for an establishment that felt serendipitous... BANG! I heard a shot (or a tethered pug yelping for its freedom) ring out and I scrambled for cover. To establish my exact position I poked my head out saw a sign from above:
I heeded the harbinger and descended onto The Phoenix, located adjacently.
Of course Phoenix, AZ is where I began this whole baseball tour of duty so I was encouraged by such obvious foreordination. I slinked in and obtained a position at the bar. In the guise of ordering a Boddington's I met my compatriot already planted on the inside: Tansy. She informed me that this was a region littered with burritos and that if I wasn't careful I could run into some "bad shit." To accurately direct me she swiftly beckoned for her informer and resident burrito expert, Misael. "El Farolito" with a wink and a whisper were the words I'd come so far to hear. I was assured that Misael's information was clean. He passed me a cocktail napkin map that showed me where I'd be sure to come across El Farolito and fulfill my mission objective.  |
| Tansy, cleverly avoiding direct eye contact |
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| Misael, blurred to protect his identity |
Through the war zone I attempted to blend in with the locals by deftly avoiding the haphazard meanderings of tourists while casually aniticipating the changes of all traffic lights and the automobile drivers unaccustomed to obeying them. It was hell.
Not really, but imagining it as hell was all I could do to sustain my focus and prevent myself from succumbing to the hunger bomb, presumably planted by the hot dog terrorists at the Giant's game, about to go off in my stomach. I saw detached nationals with blood rag eyes, tightly uniformed boys with black girlfriends, liberating armies of cursed females, and packs of dogs ruling the night. Who knows what these strangers were packin'?
To conceal my fear I sung my way along, "El Farolito...Kate's little treato...make me burrito...tast-ee indeedo."
There it was, 24th and Mission. I fell into line with the all the other hungry citizens. Each one called upon after the other to place their order with the man behind the counter, only to be given a number and told to wait. Dozens of starving men and women, with listless eyes and sunken bellies, simply occupied space by swaying back and forth to the tornadic demands of their hunger. Finally, I was called upon to offer my own desire. I cleared my throat, smiled and told the great man, "I have been sent here from a long way away. I was told that you have a burrito for me. Please make me the best one you have." A wry smile emerged on the man's face, "Can you eat...everything?" "Yes, yes I can" I dutifully responded. The man hurriedly scribbled notes onto a pad of paper and passed it to his comrade slaving away behind him. "You!" The man pointed to me, "You are number 40."
I did my best to find a place among the others. Shoulders rubbed and invisibly, under the heavy blanket of social tolerance, tempers flared. Time felt suspended, like an ordained penny from a lovesick teenager dropping into a wishing well. It stretched and yawned like a porpoise head under the warm caress of an equatorial waterfall...
"40! Number 40!"
I had it in my hands. El Farolito's Super Burrito full of rice, beans, cheese, avocado, grilled chicken, sour cream, a hint of salsa and a good helping of fate was now in my hands. I became excited. I had forgotten my surroundings. Without checking I made my way to an unmanned table. I thought I was alone as I de-foiled the top of my burrito. Then, I heard the sounds of a Mexican guitar that was 5 feet directy behind me. The singing began as I bravely took my first bite. How fantastic it was to be serenaded on this occasion. My mission was complete.
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| Mission accomplished |
*Special thanks to Kate, Tansy, Misael, the lovely inhabitants of San Francisco and Porno For Pyros*
Games:
*July 25: The Coliseum (O.co Coliseum) -- Oakland, CA
Tampa Bay 5
Oakland 7
I'd already seen some really good contests at this point of my tour. I watched the Giants beat San Diego on an extra-inning squeeze play and the Angles' Jered Weaver out duel the Rangers' C.J. Wilson 1-0 in Anaheim. Interestingly, the most exciting game I had yet to see was at the empty Oakland Coliseum between the going-nowhere A's and the stuck-behind-the-Yankees-and-Red Sox Rays.
The reason that this game was so exciting was because I got to take it in with some really great die hard fans sitting to my right. Bob (father), Luke and Matt (sons) were huge A's fans and they weren't afraid to show it. What made this even better was that the A's had to come from behind to win. As the A's mounted their comeback the tidings of team support from these three became stronger, more animated, and all the more contagious. At some point I just couldn't help myself from smiling.
A major part of Bob, Luke and Matt's appeal to me was how their presence contrasted so starkly with the overall feel of the stadium. Nobody was there and it felt like nobody had ever been there. I was alone in the hallways, the first and only one in line for a beer and a dog, and the lone occupant of the men's room. These are all things that I've never experienced at a baseball game. Moneyball anyone? How do the A's make any money? I bought my tickets at the window for $10 and it included a drink!
It's a shame that there weren't more fans in attendance because the A's put on a good show this night. The game was a back and forth affair until the sixth when the Rays took a lead of 5-2, which seemed commanding at the time. The A's bounced back with a run in the bottom of the sixth and were down 5-3 headed into the seventh. That's when the home town team rallied to score three runs. It started with a Hideki Matsui single. Then Josh Willingham followed with a walk and David DeJesus with an RBI single up the middle. Joel Peralta replaced J.P. Howell on the mound for the Rays and got ahead of Conor Jackson 1-2. The 29 year-old journeyman first baseman then hit the biggest shot of the game. He smoked a double, just out of B.J. Upton's reach, off the wall in center field that scored both Willingham and DeJesus.
Bob, Luke and Matt went crazy! I went crazy! The A's had come storming back and taken the lead! I couldn't believe how hard I was pulling for the Oakland A's. I was infected. Strengthened by the bond of family, the hopes and desires of my new friends permeated my being, and I couldn't get it out. On paper I wished desperately for the Rays to catch the Yankees and Red Sox. But tonight I was defenseless against the unabashed and relentless enthusiasms radiating from the upper deck. Go A's!
People:
Matt, Lucas, and Bob- "The people here are the real fans" Matt said to me from the end of the aisle. I thought to myself, "Well I'm glad I'm here." I may not be an A's fan, but I hope that I could include myself in the real fan category. Plus, who the hell wants to hang out with fake fans? The thing is: as big of a fan as I may be, I cannot compare with each of these three, which for me was too easy to see. That is, of course, if your asking me. Bob, Lucas, and Matt as they were known to me, rooted emphatically, emotionally, informatively, and constantly. They cheered for strikes, they even cheered for balls, they groaned at bad plays and loudly booed bad calls.My first reaction was, "Who are these guys?" But I was soon saying to myself, "These guys are awesome."
Lucas told me that there is a big east coast bias in baseball media coverage. He cited the relatively meager amount of press the Giants received in getting to, and winning, the World Series. He continued picking on the AL East in particular, "See Steve, when you watch this game here it goes: pitch, catcher throws back, pitch. If you watch a Red Sox or Yankees game it goes: pitch, catcher throws back, batter steps out of the box, unhooks his gloves, spit, spit, re-hooks his gloves, spit, digs in, calls time, spit..." They're like baseball royalty out there. I agree with Lucas.
"If you take away the Yankees games our pitching staff is like... walk on water." Bob mentioned this and I thought it was a great example of the type of fans these guys were. Never mind that Oakland was 12 games under .500 and 13 games out of first place. They were proud of the A's having a strong pitching staff, loved the team, and were unabashedly positive. They spoke with enthusiastic reverie about Grant Balfour (even though his name is a poor name for a pitcher), Jemile Weeks, and Andrew Bailey. And they were INTO the game. I remember when Balfour came in and put the Rays down 1-2-3 for the top of the 8th. I will always have the very pleasant memory of Bob shooting out of his chair (in unison with his two sons) at a called third strike to end the inning. Balfour painted the corner and Bob, smiling fantastically and imitating the umpire, was having the time of his life while looking like he was pretending to start a lawn mower. Cheers Bob!
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