Peanuts and Crackerjack

A few thoughts from my recent trip to Citi Field. 

When I was growing up, baseball was the only sport that consistently held my attention.  Around the age of ten, I collected baseball cards, with a particular focus on my favorite player, Barry Bonds*.

I played on my high school team, an undersized underclassman with funky hair and a funkier sidearm-delivery pitch.  I wasn’t good, but I wasn’t terrible, and playing the game was always a joy.  I stopped after my sophomore year, with the recognition that any aspirations to be a professional athlete were woefully misplaced.

Still, I remained and remain a baseball fan.  While I don’t follow my beloved San Francisco Giants with anywhere near the fanboy enthusiasm I reserve for Kentucky basketball, I keep up with the team, cheering at their successes and commiserating when they lose.

About a month ago, it came to my attention that they were doing quite well this year.  That recognition- prompted by a series sweep of the hated Dodgers- was coupled by another: I lived in New York for three years, and had never been to Citi Field.  So, I did a quick search on, and found out that yes, the Giants were coming to town, in mid-June, for three weekday games….at 4:30 in the afternoon.

I was pissed.  Like many professionals, my work obligations are not consistent with mid-afternoon weekday games.  The more I thought about it, the more angry I became.  We taxpayers fund the bonds that built Citi Field, and for our troubles we get games that we can’t attend?  No wonder their attendance is piss poor!  I wrote a Facebook rant, my venom seething from each pixel, and was about to click “submit” when a thought occurred to me: I had viewed the time on the Giants’ web site.  The San Francisco Giants’ web site.  Listing times in Pacific Standard Time.  Locally, the games started at 7:30.

Social media crisis averted, I bought a ticket for the June 9 game.  I was very excited: the last game I attended was Barry Bonds* last home game, played in San Francisco’s AT&T Park.  It had been several years, and I was eager to return to the ballpark, and watch the game I have enjoyed, in various degrees, for most of my life.

I arrived early: my bosses were so amused by my ticket purchase story that they encouraged me to take an early exit and catch batting practice.  My seats, in the left field bleachers, were prime real estate during the pregame, and as luck would have it, I managed to catch a practice home run ball hit by Buster Posey, the best of the current crop of Giants hitters, checking a minor item off my personal bucket list.

The game itself was everything I remember.  Now, baseball games on TV are boring, but in person the atmosphere is wonderful.  This was a memorable game, too: the Giants managed to win by way of a no-hitter, only the second in history against the Mets.  I was in full Giants’ regalia, including my Barry Bonds* jersey, and found moments of camaraderie with fellow fans of the visiting club.

An afternoon at the ballpark is a really great way to break up the work week.  I recommend it to anyone.


*Barry Bonds is still the greatest player in the history of the game, full stop.  Haters gonna hate.

Published in: on June 10, 2015 at 1:19 pm  Leave a Comment  
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