Haven’t blogged in a bit, mostly because of time. It has been busy at my new job . Strike that. Not busy, but crazy.
Anyway, about to start posting regularly again. Have been attending many Giants games lately and following a championship season, the marketing arm of the Giants is in full swing. The in-stadium multi-media show is amazing. What I thought I’d do here today just to ease back into things is post some of the cool songs related to the Giants that are often played in the stadium to pump up the crowd. Which one do you like best?:
I know purists might just prefer to hear I Left My Heart in San Francisco or Talking Baseball, but humor me.
The trouble with baseball is that it is not played the year round. – Gaylord Perry, ex-Giants pitcher and Hall of Famer
Me and Hall of Famer, Gaylord Perry
What a beautiful weekend it was in San Francisco. A great weekend to get out to play and watch sports. Many Sports weekends of my youth were spent with my dad at sporting events.
If you grew up in my generation in San Francisco and played sports or followed sports, there were three main sports you followed: football, basketball and baseball. We had a hockey team (the San Francisco Seals) but they weren’t followed by many. For me though, my dad took me to see the main sports. My fondest memories of my dad were days like this weekend. I remember my first baseball game and meeting the pitcher Gaylord Perry and my dad talking about his spitter. I also remember that the pitcher did not appreciate the connotation that he was noted as a cheater. We stayed after Warriors basketball games too so I could get Rick Barry’s autograph. We hung out after 49er games so I could get Steve Spurrier’s autograph.
A beautiful day this weekend, my son and I got out to see the 49ers with a nice victory over the Rams 23-20. The same seats I sat in many times with my dad. The same seats we high fived in and shared many Sundays. It was just too warm! This was summer baseball weather! Candlestick Park in November is supposed to be cold and extremely windy. Instead we sat there in short sleeved shirts looking to keep hydrated.
It was a great game and win, but I took note of how quiet it was. In the 70s, the Warriors brought a basketball championship to the Bay Area. In the 80s and 90s, the 49ers turned San Francisco into a football town, but now the Giants own this town and I noted to my seatmate (a baseball executive) that we are definitely a baseball town now.
It has been two weeks since the World Series ended, but the buzz is still there. At the 49ers game, many people were dressed in Giants Orange and Black, including me. A couple weeks back before World Series Game 2, I ran into Gaylord Perry outside of AT&T Park. I introduced him to my son I didn’t mention anything about his spitter. I just told my son he was the starting pitcher at the very first game I ever saw. I could see the relief on his face that I didn’t mention the thing he was most noted for, and he graciously signed my son’s autograph book.
Yep….only 90+ days left til Spring Training. I can’t wait..especially if we continue to have baseball weather and not football weather.
It breaks your heart. It is designed to break your heart. The game begins in spring, when everything else begins again, and it blossoms in the summer, filling the afternoons and evenings, and then as soon as the chill rains come, it stops and leaves you to face the fall alone. ~A. Bartlett Giamatti, “The Green Fields of the Mind,” Yale Alumni Magazine, November 1977
For 53 years and 53 teams, baseball broke the hearts of San Franciscans, but tonight an improbable team ended years of frustration and enhanced the love of a sport and 25 guys who worked as one. As their management and the team tried to convey, the victory was for a city, for fans, for past players and for past generations. The atmosphere has been electric for the last month. You could feel how badly people wanted this one and perhaps needed it.
Torture was the word of the year to describe this team, but it really wasn’t one year. It was 53 years. A team of underdogs, a team of misfits, a team that nobody ever believed had a chance, was the team that everyone fell in love with. The team with a rich history of Hall of Famers had its most successful season with a bunch of no-names. In the future, many will not remember some of the names that helped to bring San Francisco it’s first baseball championship. As I mentioned previously, the City of San Francisco loves its champions, but more they love their champions who do it the right way. The 2010 San Francisco Giants did it the right way. There will be many who say they knew this team had it from day 1, but if they tell you that, they are liars. A team of misfits, discards from other teams, showed the world what teamwork is all about. They have said repeatedly this post-season that the most talented team doesn’t always win. It’s the team that plays the best that wins. As late as the beginning of August this team was in 4th place and 7 or 8 games out of 1st place, but the team showed how baseball is a parallel to life. You work hard, you keep grinding, and you never stop believing.
Nick and I Fear the Beard!
As a San Francisco native I am overwhelmed. There are hundreds of thousands and perhaps millions of natives who grew up in the same generation as me, who had moms or dads that introduced them to baseball at Candlestick Park or Seals Stadium and had to wait their whole lives. Everyone has their own unique story. There are many people like me who wish the dad that introduced them to the sport were here to enjoy and celebrate with them. Yes baseball is just a game, but it is America’s past time. It is like life itself. Unlike those in New York who have 27 Championships, this is San Francisco’s first. For those who have waited their whole lives for this day, it is a day to be savored. Hopefully it won’t be 53 years until another championship is won. Those who had seen things go wrong in the past know the heartache and how sweet this victory is. This will not be taken for granted. It will be cherished. It will be savored. The team itself reminded everyone of the history of the organization. It reminded those not old enough about the heartaches of the 3 previous attempts at the World Championship. It reminded me of the great history of San Francisco, and it reminded me of all the great things the City has to offer. The team helped me to teach my son about all the great history and people that built this City. My son saw Joe Montana, Bob Weir, Steve Perry, Danny Glover, and a slew of other celebrities from the area cheering for the team just like him. Somewhere around the 7th inning of Game 2 he started to grasp the gravity of the situation and understood the passion around the desire to win the whole thing. A World Series victory would be the beginning of a big healing process.
There is an old adage in baseball that as Spring Training begins, hope always springs eternal. No matter what I am always optimistic about the Giant’s chances. This year I wasn’t. I really felt this team didn’t have what it would take. It shows how life is so unpredictable, how what is perceived could also be deceiving. Baseball and life are unpredictable and just when you least expect it, it will serve you up a surprise.
Growing up watching Mays, Marichal, Perry, Cepeda, McCovey, Clark, Mitchell, Speier, Fuentes and all it is amazing this team has accomplished something that those other teams couldn’t. No heroes, just a bunch of blue collar ballplayers. Fortunately for me I was able to share a little bit with my own son and helped him to understand how unique an experience this is and how unique this team is. Attending the last game played at home and also participating in the Opening Ceremonies of Game 2 of the World Series was not only a unique experience, but it was the creation of a memory that he will keep forever. Having my son tell me, “I will never ever forget this day” was a highlight for me. I remember when my dad took me to see Ed Halicki’s no-hitter back in the late-70s as if it were yesterday. I know my son will be thinking the same even 30 years from now.
Carrying the US Flag
It is only fitting that Edgar Renteria, a player that is at the end of his career and contemplating retirement was the MVP of the series. He spent many months on the bench, has a torn muscle in his arm, yet was one of the many heroes in the end. Hard work, determination and a never say die attitude, were Edgar’s message to all. It’s one we should all learn to employ in life.
I am speechless to say the least. I am more choked up than anything else. The memory of all those who never got to see this day, but taught us to love this team, this City, and the game of baseball would be proud of the 2010 World Champion San Francisco Giants. They were not only a team of destiny, but true deserving champions in every sense of the word. A team of misfits who fit perfectly together.
As I write this, there is honking and hollering in the streets. The younger generations are celebrating in the bars and dancing in the streets, but I know there are many like me also sitting at home with not so dry eyes thinking of those who never got to see this but helped us to appreciate this moment. They taught us how to “love the laundry” (as Seinfeld calls it). Such a bittersweet time in San Francisco.
The much maligned announcer, Joe Buck, said it best….”America’s Most Beautiful City now owns Baseball’s Sweetest Accomplishment”.
“Is this Heaven? No, it’s Iowa.” – Field of Dreams
Giants Managing Partner, Bill Neukom
Doc Brown- Back to the Future
Many of my friends, knowing how big of a San Francisco Giants baseball fan I am have asked me what is going on with the Giants? They hadn’t focused on this baseball team that today is waiting on the eve of the franchise’s first trip to the World Series since 2002. It is only the team’s 4th trip to the Fall Classic since they moved to the West Coast. They have yet to win their first World Series in San Francisco. Ironically they are playing a team that is making it’s first trip ever to the World Series and facored to beat the Giants.
So who are these guys? They really are the “Team of Misfit Boys”. Everyone loves an underdog and there is nothing more lovable and underdog than this team. They’ve taken San Francisco by storm because there is something for everyone. People relate to this team on all levels. 75% of the starting lineup was not on the Opening day lineup. These guys might wake up tomorrow and realize that they are in over their heads, but maybe it isn’t coincidence that their owner bears a striking resemblance to the crazy inventor from Back to the Future. I guarantee you though. The Flux Capacitor has nothing to do with this team’s success.
Game 6 Hero Jeremy Affeldt
San Francisco is a full of transients and this team truly represents that image:
a 10 year veteran first baseman who wears a red good luck thong making his first trip to the post-season,
the leftfielder – a former first pick in the amateur draft who was released and passed over by all of baseball before the team he rooted for as a kid picked him up,
a second baseman who limps around after being born with a club foot,
a right fielder the team picked up by accident, and grew up wanting to be a rodeo clown
a pitcher nicknamed the Freak because of his long hair and skinny small build that scared 9 teams to pass him up despite his dominating college career,
a rookie catcher who seems more mature than everyone on his team,
a centerfielder who spent 10 years in the minors before being diagnosed with ADD
a 3rd baseman who is overweight yet smooth as a cat that they call him Panda,
a shortstop playing with a torn tendon in his left arm, and
the dominating closer who took all the lessons watching his dad battle cancer over 5 years as a teenager and harnessed it into the most interesting character in baseball that is so full of life and has everyone in San Francisco sporting fake beard.
Oh and the team has relegated its 3 highest paid players to the bench
You can’t blame this city over its excitement over this team. They represent the common man and act like us. You’ll find them at night shopping at the local Safeway, getting coffee and donuts at the local donut shop before a game, or even eating dinner in some of the nice restaurants in the hotter spots in town.
October baseball is rare and the city is hungry for it. Affectionately, Giants baseball is called torture (coined by Giants announcer Duane Kuiper) for the style of close games the team plays. Giants fans live and die by the team’s success and failures.
What are Giants fans saying today? Half of the diehards are saying to “Bring on the Torture”. The other half are saying, ” Delicious”…..I can’t even explain this. You just need to see the video from Giant’s reliever, Brian Wilson, to see what a nut he is:
So if you haven’t picked a side, vote for the underdog. Vote for the little guy. Vote for the crazy misfits who nobody believes will win (24 out of 30 ESPN experts are picking the Rangers). Vote for the Beard, the Panda, Smiles, the Water Buffalo, Bweez and the Freak. They’re playing for all of us underdogs.
Baseball in San Francisco enjoys a rich history although not one of success with no World Series victories to call its own. 52 years of baseball in San Francisco and while there have been many faces of the franchise, there is no doubt that Mays, Bonds and now Lincecum for the forseeable future will be the legacy names depending upon the generation you call yours.
Mays and Lincecum
I think the Barry Bonds era is officially over. He’s pretty much forgotten as Tim (“The Freak”) Lincecum has captured the imagination and how holds the torch for the San Francisco baseball community. And while many not have lived long enough to know it, while Barry was so long the face of the community, he really didn’t capture the imagination of San Francisco as much as Willie (“The Say Hey Kid”) Mays and Tim Lincecum have done. He stood on a pedastal while Willie and Tim have personalities that reflect the San Francisco of their times. Although I was only 5 years old when Willie Mays handed me his autographed baseball while I handed him some steaks as we stood in the freezer of my grandfather’s butcher shop, I remember it like it was yesterday.
Willie moved to San Francisco and the City was electrified by this young “African-American” who had enthusisam and personality that transcended racial barriers. Willie Mays, along with my grandfather, a Chinese butcher, who through some luck had come into some money were still in a racially divided society despite the liberalness of San Francisco in the early ’60s. My grandfather, was unable to purchase a home outside of the Chinatown community. My grandfather had earned some money from the sale of his butcher shop to the City of San Francisco so they could build what would eventually become the current Moscone Convention Center.
At the same time Willie Mays was refuted the ability to purchase a home and later chased out of his neighborhood. Then mayor, George Christopher, a Greek man who embraced civil rights, took both men in at separate times and they became friends. My grandfather was eventually introduced by the mayor to another Greek man, John Vrahos, who helped my grandfather to become one of the first Asian homeowners in the ritzy suburb of Menlo Park which ironically today is heavily populated by the Asian community despite small print on most land deeds which still state that the property should not be sold to a person of color.
Although my grandfather died almost a decade ago, when I see Willie Mays today, he still greets me and calls me “Phil’s grandson”. I never got to ask my grandfather but in many ways I feel like Willie might have been his first black acquaintance and the for Willie, my grandfather might have been his first Asian acquaintance.
Tonight I watched my son sit mesmerized in front of the television as he watched Tim Lincecum mow down the Houston Astros. Lincecum’s long hair is being copied by children all over San Francisco’s Little League fields such that you can barely tell the boys from the girls. More importantly he is relating to a new generation of fans. Walking his dog around the city with his girlfriend, Lincecum looks like any 20-something on the street. His dimunitive size for a baseball player allows him to mesh in with the tourists and not call much attention to himself.
What is happening in San Francisco with Lincecum is truly unique. Mays is undoubtedly the best player that ever played the game and those who grewup watching him were lucky. With 2 Cy Youngs in his first 3 years, Lincecum is definitely one of the brightest stars in the game and I hope my child will some day look back and see how lucky he was to have grown up a Giants fan idolizing a future Hall of Famer.
“When you get a second chance you never look back” – Sigfredo Sanchez, the father of San Francisco Giants pitcher, Jonathan Sanchez moments after his son pitched a no hitter
Giants pitcher Jonathan Sanchez hugs his father after pitching a no-hitter
…..this isn’t about a basebll no-hitter tonight. It is about a man, a pitcher, his father, and second chances. It is about taking a step back to take a giant leap forward.
We all hear of stories of second chances. Right now, for example, Lance Armstrong is coming back from his second retirement to race in the grueling Tour de France to help bring awareness to cancer. We see how adversity has made him stronger not only physcially, but mentally.
Tonight history was made for the San Francisco Giants as Jonathan Sanchez pitched a no-hitter. As any sports fan can attest when something happens for the team or teams they root for, they will always remember what they were doing. In fact tonight was the first time a Giants pitcher had pitched a no hitter in San Francisco in 34 years. On that day my father took me and some friends to a double header where I saw Ed “Ho-Ho” Halicki pitch a no-hitter against the Mets at Candlestick Park. As I watched tonight’s game, I started thinking about that day with my dad.
It was an incredible twist of fate for Sanchez. He was out of the Giants rotation and was in the doghouse. The newspapers were talking about him being traded. In fact things got so bad that no other teams were willing to trade for him. Now after this evening he is untradeable. How unpredictable was this? Only the fact that former Cy Young winner, Randy Johnson, got injured was Sanchez pitching tonight. The accomplishment was even more surprising given that the Giant’s starting pitching rotation consists of 3 Cy Young winners (Lincecum, Johnson and Zito) and a 4th pitcher who some argue has pitched better than them all (Matt Cain). Sanchez was the forgotten one. He was down on himself, kicked out of the rotation and replaced by a 28 year old rookie. So down was he that his father flew in from Puerto Rico just to give his son some support. It was the first time he had ever seen his son start a Major League Game in his 5 big league seasons. The personal story of Jonathan and his dad played out perfectly. His father fought back his tears as the embraced in the dugout and he told his son the words at the top of this entry. Fate also brought him together with his rookie catcher for the evening, Eli Whiteside, also a great story. The Giants regular catcher was at the hospital with his wife who is expecting, and was told only hours before the game that he would be catching. So it was by chance that this unlikely duo were thrust upon the scene and they will forever be linked. Jonathan Sanchez’s name will go up on a wall in Cooperstown, as the 262nd no-hitter in history.
His father is right, second chances are something we all don’t get much of, but when we do, we need to take advantage of them. Listening to the announcers, Sanchez had consulted for many days with anyone who would listen and worked countless hours on his own to fix his delivery and most of all learn to keep his head in the game. He had some good help. Randy Johnson, pitching coaches, Dave Righetti and assistant pitching coach Mark Gardner had all pitched no-hitters before and given him the mental knowledge. Not only had Sanchez never pitched a major league no hitter before, he had never pitched a complete game or a shutout, never having completed eight innings in a big league game. He got to uncharted waters and finished it.
Back in our daily lives my wife and I sat there and watched the story unfold and talked about how special this evening was for this young man and how his perseverance was something to learn from. When my mother-in-law called the other day, we thought she was calling to wish us a Happy 15th anniversary, she was calling to tell us my father in law is in the hospital fighting an infection with a 102 degree fever. Along with a couple of parents around us dying of cancer, it served a reminder that we are in our second chance right now with recovery from my wife’s cancer. In fact we need to come out better than before. Those with adversity like Jonathan Sanchez and Lance Armstrong seemed stronger because of the level of “fight” they needed in ther bodies. So this week we will be celebrating our second chance with a delayed anniversary celebration.
They say that true sports fans root for the laundry and not for the players themselves. I truly do root for the players. I root for their stories of how they came to be. I root for the human spirit within us all and the events which make that spirit in each one of us burn brighter than before. Jonathan Sanchez represents all that is right. Their individual stories are inspiring in themselves. As my wife saw the events unfold and heard the announcers provide color to the story she started rooting for “Johnny” Sanchez. She wanted his second chance to be successful and I saw she was also rooting for the human spirit. Sanchez , as you might hear Randy Johnson tell you, has just as much talent as anyone on the team which says a lot.
Congratulations to Johnny Sanchez and all the people out there who have had a second chance. They say no-hitters are great timing, great talent, and a little good luck. Well, I think sometimes you have to make your own luck and you have to put yourself in the situation to have good luck. It reminds me of the quote from one of my favorite actors, Gene Hackman, from the movie, “The Replacements” : ” I look at you and I see two men: the man you are and the man you oughtta be. Someday those two men will meet”. Tonight, they met for Jonathan Sanchez.
I believe life is constantly testing us for our level of commitment, and life’s greatest rewards are reserved for those who demonstrate a never-ending commitment to act until they achieve. This level of resolve can move mountains, but it must be constant and consistent. As simplistic as it sounds, it is still the common denominator separating those who live their dreams from those who live in regret” – Anthony Robbins
I borrowed the title of this blogentry from the new Black Eyed Peas album. The last couple of days just hit me kind of hard if you hadn’t guessed. Although three years have passed, the memories of my father are still strong and I’m learning they will always be withme. Although my father probably didn’t have a very tight relationship with his father, I’m sure there was enough to hold onto that lasted a lifetime for him.
My life is spent trying to make those long lasting memories for my own children. If I were to leave them prematurely I want them to have something to hold onto and cherish as their own. The night before Father’s Day we went out to a night baseball game that had a pre-game ceremony to honor Randy Johnson as only the 24th pitcher to reach the 300 career wins plateau in Major League Baseball. This is out of the over 8000 pitchers who have ever thrown a baseball in the major leagues. There in person were greats such as Tom Seaver, Gaylord Perry, and Nolan Ryan and we had front row seats. My son just sat there in awe reading the accomplishments of these men. When I asked him what he got out of it, he told me that none of them reached their goal until they were in their 40s. It is not what I had noted, but it was observant. These men had not only worked hard at their craft but they did it for a long time.
Well Father’s Day rolled around and like my dad did when I was a kid, I snuck out of the house to the golf course. Playing San Francisco’s Presidio Golf Course is my way to still play golf with my dad. Years ago I walked the course in the evening and spread my dad’s ashes. It was the route he walked his dog many time and the course that he played on many occasions as it is only two blocks from the house we lived in as a family. There is something about baseball and golf between a father and his child. Whether they are watching or playing, there is lots of time to talk about the little things in life that create the largest memories.
It was a beautiful Father’s Day and I was matched up with three other Fathers who had snuckout as well. One of the joys of San Francisco municipal golf that my dad instilled upon me was the fun of meeting new people on a golf course and getting to know them over a course of 5 hours as you stroll beautifully manicured terrain. We were really four strangers walking alone withour thoughts. Occasionally I would stop and stare at a tree or a bunker and could still see my dad playing. I hadn’t played a full 18 holes of golf in several months, but this round was special. I’ve played this course close to 100 times in my life and on this Father’s Day I played my best round ever. I almost matched my dad’s feat of a hole in one on Father’s Day as I missed one by about 2 feet. Probably the closet I’d ever come. Nope, no storybook ending here. It didn’t matter. I had a great day with my dad and I’m sure he would have given me a few pointers and word of advice. I could still feel his presence behind me reminding me to keep my head down, whistling at my good shots and chuckling at my lousy ones and shaking his head.
I came home to watch the US Open and the video clip above played. It is the story of a family that lost their father prematurely 10 years ago just a few months after their father (Payne Stewart) had one of his career highlights on Father’s Day. It was a sad but great Father’s Day story and tells of how his son still follows in his father’s steps. Myabe everything isn’t identical, but the purpose is similar. The 5 hour hike /walk/ golf round earlier had cleared my head but more than anything gave me peace of mind and although I didn’t match my Father’s hole-in one, I had a renewed energy about playing the course better than ever before.
In watching the US Open I rooted for Phil Mickelson, a man tormented by his wife’s pending breast cancer surgery. His co-survivor cancer story mirroring my own, I felt right there with him. On Monday, his charge ran short and he finished as a runner-up in the US Open for a record 5th time. The ending almost looked perfect, but he lost. Then I thought about it. The commentators kept using the words “storybook ending”. If he won the tournament it would have been a great accomplishment, but I don’t think it would have been storybook. He and his wife are facing surgery next week and I’m sure there are many more happier endings that they could think of right now.
As my day ended at work I got a phone call. It was my doctor. I knew it would come some day. Cholesterol lowering drugs. I’m in better shape than my father and live a healthier life, but its just my dad’s genetics and this is one legacy I did not want to follow. Let this be a lesson to all out there. I just reached 500 miles run so far this year. I ate steel cut oatmeal 5 days a week for the last 2 years. I have a low weight for my height, yet my genetics still drive a higher than normal cholesterol count.
Going back to baseball I just read the story of 1st baseman Joey Votto of the Cincinnati Reds who lost his father last August. Baseball was his connection to his father and suddenly without him there, he just couldn’t do it anymore. The man who played catch with him, coached him, and taught him how to respect and love the game was no longer there to enjoy it with him and he didn’t know how to do it alone. He said this past weekend he spent one last weekend in solitude with his father’s memory on Father’s Day but that he is now ready to resume.
Yes there were no storybook endings this weekend, just the real world. But that is okay, because as we all can see, the focus and dedication to follow our dreams and goals is what matters as long as that energy never dies. From Payne Stewart to Phil Mickelson to Joey Votto, we see examples of a relationship of a Father and son, a husband and wife, and the communication channel of a conversational sport where life’s lessons can be taught. Payne Stewart’s son Aaron has found a way to honor his dad, Phil Mickelson found a strength to show his wife how much he wants her to fight, and Joey Votto found a way to let his Father’s memory live under a different type of energy. These aren’t storybook endings but they are all nice stories in a chapter of a long book.
A mother’s happiness is like a beacon, lighting up the future but reflected also on the past in the guise of fond memories. ~Honoré de Balzac
This Morning's Flowers for Mom
Today is obviously a more special Mother’s Day than any other for me. Even though I am so happy that I get to celebrate Mother’s Day with my own mother, I am even more grateful that my children get to spend it this year with their mother and for many years to come. Although they probably didn’t the magnitude of how special it was and how we were staring straight into the possibility that this Mother’s Day could have been one without a mom or one with a bit more urgency than we had today, it was not lost on me.
As we got up at 6 am this morning to get breakfast and flowers while their mother slept in, it was nice to spend some time with the kids and ask them what they appreciated about their mother. Here is a lst from a 7 and a 9 year old in no particular order:
She’s a good cook
She smells nice
She drives us wherever we want to go
She plays games with us
She let’s us have play dates
She’s smart
She’s nice
She’s pretty
She let’s me paint my toenails (daughter)
She helps us with our homework
She kisses us and tucks us in for bed
They didn’t say it directly, but I knew what they were thinking. They said that it would be sad though for some schoolmates who did lose their mother to breast cancer this year. After they said that, there was silence in the car and when we got back home they each made an additional card for their mother before she woke up. The hugs around the breakfast table seemed more meaningful and sincere that the daily ones and for that I am so appreciative of the moments we still have together.
Last night we had a rare chance for one of our date nights. Dinner and a movie seems so simple but I can’t remember the last time we held hands all movie long. Dinner was filled with pleasant conversation especially over the relief that our son had played a decent baseball game. She had hugged our son, wished him good luck and accidentally told him to get some hits for mommy before his Little League game. As soon as she said that she looked at me with the horror of putting pressure on her son. Fortunately he came through and had a couple of hits on his best day ever in baseball. He was so excited to come home and tell his mother that he got two hits. The smile on his dirt covered face not only made her laugh but was a big relief. Some day he’ll probably tell us it was no big deal, but we were hoping he wouldn’t put any pressure on himself.
Tonight we’ll spend part of another Mother’s Day with my mother. Although the appreciation of still spending that extra time with her had somewhat dissipated each year beyond her battle with cancer, this year it has been renewed. Since my father’s passing she has visibly taken on much of his persona as well. She’s adopted his adventuresome attitude and more than anything become not just a loving mother that she already was, but a thoughtful icon for me and my siblings to come to in times when we aren’t quite sure about what is right or wrong and reminds us of what our father would want us to do. I can see in her latter years that she more than anything wants her children to spend more time together and makes a strong effort to make that happen on a daily basis.
Mother’s Day has become more than that Hallmark Holiday. It is also now a call to awareness to the plight of mothers and their battle with Breast Cancer. I am glad that even baseball has really taken the time to appreciate mothers and use Mother’s Day to bring awareness to Breast Cancer Research. Watching major league baseball players use pink bats and wear pink wristbands tells you that it isn’t just the days of playing catch between a father and son that forms the foundation of future baseball players but also those mothers who drive their sons and daughters from field to field three days a week.
While my wife and daughter celebrated with a spa day, I took my son to play 9 holes of golf and were paired up with a 30ish son and his dad. You never know why people are out at a golf course on Mother’s Day without their moms on Mother’s Day. The two men played in silence, but idle chit chat revelaed that they were native San Franciscans and were all aums of the same high school. As it turns out they had recently lost their mom/wife to breast cancer. It was a tough day for them and they were honoring her memory on this day. My son did not hear the conversation, but it really cast more light on the specialness of the day.
I smile as I look back at this entry because all I’d want for Father’s Day is a nice round of golf myself ….. At the same time, I want to say how much I appreciate all those moms out there for how much they do for their children whther they are 4 or 40. And for those who have lost their moms or have moms or relatives who are sick, please enjoy what you have and savor it.
I love Opening Day. …It’s just a special day in our American culture. It’s weaved into the fabric of what we are, and I think it’s a great day. – Padres manager Bud Black
Opening Day 2009
I’m not a poet so maybe I never understood TS Eliot’s poem, The Wasteland, when he says that April is the cruelest month. It has always been one of the liveliest months for me.
Yesterday was Opening Day in San Francisco. San Francisco is not a sports crazy town and I didn’t grow up in a family where baseball and professional sports were considered anything but one of the many choices of entertainment. That said, I cherished those days when I got to go see a baseball game, a football game, etc. Moreso, I really enjoyed sharing the time and history with those I love. I remember the many games I saw at Candlestick Park with my dad (mostly football games during the 49er dynasty). In fact I remember having to look through binoculars to see everything and that is how my dad noticed I needed glasses.
They say Football is America’s Passion and Baseball is America’s Pasttime. I don’t know if my dad knew that those moments he spent with me on those cold windy nights (at the ‘Stick) were making such an impression on me. They were times where I sat there with my dad and talked between pitches and your dad casually passed on his knowledge of baseball and life in general (along with the hot dog, peanuts, popcorn and watered down hot chocolate). I don’t remember what we talked about, but it was about laughing and cheering for a cause and just sitting next to each other shelling peanuts for 3 hours. Going to those games with my dad stopped in my teens as my dad spent more time working to pay for our education and to enjoy his time on the golf course. Maybe he didn’t enjoy it as a dad, or life did get that busy.
When I got older and San Francisco opened what is now called “AT&T Park” (formerly Pac Bell and SBC and more affectionately, “the Phone Booth”) , I bought a couple tickets and was able to share “Opening Day”. I think it was the 2 years I spent in Chicago where the nostalgia really started coming to me and made me not just love the game on the field but everything that surrounds it. As I mentioned in a previous entry, I had the chance to take my dad to Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs on a warm Summer day, share in a Giants victory, and help the Cubs fans drown their sorrow at Murphy’s Bleachers in a plastic cup of Old Style before showing my dad some of the better watering holes and blues clubs that Chicago had to offer. Although by this time I was well into my 20s, it was the first time I felt like I was able to relate to my dad on an adult to adult relationship. I was well free of his financial backing, we talked about my pending marriage, my future, our family, and of course baseball. It was the beginning of a new course in our relationship , the adult-adult rather than the parent-child relationship, and from there I knew that baseball was more than just a game for me.
I have to give credit to the minister who did my pre-marital testing with the recommendations for the adult-adult relationship suggestion. He was very adamant that my wife start establishing that relationship with her parents as he could see that it would be a harder struggle for them to “let go”. Truth is, that it is harder to gain that respect of a parent. 15 years later, my wife still goes through that struggle. Ironically, yesterday my wife was handed a book by a family friend who heard about my wife’s illness. It is amazing how the “sisterhood” finds each other. The book is called “The Middle Place”. more appropriately it talks about the sandwich generation we are in where we are now adults looking after our sick parents, our children and ourselves and the author comes to realize she is no longer her dad’s little girl as she deals with her diagnosis of breast cancer. My wife read the cover and said she wasn’t sure if she could read it and I offered to read it for her, but told her it is something she will have to read because she needs this example. Another example of an adult-adult relationship – and defintiely very relevant. I know my wife doesn’t want to listen to me about this subject so I’ll sit tight.
Back to the subject of Opening Day, since the park had opened in 2000 I have been able to share the festivities with some of the more important people in my life on a one-on one basis (My dad, my mom, my brother, my wife, my best friend, my daughter, and my son). There is nothing like it. The pomp and circumstance, the hopes, the memories, the patriotism can be quite overwhelming. So on this Opening Day, it was a little different as I missed it for the first time in 9 years, as I listened in my office. My office though is located only blocks from the ballpark so at lunch I wandered over, grabbed a hot dog and a soda and watched through the “Archways” in right field. A great feature of the park is that for FREE you can watch the game from behind the righfielder. It is the best way to catch a Big League Opening Day in this economy. I stared across the way between innings to where I shared so many memories with my dad and others I’ve attended games with. Its not just the Opening Days but the hundreds of other games and conversations.
The walk back to my office was one of solitude. I had gotten my fill (yes the Giants won), but more importantly I had taken the people I cared for ( not physically) to the game with me and I shared those conversations again. It hadn’t been my intention to reminisce, but it just happened in the moment. Perhaps it was the text I got on the way to the game from my mom about her friend, “Mrs. E”, who had passed. “Mrs. E” had her own connection to me with baseball. Back in high school she picked me, this gawky geeky kid to entertain her granddaughter who was visiting from Kansas. She told me not to do anything “romantic” and that the girl’s dad was the police chief in their small town. Well 9 innings later we were dating and I was scared sh–less about the midwestern Sheriff who was going to kill me for corrupting his daughter. Truth be told I think she corrupted me but I can’t remember. What I do remember though is telling her about the art of hitting a baseball and showing her the smooth swing of Will Clark as she grabbed and held my hand. Amazingly she got what I was saying, or at least she pretended to. From there I knew I had to marry a girl who could hang with me at a baseball game.
Yes baseball and life have a fabric that is woven tightly in the American hearts of fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, and friends. I grew up on baseball and baseball grew up in me. While a full-blown adult, I can still go to the game like a kid and imagine I’m there with my dad or sit with my son next to me and my daughter on my lap and teach them about how to appreciate the game of baseball (because it is about appreciating life as well).
I love the mornings! I clap my hands every morning and say, ‘This is gonna be a great day!’ – Dicky Fox from the movie, “Jerry Maguire”
I don’t know what it is about Spring. Maybe it’s the first glorious sunny day after day after day of rain a nd cold nights. Sometimes it isn’t even the sun. For me, I turned on my radio and hurt the soft and velvety voice of Jon Miller, the voice of the San Francisco Giants. Yes, Spring Training Baseball! When I hear his voice I can feel the armth of Phoenix coming from the radio and just hearing the simle crack of the bat and oohs and ahhs from the crowd put me in a whole different world. Growing up in San Francisco it used to be the grand fatherly tenor voice of Lon Simmons but Jon Miller has effectively taken over.
I listened to a casual baseball game on the internet as I worked yesterday. The score didn’t matter, but the chatter amongst the announcers about the weather, what they did in the off season somehow entertained me as I flew through my work and long after the game was over I found myself smiling as I completed task after task. It is a funny thing what the mind does when things seem bright and cheery! Every Spring people want to throw things out, put things behind them and just bloom like a new flower. I can’t say that I’m any different this year.
Baseball is America’s Past-time and many say it mirrors life more than any other sport. Everyone shows up in Arizona and Florida in the Spring with high expectations and hopes, but come Winter, only a few really stand tall. And then again each Spring it starts all over again. There has been history and pageantry and many children remember sitting there ata game with their parent in the warmer summer sun eating hot dogs and drinking soda while watching their heroes (Giants) battle their enemies (Dodgers). If you are lucky like me, you get to live your life near great men such as Willie Mays who as a black man in the 50s became friends with my Asian grandfather and the two of them would talk about being minorities in San Francisco. I still have my Willie Mays autographed baseball that he signed for me in the freezer of my granfather’s butcher shop and remember my grandfather with his hand on my shoulder saying how I just met a man with a strong internal fortitude that you will never see because of his pleasant exterior.
My grandfather was a tough man and not very nurturing (hard to do with 7 children, my mom being his only daughter). My own father tried his best to give his children all that he didn’t have. And he did. Baseball games, Foot ball games, Basketball games and just walks around the golf course to hit balls at the driving range are such vivid and pleasant memories. I cherish them and try to live them with my own children so that they will feel that same passion about those times when they are my age. I can remember every great sporting event I’ve been to and mostly remember those times with my father. I only wish he were still here today to enjoy them with me and my son.
My good friend, Dave, and I both talk about how we miss doing things with our dads and have told each other about those things we just “have to do” with our children some day. One of those things is to take our kids to Wrigley Field and watch a baseball game from the bleachers (that is where the sun is). We promised each other that if anything were to happen to us before we had the chance, we’d take the other person’s kids to Wrigley Field for a baseball game.
When I attended business school in Chicago, I took many night classes so I could attend games during the days. The friendly people and history around that park is great and a reflection of how baseball meets life. I love the Chicago Cubs and more importantly I love their fans. They are a group of people who follow their team despite 100s of years of despair. In a tough way, I hope they never win. They are truly “Loveable Losers” , but that is their mystique. You don’t have to win to be loved. You don’t always have to be the best. You just have to be real and people will feel for you.
One year I invited my dad out to watch a game with me. The Giants were in town to play the Cubs. It was Randy Myers poster day and we had the pleasure of sitting a few rows in front of Ronnie Woo Woo. If you don’t know who he is, you need to get to Wrigley while he is alive. no experience is complete for any baseball fan unless you’ve heard Ronnie. My dad was totally amused by Ronnie and the whole “Left Field, Right Field” chants. The Giants were losing 1-0 all day and in the 9th inning Randy Myers came in to save the game, which he promptly blew. Instantaneoudly 20,000 posters went flying onto the field from frustrated fans only they weren’t booing but laughing. I only wish I had had a camera that day to show the laughter on my dad’s face as he threw his poster at the right fielder. The table had turned, I was taking my dad to a game and giving him great memories.
My wife is giving me a kiss right now as she sends me off for a weekend of memories. Tonight I will be heading out for my annual weekend of golf and Spring Training in Arizona. Little sleep will be had, much red meat will be eaten, but most importanly hope will be renewed and smiles will be abundant.
