Opening Day for the San Francisco Giants is tomorrow, March 28, 2019 at 1:10 pm PST in San Diego, CA. It is only befitting of my beloved Giants that I dedicate this blog post to my team. MY TEAM! The GIANTS! For over 40 years, I’ve literally lived and died by the successes and failures of this team. I cried during the World Series failures of 1989 and 2002. I also wept during the victories in 2010, 2012, and 2014. Never did I imagine myself getting so emotional about a ballclub. And, yet, with each passing season I cannot help myself believe in the beauty of the game and the hope each season brings. Even in the down years, I believe. It is indeed the very epitome of life to see the possibility of good every year. My Cabernet
Sauvignon fueled brain can also sense the great.

I was holding my grandmother’s hand when I first walked into a professional baseball stadium. Ironically, it was Dodger Stadium in the late 1960’s and I was immediately awestruck. I don’t remember much about the game except the Dodgers were playing the Montreal Expos and it was a critical moment in my life. Before my eyes there was this glorious sight of green grass, red clay dirt, and the 76 Gas Station insignia beyond the right center field fence. At the time, and perhaps still to this day, it was the only gas station at a major league stadium. The place looked magical to me and the memory has forever stuck in my minds eye. Better than an amusement park, a cathedral, a movie set, it was a magical place where belief was suspended and incredible things could and did happen. Not long after this game, my family and Grandma moved to Santa Cruz and then the San Francisco Bay Area and I experienced similar sights at Oakland-Alameda Coliseum and Candlestick Park when I first saw those baseball fields. To say an electric current ran up my spine when I witnessed those diamonds for the first time would be an understatement.

The sounds of a baseball hitting a bat are distinct and unmistakable if you know what to listen for. For example, I can tell when a ball hits an aluminum bat, is hard vs. softly hit, and when the ball is going over the fence. If you listen closely, you can too. If you ever go to a ballgame with me, I’ll say, that’s a home run and I haven’t even looked up from my mobile phone. Oh, but there are so many other sounds of the game like when the infielders shout out to the outfielders how many outs there are or when a catcher will call out with first to third which play to run. Another favorite is the sound of a pitched ball against the catchers mitt. A loud pop usually means this guy can really throw it. I love to hear the cries of encouragement from the 3rd base coach or from the dugout or from the infield and sometimes even from the outfield. The game is full of sounds and even if you’ve never played you can close your eyes and ‘see’ what’s going on. Oh, the distinct sound of ball on helmet or even flesh is something that shivers your timbres. All you have to do is listen to hear if the player is OK.

Oh, there’s a scent of baseball and it’s not testicular sweat. Nor, is it garlic fries, popcorn, or peanuts. The smell of baseball is freshly cut grass, new uniforms, lint free, right out of the dryer, tickling your nose like a new car and pine tar. Yes, pine tar, the sticky stuff you put on the bat handle to keep it from slipping out of your hands after a hard swing just like the sap on your hands from a new 2 x 4. Baseball smells like Copenhagen, Skoal and Red Man, fresh out of the can or pouch. The smell of a new baseball mitt is distinctly heroic and makes my fingertips tingle because it feels like I’m about to make the most famous catch of my life. Locker rooms have a distinct odor and it’s not just of maleness. It’s athletes odor of perspiration and inspiration. Ballplayers stink but it’s not a negative smell. It’s distinct with the possibility of greatness.

The taste of baseball is mostly of sweat but it’s so much more than that. When a ball smacks you right in the mouth from a pitch, bad hop, or errant throw, the blood fills your mouth and you know, deep down, when you spit out, you gain instant respect. Chewing tobacco, depending on the brand, has a unique taste not all of which is a good flavor. Fondly, I think of salty sunflower seeds, my go to power food, whenever I’m playing baseball. I can never get enough. They create a wicked mess but there may not be a greater food. As a ballplayer, I can’t think of any other tastes. As a fan, there may not be a greater flavor than that of a hot dog or a sausage, freshly grilled, with Gulden’s mustard, onions and peppers. When I die, I think I will in eternity eat a Candlestick Park Polish Sausage filled with these goodies.

Have you ever stood on a baseball field and looked back at the stands and not felt a twinge of pride, excitement, and performance anxiety? If you haven’t, too bad. There is not a better feeling than to touch with your toes the outfield, the infield, the pitcher’s mound, and the batters box. With spikes or without, it doesn’t matter. The ground just electrifies you. So does a hard hit line drive smack in the glove right in the palm of your hand. Have you heard the expression, “Bees in your bat?” That’s when the ball comes in too close to the barrel and your swing isn’t fast enough to soften the blow of the ball striking the bat handle. I think being electrocuted would feel better.

There’s so much more to the game than meets the eye, ear, nose, throat and touch. I hope this gives you some idea. I love this game like I love my dear wife, my 3 dogs, and my brothers and sisters. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me but I do know what turns me on.

It’s baseball.