Out to the ballgame

I’m not much of a sports fan, I leave that to Mike.  Nonetheless, last Wednesday found me at ATT Park to watch the Giants and the Mets.

Parking is always a challenge, but sometimes you can get lucky.  There is a restaurant called Momo’s right across the street from the stadium, and they offer valet parking.  We got the very last spot, for a price pretty near the national debt of Bolivia, but it’s pretty cool to have your car right in front where the trolley cars stop.

Proof that was there–and wearing the appropriate shirt, too. I left my Dodgers suspenders at home.

Ross, Gail’s son the Fresno almond broker, got the tickets.  We were closer to home plate than the dugout, which seems to be a good thing.

I had a chair–these guys had to stand.

Two grandkids and Toby, even closer to home plate

I think you have to be important to stand there with your hands in your pockets. Anyway, he’s too old to be a player so he must be a big shot.

Wednesday was apparently a big night–it was Jerry Garcia night, in honor of what would have been his 70th birthday.  Bob Weir was one of the three guys singing the national anthem.

It was also a big deal that it was the first game for Hunter Pence.  I don’t know why he just started playing with the Giants but everybody clapped and cheered when he came up to bat for the first time.

I hate it when the guy on deck blocks my view. Why can’t he do that in the dugout?

Okay, so I don’t know much if anything about baseball. What about the food?

It’s a ball park, don’t come expecting gourmet.  The interesting thing was the delivery–you don’t have to stand in line anymore, except for the ladies room.  There are people roaming the stands ready to take your order and send it electronically to the kitchen, where it is prepared and then delivered to your seat.  Payment is by credit card, no cash, and you’d better have a good credit limit.  A couple of very pedestrian hot dogs, some garlic fries, a wine and a beer set us back $57.

Gail with son Ross and daughter in law Julie

But you don’t go to a ball game for the food.  You go for the game, for the classic American experience, the sounds, the sights, the smells, and, if you are lucky and it’s just the right night, a view like this:

Full moon over McCovey cove

 

Eventually, the evening was over.  The Giants lost, 2-1.  Gail was cold so we watched the last two innings from the bar where we parked the car–the grandsons weren’t leaving until the bitter end, and then had to try to get autographs.  I took a wrong turn and it took a while to get on the freeway and it was still a wonderful, mostly magical evening at the ball game.

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