A few months into the new millennium, my relationship with baseball, which up until that point had been one of casual interest, would change forever.
On the afternoon of 11 April 2000, I saw a baseball park for the first time. Fans were gathered outside in the early spring day afternoon checking out the freshly-built park with its stunning brick façade and waterside location. It was so new, the smell of paint preceded my observation through the cast iron gates that people were working furiously to get everything flawless for that evening’s game.
The sense of excitement was amplified by the fact that it was not only the first home game of the season, it was also what we British football fans would call a derby game. One of the oldest rivalries in baseball history and, of course, it was a sell-out.
The freshly-laid grass was the most brilliant green, which I could see through the iron railings where, to this day, fans can stand for free for an inning or two. With the clank of a gate opening and the bustle of two men rushing past, I stood back to notice that, in their hurry, they had left the gate ajar.
Keen to have a closer look, I slipped through the unattended entrance and, in what seemed like seconds, I was a matter of inches from the outfield dirt. It wasn’t long before a security guard appeared beside me “What are you doing here?”, she said. In the poshest British accent I could muster, I replied, “I’m awfully sorry. I appear to be lost”.
My earliest introduction to anything baseball was through my aunt, who worked for a Canadian airline. Occasionally, she would bring me Canadian gifts with my favourite being a Montreal Expos hat and t-shirt. However, there was no real chance to watch or follow baseball in the late 70s or early 80s. My only real exposure to games was the World Series. I remember watching Kirk Gibson’s home run in the first game of the 1988 World Series, the Braves’ outstanding pitching in the 90s and several years of Yankees successes. I started playing locally in the 90s. I loved watching and playing baseball but did not have a passion for any one team. In 2000, I decided to take a trip to the States and hopefully see a game.
“Oh my god, you’re English”, she said. It turned out that Delores (I’m pretty sure that was her name) was a massive football fan and supported Arenal. We chatted for a while but I didn’t dare reveal that I was a born-and-bred Spurs fan. Rather than summarily throwing me out, the lovely Delores offered to show me around the ballpark. For the next hour, she showed me the whole place. We walked all the way round from the field’s edge to the top of the three floors of terrace. As we were just about to finish our impromptu tour, she told me they were releasing a handful of tickets in the next few minutes. After a massive thank you to Delores, she showed me out of a side door right next to the ticket office.
That evening as I sat in Row Two of the centre field bleachers, I became a San Francisco Giants fan. I had already fallen in love with the ballpark and now the team. They went on to lose three straight games to the Dodgers but I got to see Barry Bonds hit a home run in front of a packed-out PacBell Park. For the next quarter of a century, I have followed the Giants closely, from the team that could never win a World Series since their move to San Francisco to one who won three in four years. When the season is on, I’ll be watching every day, with the Giants being the background soundtrack to my spring, summer and hopefully autumn.
In May 2023, I returned to the now-named Oracle Park for my first game there since my fortuitous meeting with Delores. This time, the tour was an official one plus two games straight against the Pirates. Sitting behind the home dugout, getting to watch the players come out of the dressing room and the bonus of a ball signed by Giants catcher Partick Bailey was all a delicious experience. My wife said, I was just like a kid at his first game and, for a non-sports fan, she loved her days at the ballpark and not just because of the Ghirardelli ice cream. Like me, she appreciated the beauty of a ballpark on a summer’s day, the smiling kids with their parents, the murmur of the crowd and the back-and-forth of the innings with the occasional crack of the bat or exceptional fielding play.
Sometimes in life, it is those brief moments where you turn left instead of right, to swing for the fence rather than bunt, or perhaps make the rash decision to trespass that open up a new passion in your life. It creates memories and an emotional attachment rather than just a cold choice of one particular team or another. So, for me, I am now and forever a Giant.
Tim Spurrier is a Giants fan, and can be found on Twitter @timspurrier.
Featured image – Author’s own
