The team of my youth, the San Francisco Giants, has just won its third World Series in five years. It is an amazing accomplishment, though it is still difficult for me to fully comprehend.
Ramblings while on a slow suburban death.
Category: Candlestick Park
I bid adieu to the cold toilet seats in the bleachers, the outfield fence, the malted vendor of long ago that used to wear eyeglass frames without lenses and the one night my friends wandered the parking lot, lost inside a thick fog.
On the occasion of the San Francisco Giants’ first Japanese American Day at Candlestick Park, both the Rokushige Fujima Dance Troupe and the San Francisco Taiko Dojo were asked to provide the pre-game entertainment.
There was a brief time in my childhood when my father and I rooted for the Oakland A’s. He spent most of my life cheering against any team that I loved, but we were united in our respect for the boys in green and yellow.
I watch my SF Giants game on TV (except the ones v. the Dodgers because of TWC) because I live in Southern California. With the exception of Amy G, I enjoy my games and looking at the beautiful stadium. It is a source of civic pride, especially to this native San Franciscan who weathered so many seasons at Candlestick Park.
Opening Day at Candlestick Park was always the best day of the year, a time of new hope, fresh grass, hot dogs, long rides on buses, towering fly balls, hot sun and cold, cold wind.
Love, loyalty and the June Swoon
Published by Anna Pirhana on June 23, 2014(This guy sometimes seemed to fall asleep while playing in the OF)
I developed my love for baseball over long summers sitting inn the upper deck at Candlestick Park, where Willie McCovey seemed to stand a few city blocks away, a miniature figure among other miniature figures in a massive, mostly empty stadium.