However, being a live spectator is a whole other experience.
I went to a fair number of professional sports games when I was a kid growing up in the LA area. I have very distinct memories of seeing the Angels play on their home turf. But it's been decades since I've attended a pro match.
All grown up now, I do a fair bit of travel for work. This often sees me going to Adobe headquarters in San Jose. I've been here so many times that I have to seek new thrills. Most of my colleagues were staying at the luxurious Fairmont hotel. For adventures sake, I opted to stay at the less posh, but more historic, Saint Claire.
Generally our boss will entertain the team with a fancy diner. This time we got a special treat: travel up to San Francisco to catch a Giants game.
Like all such situations, there was a plan in place. It was simple, would satisfy our goals, and was foolproof. Take Caltrail up the length of the bay, arrive early, enjoy the festivities. No problem.
When we got off work, Pete and I headed back to the Saint Claire together to drop off our work materials and get changed before meeting everyone else at the Fairmont. But we needed to pick up something from his car first and our hotel was further away. There was a time table for the plans, so everybody else took off: we'd catch up. This, it turned out, required a bit of running. We arrived just as our boss had finished purchasing the last of our tickets and we made it to the train on schedule.
But the universe had other plans.
Seems a BMW got clipped on the train tracks. Not our train, but one in front of us. We were delayed while things got cleaned up. Half of our train had reached the platform and many passengers sensed a long wait. These opted to BART the rest of the way, leaving only Giants fanatics behind. More than half an hour later we were cleared to travel again. But now our schedule was entirely off. So much for well-laid plans.
Instead of arriving early, we got to AT&T Park somewhere around the end of the second inning. The Giants had already scored and we hadn't even entered Willie Mays Gate. Bing handed out our tickets and I was assigned a seat next to Jeff. The two of us decided to stick close because everyone got split up as we entered the park. Our tickets were for the third terrace and we'd only made it to the top of the first when we'd lost nearly everyone. We found Baxter and the three of us continued to take the long way round to our seats.
We were in the View Box, a bit of seating that hangs off the main stands area. It offers a spectacular view of the field but makes it a little harder to find. Our section was near the top of the third base foul pole, which made the likelihood of a ball batted into our region about nil.
I headed to the gift shop to pick up some souvenirs. I got a shot glass for Joy, a key chain for Atheana, and Tim Lincecum in Lego form for William. While I was shopping the Giants scored again when someone hit a triple.
Participating in the national pastime is a strange mix of enthusiasm and Pavlovian shepherding. People cheer when a good play is made, boo at a bad call, and go nuts when there is a home run. But we also clap and sing on the demands of audio and visual cues that are staples at any game. The video cameras also sweep the crowd and encourage specific behavior. There was the "kissing cam", which would show a couple sitting together on the jumbotron until they did the deed. It could be cute, romantic, or downright steamy. Toward the end of the game we had the Gangnam Style cam, rousing folks to pony up.
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And what's a game without the Wave? The section above us also tried to get this going. While some participated and others merely ignored, other folks got rather heated and started screaming for this nonsense to stop. If you're not going along with the crowd, what's the point? If your main concern is watching the game uninterrupted, why not watch it at home?
Physics can occasionally play out strangely during a sporting event. At one point when a batter hit the ball, the bat split. The largest chunk went flying toward the shortstop and landed near the edge of the infield sticking straight up like a spoon in thick chili.
The greatest hazard faced during the entire event though was the seagulls. They would perch, pick their targets, and then head out in massive bombing runs. I was never hit, but there was a close call a couple seats in front of me. But we always had half an eye on the sky.
Most of my team left at the top of the eighth to catch a train back. The next wouldn't be for another hour, but I'd come to watch the game. We'd missed the beginning, I'd missed a chunk of the middle for shopping and to food lines. I would be damned if I was going to miss the end as well. Not that there were going to be any surprises. The Giants were up 5-0 and had been dominating the game. By the end they scored one more time, not even completing the ninth inning as the game was already over.
I caught the next train, but it was an all-stop special, so it took nearly an hour and half to get home. It was nearly 1 a.m. by the time I made it back to the hotel and I still wanted to hit the gym. Waking up the next day for work was nearly impossible, but I don't regret any of my decisions that night.
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