In recent years most professional sports teams fortunate enough to win trophies have held tours following their championship seasons, and though the Giants obviously hadn’t had prior experience they seemed to know what they were doing. Inside the building a series of plastic barriers directed the crowd into a line that snaked back and forth across the floor, slowly making its way toward the trophy display in front. The barriers, made of very light plastic, served their purpose despite sometimes clattering loudly to the floor when unsuspecting fans tried to lean upon them. In several places video screens played the Giants’ 2010 season documentary, which not only entertained people as they waited but also served as effective advertisements for those inclined to purchase the DVD, as I did soon afterward. At the display a professional photographer took pictures of fans as they posed with the trophy, which could be purchased online afterward with coupons handed out by the event staff. We could also take our own pictures if we were quick about it, but as the press releases had announced in bold type, reinforced by a sign as we entered the building, we were strictly forbidden from touching the trophy.
Most of us were dressed in Giants shirts and caps, many of which were recently purchased for their World Series championship insignia. One older gentleman came in full uniform holding a bat, looking ready once his picture was taken to step into a dugout and fill out a lineup card. Nearby, a woman pushed a stroller, her baby wearing a Giants cap and covered by a blanket printed with team logos. The only noticeable exception was a man wearing a jacket commemorating the New York Yankees’ championships from the 1970s; I had an impulse but not enough nerve to tell him that he’d come to the wrong place. A couple of friends farther back in line spotted me in my black Giants sweatshirt and shouted greetings, which I returned with good cheer.
Not that I thought I would be lonely while I waited; with all of us there in line for the same purpose and by definition having a major topic of interest in common, conversations started with little prompting. The man in front of me said that he’d been a fan since 1956. I asked him if he’d been to the Polo Grounds where the Giants had played in New York. He had not, but he had been to games at Candlestick Park prior to 1972 when the stadium still had its original configuration. “They never should have enclosed it,” he said. “Ruined the view of the bay.”
Behind me a woman and her husband spoke of his stay in the hospital during the Series. “Everyone there was all excited,” she said. “It was all that the doctors and nurses talked about.” Later on, she mentioned that she had been the first woman to coach a boy’s baseball team in the Bay Area.
“How did you do?” I asked.
“We won most of the time,” she said, “and my son got a full baseball scholarship.” Then she told me that the parents of Giants announcer Jon Miller lived close by, his mother being the owner of a booth at a local flea market. “She’s a sweetie,” she said, “and Jon looks like his mommy.”
The event staff kept us moving at a good pace, and I reached the front of the line about ninety minutes after I arrived. The trophy sat on a table covered in black cloth, with a sheet printed with Giants and Visa logos hung behind as a background for the photos. With my camera in hand I quickly bent down in front of the trophy and got a picture, just making out the words “World Series Champions” engraved on the silver platform underneath the gold-plated pennants representing the thirty teams in the National and American Leagues. I took a sniff, thinking that I might catch a faint scent of celebratory champagne, but was disappointed. Then I assumed my place behind the table, bent myself down on the advice of the photographer, and smiled for my picture. After the photographer finished, an attendant handed me my coupon, and I quickly made way for the couple behind me. However, I was not quite finished with my errand.
That got him to smile, and I thanked him and left. On the way to my car it I heard someone complain that the staff had not only closed the doors to late-arriving fans, presumably to keep to the two-hour viewing schedule, but were keeping onlookers from peeking in the windows. “I don’t know why they need to be so strict,” he said. “It’s not like it’s the Shroud of Turin.”
Bite your tongue.
– Chuck Strom
Here’s Chuck’s previous World Series article, October Baseball in San Francisco
