Nothing cleanses the soul like a do-over, and I began to look forward to mine when Sergio Romo froze Miguel Cabrera with an 89-mph fastball to win the 2012 Series. StubHub posted 2013 Giants tickets for sale in February, and the upper-deck seats over right field I had in mind went for $160 apiece, more than I had paid for playoff games in 2010 and 2012. Seeing plenty of tickets available, I waited on my purchase, checking frequently on the prices. After remaining almost unchanged for several weeks, they started to come down at the end of March as sellers became anxious to unload their inventory before it became worthless. I kept watching online until the day before the game, when I moved in and got the seat I wanted for $74, wishing I could do that well with my investments.
Driving down to the game, I would have preferred to park east of the bay and take a BART train into San Francisco, but weekday commuters had precluded this option by filling up all of the station lots by 8 AM. When I arrived at AT&T, a little over three hours before the 1:35 PM start, the best parking option turned out to be the lots next to the ballpark for $35. Unfortunately, that part of the Giants organization, in one of the most technologically wired cities on Earth, dealt only in hard cash, which forced a detour to an ATM before I could close the deal. As I walked from my car, I saw several tailgate parties in full swing, with lots of red wine being consumed at a time well before most people would have thought about lunch. A couple of fans played catch in the grass near the Willie McCovey statue, which seemed more in spirit with the occasion.
The gates weren’t scheduled to open for another hour, but people already had formed long lines to get inside, possibly out of misguided concern that they would miss out on the souvenir calendars to be handed out to the first 40,000 fans. I chose instead to visit the Giants’ Dugout Store by the main plaza, where I found the souvenir I wanted: an official Opening Day T-shirt to wear at parties and inspire the envy of friends and relatives. The Dugout Store was crowded and took a while to negotiate. By the time I was done, the lines at the gates had disappeared, and I walked in without having to wait. There were plenty of calendars left.
A strange aspect of modern ballparks is that their architectural features, such as AT&T Park’s lower-deck promenade surrounding the field, promote freedom of movement at the same time that teams try harder than ever to restrict access based on your ticket. At a normal game, ushers stand guard at all of the entrance aisles of the lower deck seats, politely making sure that upper-deck undesirables don’t move into the neighborhood. This time, however, the ushers relaxed their vigilance and allowed everyone to roam most of the lower sections before the game. I got one to take my picture with the scoreboard behind me, and then I wandered over to the Giants’ dugout to see if I could recognize anyone. None of the players were around, and among the media and front office staff on the field I noticed only a couple of older and somewhat disheveled gentlemen, whom I guessed to be wealthy eccentrics with ownership shares in the Giants.
After watching the visiting St. Louis Cardinals take batting practice, I climbed the stairs to the upper deck to get settled before the game. For lunch, I got a bratwurst and a generous helping of sauerkraut and onions for $8—one of the better deals to be had at AT&T. Afterwards, I made my way to my seat in section 305 over right field, the same where I had been during the 2002 Series and 2010 NLCS. It wasn’t the best place to watch the game, but I preferred it over other cheap seats for its views of the Bay Bridge and the boats in McCovey Cove. It was also a good place to watch pre-game pageantry.
The festivities started a little before one o’clock, when Giants announcer Jon Miller came out to a lectern that had been set up beside home plate. “Welcome to the place,” he said, “that we Giants people consider the best address in baseball: Twenty-Four Willie Mays Plaza.” After introducing the Cardinals, who took their places along the first base line, Miller started the Giant introductions with manager Bruce Bochy, who came through a gate in center field with the 2012 World Series trophy. Bochy waved the trophy around to the fans then set it on a small platform that had been placed on the edge of the outfield grass behind second base. Opposite the new trophy was an identical platform holding the 2010 trophy. Miller then introduced the rest of the Giants, who ran one by one from center field through the trophy corridor to their places along the third base line. As they did so, another gate opened in the right field corner, from which a line of people emerged carrying the giant American flag reserved for special occasions in a long furled bundle of fabric. They made their way to the bullpen mound in left field, stretching their bundle all the way across the grass. The cast of an off-Broadway production of Jersey Boys sang the national anthem, and the bearers unfurled the flag at a run until it nearly covered the outfield. It was a touching sight, and I was high enough above the display to get almost all of it within the frame of my picture.
After the bearers slowly furled the Stars and Stripes and snaked their way back under the stands, the Giants’ public address announcer came onto the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said, “the moment you’ve all been waiting for since that historic October evening in Detroit!” As heroic orchestral music (“Knights March” from the movie King Arthur) played in the background, a fireboat appeared at the edge of McCovey Cove. Stretched on the front deck was an orange banner about ten feet long with “2012 World Series Champions” inscribed in black letters beside an image of the World Series trophy. The boat eased into the inlet and pulled up to the walkway behind the right field wall. Once the boat was parked, the firefighters got down and handed the banner to a group of six specially chosen fans, who carried it through a gate into center field.
I choked up a little at that point. Mike Krukow, the Giants’ color analyst, talked after the game about feeling goose bumps during the ceremony, so I wasn’t alone in that regard. For me, the power of the moment went beyond celebrating a championship. I tend to be pessimistic about life and afraid of the future, both for myself and my family. I believe this fear to be reasonable, and in these times it can be hard to see possibilities of security or happiness. But when I stood with forty-two thousand people and saw a flag raised in victory after a lifetime of disappointment, I could believe that there was more to life than adversity. Good things also could happen. Dreams could come true.
The game felt like an afterthought. The Giants won, of course, scoring the only run on a bases-loaded walk. For the seventh-inning stretch, the two older guys I had seen before the game came out onto the field. They were members of Jefferson Starship. Along with the band’s lead singer Grace Slick, who had come out with them, they sang “God Bless America” and “Take Me Out to The Ball Game.” The Summer of Love never felt so long ago. I left in the bottom of the eighth inning, making good time getting out of the parking lot but spending a full hour crawling about a dozen blocks in traffic to the Bay Bridge. I didn’t mind the wait at all.
