First Grind...

So I think I’m turning into my father. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not someone who can pull of the “Old Guys Rule” t-shirt (yet) but I’m definitely not a “young man” anymore either. So why does that mean I’m turning into my dad? It’s not the receding hairline, or how much harder it is to lose the weight after years of 16-oz. curls, but the fact that my leisure time lives revolve more and more around two things: (1) food and (2) having a great experience every time I go to a sporting event, regardless of cost, mainly because the outings are fewer each year.

I used to wonder why people would pay huge amounts of cash for what they called “good seats” at a baseball game. I used be the I-love-my-team-but-I’ll-stay-home-and-watch-it-on-TV-because-the-fridge-and-the-can-are-much-closer-that-way type. But in the last few years, I have developed a love affair with the ballpark, in a way I can only describe by thinking of that look my dad had in his eye when he was totally content. You’ve seen it – it’s the one when everyone leaves him alone, and he’s just about to fall asleep in his favorite chair or favorite spot on the couch.

I take the paper with me to the game to read between innings (or even during the game if I feel like it), I like to take a walk around the concourse to see the game from different angles, and I like to stay until the last out because I want to hear Tony Bennett after the game. Of course I will consider an early exit if we’re ahead by a pile of runs, but let’s face it, that hasn’t happened in San Francisco is a little while. And maybe my baseball-watching experience is better for it. So let me tell you about the many ways I’ve experienced my San Francisco Giants – I’ve sat in almost every ticket price range there is at AT&T park (I wish it was still called PacBell, just because it was the first name they gave it) and feel like I have to share some observations with you.

I first learned about this place called the “View Level.” I had no idea why it was called that, but as soon as I sat down, I knew instantly. Great view of the bay, great view of the jumbo-tron, and great view of the people making out in the very last row of the ballpark. As for the view of the game, I thought it left a little bit to be desired. So the next time I went to a game, I thought I would check out the “lower reserved” section. Much closer to the field, and really made me feel like “a part of the game.” There’s something else that makes me feel like my dad – you start saying things like “I really want to be part of the game,” mainly because it is becoming readily apparent that my best athletic days are behind me.

I still give it the old college try on the tennis court, but chasing down a drop shot is no longer an option for me. But back to the lower-reserved section. I first sat on the third base line, because I figured I wanted to be on my side of the action. The Giants dugout is on that side, and so is their bullpen. I neglected to think about the logistics of the sun during a Sunday afternoon game. Let’s just say that I became familiar with two phrases after that game: “SPF 900” and “retina burn.” It was a great game, but the “game experience” was compromised by the environment. Sounding even more fatherly still, don’t you think?

So now let’s talk about the first time I discovered this thing called “the club level.” When I entered this piece of ballpark heaven, I thought there could be nothing better. You get your own separate entrance, your own escalator/elevator, bathrooms in which you never need to stand in line, and even your own ATM so you can buy souvenirs at your very own souvenir stand. But by far, the biggest innovation of all had to be the full bars in the club level. Dirty martini before the game? Sure, they got that. Shot of premium tequila while you get your rally cap on? Yep, got that, too. How about some scotch at last call, just because you can? No problem, sir, here you go. In my mind, there’s another “I am my dad” moment – when you order a scotch “because you can.” So I thought I had arrived. The best experience, great seats, and you don’t have to wait in line very much. And then I heard about this thing called “the luxury suite.”

Maybe you’ve been in a Suite before. Up until two months ago, I had never imagined what it would be like to be in one. I guess I always figured those things were reserved for people who have fancier jobs than I do and have to entertain clients there because the SEC frowns upon companies whose executives take clients to strip clubs these days (those were the days, weren’t they?). Anyway, turns out my company actually has a suite at the park, and by some stroke of luck, I got my hands on a couple tickets. So I call up my buddy Gene and we go check it out. We got to the ballpark so early they hadn’t even started BP yet. Yet another “getting older” change I’ve gone through – showing up way way early is definitely not a “young” thing to do. We get to Willie Mays Plaza, and I see the throngs of people at the main turnstiles, and then I see the short-but-still-long line for the club level. And then out of the corner of my eye I catch the suite entrance. Inconspicuous, quiet, and unobtrusive. Two AT&T staffers by the door, not really calling any attention to themselves.

But there is no line, and every so often I see people being ushered in. I’m thinking, “I’ve never been through that door before. And now I get to know!” Out of habit, Gene starts walking to the club level line, and I have the distinct pleasure of telling him, “Dude, we get to go to the short-short line over there this time.” Well, the whole evening got better from there. They check you into the suite, announce that we were the “first to arrive,” and ask us if there is anything we need. I just got here and haven’t even found my seat– what could I really need? But the fact that they even ask made me smile that contented smile, just like my dad. Of course we had a great time – free internet in the suite, a bunch of food and drinks, and a great view of the game. But there is one other thing that really makes me feel like my dad. And it has to do with the traditional walk we took around the stadium during the game.

We grab the elevator down to the club level, just to check out our former nirvana, and the two staff members at the door check our tickets. We show them the tickets, and they visibly recoil, quickly step aside, and say “Oh, you gentlemen are from the SUITES. Go right in, enjoy the game.” The only thing I could hear in my head was “I’ve got a golden ticket/I’ve got a golden ticket.” So the Luxury Suite ticket means you can go anywhere you want? Sweet. But I quickly realized how crowded the club level suddenly felt, and how many people were actually waiting in line. Last season I wouldn’t have bated an eye, grateful for the fact that the guy with the painted body isn’t sitting next to me belching up his garlic fries at me the whole game. But right now, it just feels, well, crowded. We moved on to the main concourse so we could do the walk around to the arcade and the outfield bleachers. There seemed to be a really negative vibe down there for some reason.

The high school kids all seemed way bigger than when I was 18, and they all seemed to be talking a foreign language irrespective of economic background, race, or color. And there was this hard edge to it all, like a fight was going to break out any minute. I remember thinking, “I never felt like this when I sat down here before. What’s up with me now?” Even calling it down here made me feel like my dad. Like I belonged somewhere else. Somewhere else “up there.” We walked kind of quickly through the rest ballpark, noticing that the smoker’s nook closest to the 3rd base line foul pole had been dismantled (I spent some quality moments there some years ago). When we got back to the Suite, we were pretty quiet for a while. Just thinking about what we had just experienced. And after we talked about it (two guys talking about an experience – another thing young guys just don’t really do, at least as far as I can remember), we both said that we sure were happy to have our little insulated piece of the ballpark where we could hang on our own. There are even a couple couches and a chair to sneak a nap if we want. Yup, much more our speed these days.

So I started off telling you that I think I’m turning into my father. And after telling you about the different levels of experiences I’ve had at my beloved San Francisco Giants ballpark, I’m pretty sure I'm turning into my dad. Two things about that I’ll leave you with: (1) I’m totally ok with it, because it turns out my dad is a smart guy, in ways I never acknowledged before and (2) even after the luxury suite experience, my favorite seats in the ballpark are still Section 109, Lower Box, Row 30, halfway between home plate and first base on the visitor’s dugout side. I learned that this way if there’s a bench-clearing brawl, I get to see my team running out of its dugout swinging.
Thanks for reading; this is Shyle, welcoming a future opportunity to pour you a morning cup.