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Much Ado About Baseball
As of writing, Deb and I left Tucson only six days ago, but it feels like it's been a month. Enough has happened, and continues to happen, that I think I need the world to stop for about three business days to give me a chance to write it all down. However, time waits for no man, so we press on, dear readers. But first, some housekeeping.
Our Adventure Thus Far
Below is a recap of everything I haven’t had a chance to write about since the evening of October 2. Hopefully some of these details can be sprinkled throughout future dispatches. Since the last Wild Card game, and in chronological order, Deb and I:
Took a tour of Petco Park, learning about its history and design; saw grounds crew replace the Wild Card branding with NLDS Series logos; and spent time in the away clubhouse, the lockers still emblazoned with the names of Atlanta Braves players. Debbie and I dawdled so long they sent someone to get us.
Drove up to Oceanside and spent an hour ambling around the pier, walking as far as we could towards the pier’s “hammerhead” front, the site of a massive fire in April. The pier is intact, and was covered in ramblers and fishermen. The area around the pier reminded me of Waikiki in Honolulu.
Became comfortably ensconced in Escondido with a wonderful friend of a friend, who opened her house to Deb and I for as long as we might be kicking around southern California. This means I have access to both a writing desk and a chair — luxuries when one is kicking-about as we are.
Attended the NLDS Watch-Party for Game #1 in Petco Park’s Gallagher Square. It was such a treat to spend time on the grass with other fans, all cheering and jeering at the Big Screen in unison, that it made the opening game loss slightly more palatable. Several foamy drafts of Estrella Jalisco no doubt helped, too.
Drove into Los Angeles to see Jon Leonoudakis’ debut of his documentary short Being Ty Cobb, about actor and historian Norm Coleman’s one-man-show about Ty Cobb - a show he performed for twelve years all over the country. The film was shown at SYS’ Six-Figure FIlm Festival in Glendale and Norm, now well into his 80’s, attended. I met Jon at the NINE Spring Training Baseball Conference in March; Deb has known him for years. You can find more about him and his work at The Sweet Spot.
Went deep into enemy territory to witness the Padres rout the Dodgers 10-2 at Dodger Stadium during NLDS Game #2. I had only been to Dodger Stadium once, as a kid, and let me tell you brother, going as an adult — especially to see a playoff game — was a trip. Read on for more thoughts about last night's game.
Far [Too Close] to the Madding [Dodger] Crowd
I reference last night’s 10-2 victory in the recap above, but it’s something that deserves more attention. While many readers have no doubt scrolled social media, watched videos, or listened to the news it was an altogether different thing to be on the ground — or at least in the bleachers.
Banter between fans, or between fans and players, is nothing new. I actually kind of like it. For my own part, I waved my yellow rally towel a lot while seated at Dodger Stadium, and the only “thing” that knowingly came from it was a guy behind me tapping me on the shoulder and, jokingly, offering to replace my Padres towel with his Dodgers one. It was cheeky, good natured, and harmless. I told him I was good with the one I had and we exchanged a laugh. It’s baseball, not a battlefield.
However, Dodger Stadium is known for being hostile towards away fans and it’s not just the Giants they have a rivalry with. I asked a friend who has attended plenty of Padres games in “enemy territory” just how we should act in Chavez Ravine. She gave me valuable counsel in person — during Wild Card Game #2, when we weren’t even sure we’d be in LA at all — and then texted me on gameday with more. “Have a heap and a half of fun,” she wrote, “just remember - do not engage.” If someone said something to us, ignore it — “don’t feed the trolls” was the evening's watchword.
While nothing at all happened to Deb and I, there was enough of a vibe in the air that made caution wise. A pair of fellow Padres fans two rows below us chanted, whooped, and hollered — they did nothing a normal fan wouldn’t do during a regular season game. However, I lost count of the times the guy would chant something in support of Manny, or Profar, or Nando and then turn around to say to the sea of blue behind him: “please don’t hurt us.” He always had a grin on his face when he said it and yet…
I think it says everything that, as the game progressed and the score gap got wider in the Padres favor, that the typical boos shifted to more venomous chants. Which is fine, really. Chant away. Whenever Padres fans are in a frenzy and feeling their druthers, their chants are no worse than “Beat LA!” — at least none that I have heard, but that might change by tomorrow. By the middle of the game at Dodger Stadium, however, when the boos became chants, the fans-in-blue leapt immediately to simply:
“Fuck the Padres…clap-clap clap-clap-clap…Fuck the Padres…clap-clap clap-clap-clap.”
Some would say this is just banter, but in my opinion it’s crass. This is especially so when one considers the sport is, ostensibly, family-friendly. But, really, I digress.
My wife, watching the game at home, messaged me during the top of the 8th. I had told her a fight had broken out — this was after a delay due to Dodger fans throwing balls at Profar and beer cans at Tatis Jr. — and she replied that “of course it did.” A few minutes later she added: “This is why the Pads restricted sales. For a civilized game.” And so the Padres had and have restricted sales to only the counties in and around San Diego; however, as everyone seems to forget, they geolocked not just tickets for the NLDS, but for the Wild Card games, too. No one seemed to have a problem with that.
And yet, despite everything, when the game ended it seemed to me that the hostility levels actually decreased. The battle was over, so to speak, and Dodger fans had seen a blow-out of the highest order on home turf. By game end they just wanted to go home. One fan, however, was trying his damndest to get an anti-Padre chant going. He shouted exactly what you have just guessed: “Fuck the Padres!” After repeating the words at least a dozen times, he finally stopped. Not a single other Dodger fan, not even once, had picked up the call.
A Very Happy Birthday
One of the friends that has made this trip as fun (and safe) as it has been is Annie. I don’t want to embarrass her, but she’s been a consistent Padres presence in my life for several years — first online and then in-person. We had the good fortune of meeting on Twitter, but the better fortune to meet face-to-face during a Padres game in Phoenix back in 2022. Annie helped us get tickets to both Wild Card games and was the purveyor of the Dodger Stadium survival wisdom mentioned above. Today, October 7, is also her birthday so it seemed fitting to give her a special shout-out, and to thank her publicly, for her friendship, guidance, and support. Annie is the best — thank you and happy birthday, friend!
What Happens Next?
As it stands, Deb and I have tickets to tomorrow's NLDS Game #3. Deb struck up a conversation with some fellow Padres fans last night — yes, at Dodger Stadium — and asked them if they had tickets to any of the next two games. They did. She then asked if they had any extras. You can guess what they said — they said yes, because of course they did. This entire trip has been like that. There are good people and friends everywhere for those with eyes to see.
So, that means we’ll be in Petco Park tomorrow night for the first home-game of the NLDS. After that? We’ll see. Our current plan, if all goes well Tuesday and Wednesday, is to see them through the NLCS here in California. We both have a sense that getting World Series tickets might be a bridge too far, but hopefully we’ll find ourselves in such a glorious predicament — we can but hope, dream, and root our hardest.
#fightforthefaithful
Deb and I were driving back to Escondido last night, talking about the game, when she said: “There’s so much riding on this.”
What did Deb mean by that — there’s so much riding on this? I had my ideas, but what did she mean?
“It’s for the organization,” Deb replied, “but it’s for Peter, for Tony Gwynn, for Mike Darr, Mike Sharperson, Alan Wiggins, and Ken Caminiti.” She paused and, referring to Caminiti, added: “Think how excited he would have been?”
We were down 0-1 and won, and winning it all starts here. “It was more than just a single game,” she said. “It stands for a lot more than that we won one game at Dodger Stadium.”
Deb was, and is, right. Peter Seidler, Tony Gwynn, Mike Darr, Mike Sharperson, Alan Wiggins, and Ken Caminiti never got to see the Padres win it all. Peter and Tony died from cancer — in 2023 and 2014, respectively. Darr died in 2002 (the victum of his own drunk driving) during Spring Training in Peoria, AZ. Sharperson was killed in a car-accident in Las Vegas in 1996 and Wiggins, passing in 1991, became the first MLB player to die from AIDS. Caminiti, who had struggled with substance abuse since he was a teen, died of a drug overdose in 2004.
The San Diego Padres are now 1-1, even-stevens, with everything to play for. The Padres are playing for themselves, of course, for the ever elusive draw of fortune and glory. But they are also playing for a team, for a city, and for a fanbase that has never raised the ultimate trophy. They are a team of best friends and they are playing for so much more; they are playing for every Padre who missed out, who died young, who never got to see the parade.
If all goes as planned we’ll have a pretty good idea of just how excited Ken Caminiti would be if he was here to see it all.