All The Small Things
The top-fold in today’s San Diego Union-Tribune sports section featured a photo of Fernando Tatis Jr. mid-celebratory shout, his bat flipping in an arc away from him. Nando had just crushed a two-run homer, giving the Padres a 6-1 lead over the Dodgers. Behind him in the photo are a sea of San Diegans, all on their feet; the now eponymous rally towels are swirling, yellow blurs. It was a good night to be a Padres fan.
Debbie and I were way, way up in the 300’s on the third-base side of the field; the Dodgers dugout was somewhere below us. We had seats this time, not that we used them much. We were on our feet — jumping, shouting, flailing, and making a truly fanatic raucous — that we might as well have been at the gym for all the sitting we did.
It was a special night, from beginning to end. The ceremonial first pitch was thrown by “San Diego Padres legend” Jorge Alfaro — the man himself who coined the slogan “LFGSD”, a phrase now baked into the DNA of Padres fans everywhere. During the bottom of the 8th, San Diego native Tom DeLonge led 47,744 other Padres fans in a sing-a-long of Blink 182’s “All The Small Things.” Well, he tried to lead us — the singing was so loud, so enthusiastic, that all he could do was move through the crowd being, essentially, just one of us; just another Padres fan. When they showed him on the jumbotron it was clear he was choked-up by the overwhelming response, but, as he himself knows, it’s about the small things.
Roberts’ Rules of (Dis)order
Last night’s game came on the heels of a Padres win in Dodger Stadium on October 6 — and all the sniping, opprobrium, and controversy the game engendered. A lot of it came from Dodgers manager Dave Roberts during post-game interviews; a guy who accused Manny Machado of throwing a ball at him in-between innings and went so far as to submit video evidence of the alleged incident to MLB. Spoiler alert: nothing came of it, except yet more bad blood, and it has been the postseason's biggest nothing-burger.
Roberts’ actions make a lot of sense, however, at least to me. His team had been dismantled 10-2 in front of a home crowd, a fanbase that had paid $50 for the privilege of parking in the Dodger Stadium lots only to see them lose to their “little brother” from the southern end of The Five. Roberts was lashing out, painting his team as victims and underdogs, trying to do anything to whip his team into a frenzy. To spark something. The shenanigans didn’t work. The Dodgers lost Game #3 of the NLDS 6-5, giving the Padres a 2-1 series lead.
I think Roberts, who has managed the Dodgers since 2016, senses his time is almost up — despite signing a contract extension through 2025. You can’t lead a team for that long, with a lineup that features Mookie Betts, Freddie Freeman, Clayton Kershaw, and Shohei Ohtani — with a $228M payroll of $228, the highest in baseball — only to win only one, single championship. A championship won during the 60-game pandemic-shortened 2020 season. A season that, for what it’s worth, is considered by many non-Dodger fans (myself included) as deserving of an asterisk.
So, all that looming in the background, it makes sense that, when Roberts’ was announced over the Petco Park PA system, it was he who was subjected to the most deafening roar of boos. All the Dodgers players got boos, of course, but those for their manager were the loudest.
Stay Classy, San Diego
Before we left for the game, our lovely host Mary Jo printed out an email sent out to fans penned by Padres CEO Erik Greupner — “Greup” as fans call him. His call, in short, was for San Diego fans to be classy and stay classy. “Our game is at its best when our players and fans give everything they have for their team and city,” he wrote, “while showing respect and sportsmanship towards players and fans of the opposing team.”
There wasn’t really cause to worry about Padres fans acting up or acting out. His call for civility, in my mind, was probably a best practice, a way to get out ahead of any possible issues that might arise — when I worked for my college paper we called something like that a “CYA” moment, short for “cover your ass.” My bias may be showing, but Padres fans are not (and were not) the issue. Fans of the brown-and-gold were never the problem in LA — not at the game Debbie and saw — nor were Padres fans ever likely to cause problems in their own stadium, in front of their own team. Padres fans are not about to hurl a $15 can of Ballast Point onto the field, let alone doing so onto their own field.
And to that point, I can say that last night, in our section, there were probably two-dozen or so Dodger fans absolutely ready, as they should be, to root for their team; to shout and holler and clap. There were even chants. When Teoscar Hernandez demolished a sweeper from Michael King, giving the Dodgers a riotous grand slam in the top of the third inning, the Angelenos in our section went wild — as they should have. All I could do, for my part, was sit there, nod, and shrug. Hernandez’s hit to center field was immaculate, of course they should cheer it. I know I lost my voice cheering for everything, great and small, that the Padres did. That’s baseball, that’s what it means to be a fan.
A Fan Marches On His Stomach (And So Much More)
After the game — the chants of “BEAT LA!” echoing down and through the concourses of Petco Park — Deb and I made our way around and through the Gaslamp. After so many evenings spent there, well, it's starting to feel familiar. Of course, it doesn’t hurt to be surrounded by so much brown-and-gold.
Our rambling led us back, once again, to the Knotty Barrel. We ran into Twitter mutual B-Dubs and tied one on. This time I had the Kicked-Out Stout, an English Stout made by Knotty Barrel itself. It was 6% by ABV and infinitely quaffable.
While re-reading this dispatch, it made me realize how much what we eat and drink can impact the overall experience of something like a trip. We’ve hit the Knotty Barrel twice, had coffee at Yayas — a wonderful coffee shop ensconced in a tattoo parlor, shout-out to Selena and Tyler — and had tall, cold lemonades at Petco Park. Yes, I’ve of course had social sparklers at the ballpark but, being a ballpark, I’m much less picky and prefer something in a frosty can thrown to me by a salty vendor. I did refrain from imbibing at Dodger Stadium — being so deep in enemy territory it seemed wise to keep my wits about me. Discretion is the better part of valor.
Earlier today, before sitting down to write what you’re now reading, I walked to a little shop called Blue Mug Coffee & Tea. It’s in a little mall in Escondido and the first thing you notice is the umbrellas and outdoor seating — a shady spot is exactly what the doctor ordered. I ordered a large, iced coffee called “Tomas’ Special” made with medium roast coffee and snickerdoodle.
All The Small Things (Redux)
When I was inside I did what was, for me, kind of an odd thing — I made straight to the community corkboard at the farside of the shop. When one thinks “coffee” their next thought is probably not “corkboard,” but I was soon staring up at a sheet of paper, a flier, with the words: “In Loving Memory of TOMAS HERNANDEZ.”
On the flier were two color photos, both showing Tomas and his family. One photo is him with a baby in his arms, kissing the babe’s cheek. The other is him and his family — a partner and two kids — all decked out in San Diego Padres gear, standing in Gallagher Square with the sea-green seats of Petco Park towering behind them. Tomas is wearing the home pinstripes, his girlfriend and older child in the road browns. His youngest is in a carrier slung across his chest. It’s a beautiful, wonderful family photo.
You can glean from the flier that Tomas was an Escondido local. Treasured, it said, and I believe it. In honor of Tomas, and as a fundraiser for his family, Blue Mug created a special drink called “Tomas’ Special” — all proceeds from it during the month of October would go to his family.
The more I looked at the flier, the worse it got. Tomas passed away last month and he was only 30. As an extra kick to the stomach, he was just ten days shy of his 31st. His passing was unexpected — I found out afterwards that it had been a traffic accident.
Tomas’ flier reminded me of something Debbie had said a few nights ago, when we were driving south towards Escondido after seeing the Padres trounce the Dodgers in LA. There was “so much riding on this,” Deb said, so much hanging on this postseason run. It was a chase for the trophy, sure, and for the great parade so long overdue in San Diego. “One year soon the baseball gods will smile on the San Diego Padres and we will have a parade,” said the late, great Padres owner Peter Seidler.
But, as Deb made clear, this was about more than fortune and glory. “It’s for the organization,” she said, “but it’s for Peter, for Tony Gwynn, for Mike Darr, Mike Sharperson, Alan Wiggins, and Ken Caminiti.” It’s winning it for everyone who never got to see the hometown team win it all.
Such a win is now also for a young, family man from Escondido, CA named Tomas Hernandez. All the small things, indeed.
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Enjoyed the dispatch. I'd like one of those snickerdoodle coffees!