Stick-in' it to Wireless Park

I was fortunate enough to be at Pac Bell Park for the Giants-Cubs game tonight, and while the Giants pulled off a 10th-inning victory against Chicago, you wouldn't have known it if not for the scoreboard. His first time up, Barry Bonds stepped into the box and was greeted by something like 14,000 camera flashes. He lined a pitch from Kerry Wood to the warning track, eliciting groans from the unusually-packed-for-a-Giants-game-in-the-first-inning crowd. When Bonds doubled in the fifth inning, it was the most unanimously-booed double I have ever had the pleasure of reacting to. After Bonds came out of the game for pinch runner Tom Goodwin in the eighth, so many "fans" left the ballpark so quickly you'd think there had been a bomb scare. By the time Benito Santiago dribbled an infield single between Billy Mueller and Six Finger Alfonseca to push across the winning run in the 10th, the game had become something of an afterthought. Most of the boats had left McCovey Cove. The arcade section containing the right-field bleachers, which had been packed tighter than a post-game Express Caltrain only innings earlier, once more featured standing/breathing room, its former tenants long having returned to their garlic fries, cell phone conversations and other assorted things not remotely related to baseball or the game at hand.



Before I make my general point, I feel a disclaimer is appropriate. In the few dozen games I've attended in my 18 years, I've been a part of some pretty special moments. I got to see my favorite player from my childhood, Darryl Strawberry, smack three homeruns against the White Sox one steamy summer night in the Bronx. I saw David Cone's first start back from his shoulder aneurysm in '96, when he no-hit Oakland for seven innings but was lifted by manager Joe Torre for precautionary reasons. Cone had pitched the first game that this life-long Mets fan went to in '89, and this comeback game cemented him as my new favorite player, as Straw — the constant disappoint — had fallen somewhat out of my good graces over the years.



A few summers later, with Don Larsen throwing out the first pitch on Yogi Berra day in the Bronx, I was in the stands to see Coney pitch a perfect game against Montreal. That same summer, I sat in the stands with my grandpa and 30,000 screaming Dominicans as Sammy Sosa belted two homers against the Mets on Dominican Night at Shea. I've seen a grand slam, a playoff game, several major league debuts, many extra-innings games and even the Village People (before "Until There's A Cure Day" a few summers ago at the Stick). These moments aren't all terrible rare, or even particularly unique; the point I'm trying to make is that I've been at more than my share of games that were overshadowed by an accomplishment or offset by one circumstance or another.



That said, I have never been part of a crowd as disinterested in a game as tonight's Pac Bell crowd was. The fans seemed so caught up in the Bonds sideshow that they completely missed obvious clapping moments like Russ Ortiz walking off the mound with the lead after pitching seven strong innings. The Cubs tied the game in their half of the 9th with a base hit well over the head of Shawon Dunston. Dunston, though, who never makes a play in the outfield look pretty, fell on his ass attempting to make a play, and was raucously booed when he stepped up to the plate later in the game.



Look, on a theoretical level, I appreciate that the Giants built Pac Bell Park. The sight lines are great from every seat in the building, it has unbelievable views of the Bay and it's not too hard to look at, either. But after going to a dozen or so games the past three seasons, I'm ready to move back to Candlestick. It's been great going to sold-out games held at an architectually-astounding park with all the "modern amenities" and so forth, but the Pac Bell fans are killing me. Not only are most of the fans stupid, but they can't even be stupid in an out-of-sight, out-of-mind type of way. They all bring their phones, and their calling plans all seem to require that they place and receive several calls while in their seats. When they cheer, it's de-personalized garbage they read off of the scoreboard, and many of them don't arrive until the fifth inning.



Candlestick was an eyesore of a ballpark, and it didn't draw anywhere near the number of fans that the "Jewel of San Francisco" rakes in. It didn't have an oversized baseball glove or a Coke bottle slide, and I'm pretty sure there were never any Portugese water dogs. The Stick was concrete grey and grass green, and the only other colors were in the opposing teams' uniforms. When you went to watch a game there, though, by God, that's what you went to do. Make no mistake about it; Candlestick Park was a dump and I'm probably more happy than sad to be watching games in a more hospitable environment. But when doing so is at the cost of sanity, I just might watch Barry go for 700 from my couch.