I’d like to thank Kelly Mitchell of Newark, California and a Giants fan since the early 60s, for sharing this Giants memory.
A DAY AT CANDLESTICK PARK by Kelly Mitchell
A Sunday in late summer, early ‘80’s.
A group of friends and I were heading up from Los Gatos, California, to Candlestick Park, about 60 miles to the north. My best friend, Randy, was hosting a cousin of his on a visit from Pittsburgh. The Giants were hosting his beloved Pirates in that now-extinct animal, a scheduled doubleheader.
The temperature in Los Gatos was a toasty 90 or so and heading up. We converged on our pre-designated meeting spot. The Candlestick veterans showed up in our shorts and T-shirts with our “Candlestick Bags,” duffles stuffed to the point of bursting with sweatpants, hoodies and jackets.
Randy’s cousin had the shorts and T-shirt thing happening, but with flip-flops and no additional protection from the elements. We told him that he was going to need more clothing, but he was having nothing of it.
Soft Californians. What do you know about cold. Try living through a winter in Pittsburgh. Valid point, but still… We tried once again to convince him that it wouldn’t hurt him to at least carry some warmer clothes. More good-natured derisive laughter and macho posturing.
Oh well. Maybe he could buy a Giants sweatshirt at the park if things got bad. It would serve him right.
Our seats were in the upper deck behind left field…in full sun. It was uncomfortably warm through the whole first game (Can’t recall the result at this remove).
Between games, hot dogs and beers were procured and consumed. A good time being had by all, but especially by Randy’s cousin.
“Oooooohhhh. It’s sooooooo coooooooold. How shall I ever survive,” said the cousin…or something in a similar vein. It was just after 3:00 p.m. and we still had another game to watch. In Candlestick Park. In CANDLESTICK PARK. The Californians had an idea about what might be coming. We waited.
As I recall, the wind started to freshen in the third inning of the nightcap, bringing the fog in through the Golden Gate and eventually blanketing Candlestick Point. The “Candlestick Bags” came out from under the soft Californians’ seats and layers were added. Hypothermia was averted, except for that of Randy’s cousin. By the fourth inning of the second game he had assumed the fetal position and a faintly blue hue. He began suggesting that we leave in the fifth. The begging began in the sixth.
Mark Twain was right. The coldest winter he ever experienced was a summer in San Francisco. The soundtrack of the ride home included some of the most exquisite I-told-you-so’s of all time.
Candlestick tested the mettle of Bay Area baseball fans. Although I love -LOVE…AT&T Park, and wouldn’t trade it for Wrigley or Fenway - I have fond memories of the decrepit edifice on Candlestick Point. I experienced a lot of great baseball, football and one bad earthquake there. In some weird way I’ll miss the thing when it finally ceases to exist.
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