Leaving Washington was the beginning of the end of the road trip (tear). We were returning home, driving familiar highways, staying with close friends and relatives, visiting ballparks we have already been to, the adventure was essentially over.
The San Francisco Giants play in one of, if not the, most beautiful ballparks ever made. It is butted up to the bay with a stretching view of the water, Bay Bridge, and even parts of downtown. The facility itself is wonderfully designed. It would be absolutely perfect if it was not packed with Giants’ “fans”. The quotations are necessary because I refuse to use the same word for those that go to Cardinals games and those that go to Giants games. So in the case of SF I am going to call them “bystanders” because that is what they are. They are visitors to the ballpark, there for the scene, there to be seen, and they are passive inattentive bystanders to any type of athletic competition that may ensue. The only exception to this, of course, is what Barry “I didn’t know they were steroids when I took them” Bonds comes to the plate. Boy howdy do they love that juice monkey at SBC Park. His name is on not one, but two, signs that are visible from the playing field. The first is a Charles Schwab ad that reads ‘Stocks, Mutual Funds, BONDS’. This is nice and subtly placed just to the right of the center field scoreboard, about 200 feet up from the field of play – I think it is quite clear that Giants’ management wants the other 24 players on this team, it is a team sport, to know how valuable and appreciated they are. The other sign is bright orange lettering on the left field wall which reads, ‘Bonds Squad’. This assumes that everyone in left field is there to see Barry Bonds – not a bad assumption but lets be honest here, those that like Bonds are there not to see his defensive prowess but to see him hit roid balls into the bay over the porch in right field.
The Giants game was a day game and so we found ourselves in Dana Point that night. 400 miles, one afternoon, no problem. My sisters live in a lovely duplex about two blocks away from a bar which is, surprisingly, where we ended up. This fine establishment, which Heather snuck into because she didn’t want to walk the 150 feet back to her apartment and get her ID, had a rockin’ cover band as their Saturday night entertainment. (that was not my best sentence) Anyhow, it had been a while since I really got to let myself go and get rockin’. Fortunately this band came to play with such epic cover songs as ‘I Ran’ by Flock of Seagulls and ‘Walk like an Egyptian’ by the Bangles. I wish my words could do some justice to the specimens on the “dance floor”. There were about 7 of them, all dancing by themselves, all single (I don’t know this, but they had to be because no one would enter any kind of meaningful relationship who danced the way they did), and all rocking hard some Billy Joel song. I guess this is how they do it in the OC.
