Ballgame

I’m a baseball nut – I think that those that even remotely know me would also agree – and I fell for the San Francisco Giants well before I could handwrite. I can’t say that my in-person memories of the team started in Candlestick Park, it was not a luxury that was affordable to my family and I (even though “luxury” would be the absolute last term that anyone would ever describe the dump that was Candlestick). So I took any and all chances I had to either write down or clip newspaper sections of the Sporting Green from the SF Chronicle of Giants stats and standings. If a game was televised on local channels, I was likely in front of a TV.

I did not attend a live Giants game until 2001, one year after they had opened and moved to Pacific Bell Park, then later to be known as SBC Park, then later to be known as AT&T Park, and now currently known as Oracle Park – which to this day, unlike its predecessor, would be the shining definition of the luxury title.

25 years later, I still feel pristine fortune being able to make memories here, with the latest one being the most nearest and dearest to my heart – our first Giants game together:

A father holds his daughter beyond the main entrance of Oracle Park, who will enjoy their first Giants baseball game together as father and daughter.

To anoint this game and memory on April 23, 2026, I want to go back and remember my top five moments at Oracle Park. I was here quite often, so this proved to be a lot more difficult than I had initially imagined:

5. Holy $#!% – Andres Galarraga clears the bleachers, September 18, 2001.

I can’t recall if this was the first game of the series, but it was definitely the first series at Oracle after 9/11. Roy Oswalt (rookie year, no less) dominated the Giants lineup and gave my team the L, but The Big Cat got a hold of one, strapped a rocket on that baseball and touched the Coke bottle in left field. It’s still the longest home run to LF, and no one has come close to either the bottle or the glove since.

4. Running the upper level stairs, 2015 – 2017.

2015 was my first year as a long distance runner. I’ve had to significantly cut down the miles since due to several injuries, but for a 5 year period logging 15-30 miles a week was the norm for me. During this time I had learned that starting pitcher and one of my favorite players – Matt Cain – ran the stairs at the ballpark before every start. The sadistic part of my brain loved this and decided to challenge myself to diversify my training and try to match his energy. So before every day game I attended for 3 seasons, I showed up to the ballpark 2 hours early and ran the entire upper level – section 302 to 336. It took anywhere between 30-40 minutes to finish and proud to say that I never skipped a step.

3. After a 4 hour rain delay, Timmy dominates the Braves for 10Ks in 7 innings, April 9, 2010.

To provide context here, this was tagged as a Sunday afternoon game at 1:05pm first pitch until heavy rain delayed the start. Because this was Atlanta’s only visit to San Francisco in the season and the final game of the series, it was not advisable to postpone the game entirely to reschedule. So the umps called to cover the field and wait this out.

Mind you, I usually get to the game an hour early, so I sat in my seat for almost 6 hours before the game even starts (minus the amount of time I left to go back to my car to grab a blanket, and some stranger stopped me in my tracks because they thought I was Andrew Garcia from American Idol).

It is a difficult task for a pitcher to go through their normal pre-start routine, hit a dead stop to the game, sit cold for 4 hours, then on a drop of a dime get everything ramped up and going again. A normal pitcher (and their manager) would have probably skipped this start and asked for a spot start from the bullpen.

Timmy bursted out of the dugout and darted to the bullpen, ripped no more than a handful of warm up pitches and told his catcher, “I’m good, let’s go” and proceeded to overpower major league hitters for 7 innings.

This one of many reasons why we called him The Freak.
I was wet at the ballpark for 10 hours.
Worth it.

2. Marco Scutaro is unbothered by the rain, October 22, 2012.

Another ballgame with rain – this time it was game 7 of the 2012 NLCS against the St. Louis Cardinals. This overall series proved to be some of the best baseball I’ve seen, especially having to overcome a 3-1 series deficit. Capping it off with an eventual World Series win over the Detroit Tigers amplifies this memory to a near unreachable plateau.

1. Holding and watching my daughter eat ice cream while Logan Webb strikes out Shohei Ohtani, April 23, 2026.

The link to this video exists only in my brain, and will be on replay for all time.

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Poetic

1,087 days. 

That’s the total amount of days since I last penned paper for this blog (yes, I am still a guy that handwrites in 2026).

While I feel like I have good reasons why this blog has been completely ignored for 1,087 days, I don’t have one good one to justify why I stopped writing all together.  Writing is a pillar of my being, and doing so keeps me grounded without collapse.  But this doesn’t mean I’ve been face to floor this entire time, it’s actually the complete opposite.  During a handful of moments I was able to get a few ideas down, but only enough to formulate particles that eventually fluttered away with the wind.  I stopped dead in my tracks each time to tend to this girl who, rightfully so, is always looking to fulfill her constantly evolving, long list of needs.

Truth be told, I need her just as much.

My daughter, Autumn Jem, on Easter Sunday (2026).

642 days.

That’s the total amount of days since I became a father to my daughter, Autumn Jem (yes, my wife and I named her after the 80’s animated series Jem and the Holograms).

Case and point, I just stopped for a long moment because Autumn wanted to write on her dry erase board, and she needs me to carry her while she does so.  But just like her, I’m not skipping this writing session this time.  We’re going to see this one through today.

In the 445 days prior to her birth were a lot of soul searching with my wife and I after several failed fertility rounds and a debilitating miscarriage.  You would think that in these 445 days I’d have a lot to say – which I did.

Just not a lot of heart to write it.

People will always tell you how harsh it is to navigate these waters, and all the empathy will never make you feel it’s true weight unless it happens to you.  And I could not describe the feeling well enough for anyone else to truly see these endless, sordid knots inside me, so I didn’t bother trying any further than a few words before I let it simmer in pity.

So when I say that Autumn is perfect, it’s pure fact.  I cannot track the endless amounts of biological cogs, levels, and pieces that needed to be in the right place and the right time for her to grace the world with her existence.  And during these last 642 days – this time on the greener side of the grass and a whole lot of my heart behind this – I’ve attempted to find and construct words together to paint this aura of perfection.

Only to reach failure each time.

The energy behind the sentences, statements, sequences lacked the literary cadence to match what I feel being her father. Reading what I wrote felt like listening to a bad cover band of Air Supply (Low Air Supply, if you will.  I’m here until Wednesday).

would say it’s because I’m not a poet, who are masters in writing about pain, bliss and everything in between.  But I technically have two poems that have been published.  Do I prefer these books remain buried and hidd—yes please.  Am I a good poet?  Absolutely not.

So I rather not chase these rhythms that can never match these Autumn days and nights
And will merely live to the beat of the surf together
After all, father and daughter only has spots for her and I


Maybe, I can be just poetic enough.

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