We moved in 1978 to a single-story yellow and white house on Lewiston Drive in Sunnyvale, California. The new address meant another new school and an opportunity to make new friends. We also got our first color TV.
I couldn’t wait to watch all manner of sports on it, especially baseball. But my step-father hated sports so I wasn’t allowed to watch them when he was around, which caused a serious dilemma on the weekends. Determined, I commandeered My Mom’s eight-inch black and white television set and hid it under my antique rod iron bed that stood just high enough for the TV to fit under. On weekends during baseball season, I’d move the TV to the very edge of the underside of my bed––careful to keep it hidden just in case––pull the rabbit ears up to get a signal, and hunker down on the rose colored shag-carpet to watch the game while hidden under my bed. Beforehand, I’d rifle through the kitchen pantry for snacks to take with me. Sometimes, if My Mom and I had recently baked chocolate chip cookies, I’d squirrel away some of the cookie dough and stow it under my bed for upcoming games. Cookie dough and doubleheaders––those were the best baseball days of all.
By the time I was eight, I had a solid understanding of the game and by ten, a few dozen baseball cards. Though I wasn’t as into specific players as much as my friend Rich, I named our dog after one of the greatest baseball players of that time, Reggie Jackson. Rich loved baseball as much as I did and we were both devout San Francisco Giants fans. To us, the game was about strategy, patience, and out-thinking and sometimes out-musceling the opposing team. But there also was an element of decency to it that I found more appealing than the pure brutality of football. It was a gentleman’s game. A game defined by rules, written and unwritten, and standards of conduct, such as not running up the score on your opponent even when you could.
On special occasions, Rich’s dad took us to games at Candlestick Park. We’d show up early with our leather gloves and fetch balls from the stands at batting practice. I even caught a few balls, which I’ve kept in my chest of memories. Rich taught me to keep score in his professional scorekeepers book, a practice that I’ve kept up ever since, and we indulged in peanuts and cracker jacks, just like the song says. I loved hearing the crack of the bat, the yells from the umpire, the roar of the crowd, and the smells of popcorn, pretzels, garlic fries, and hotdogs. I loved the traditions too. The presentation of colors before the game, the songs we sang, and the seventh inning stretch. I dreamt of a life that was all baseball all the time and fantasized about becoming a baseball announcer––the first ever girl baseball announcer.
As I got older, baseball faded in and out of my life and my dream of becoming a baseball announcer morphed into becoming a sports journalist, which morphed again into becoming a sports doctor. None of these things happened.
My first duty assignment in the US Coast Guard was at Coast Guard Island in Alameda, California, not far from the Oakland Coliseum. It didn’t take long for me to get back into the swing of things. During the 1996 season, I attended A’s games nearly every week to watch power hitters like Mark McGuire and Jason Giambi hit ‘em outta the park. In 1997 the A’s added Jose Canseco, another power hitter who captured the fascination of many and the animus of others who speculated he was using steroids, which turned out to be the case. The lineup in ‘97 was a force to reckon with but they didn’t make it back to the World Series in the few years that I was stationed nearby.
As I moved around the country, I followed different teams, but once I got to Washington, D.C., the Nationals won me over. I followed every season from 2013 until Jayson Werth retired in 2017. I spent numerous summer days happily installed in section 223 of Nationals Park, down and above the first base line waiting for an Adam LaRoche foul ball. But my most cherished baseball memory of all time happened on September 28, 2014 when Jordan Zimmermann pitched the first no-no in Nats history, beating the Marlins one-nothin’. It was the most exhilarating game I’d been to in my life. Every pitch after the fourth inning was heart-stopping, gut-wrenching stressful. After the final pitch, the crowd and team went mad! We jumped from our seats, screaming and yelling, amazed by the history we’d just witnessed. Meanwhile, while all of this was happening, my sister who was 3,000 miles away gave birth to my nephew Casey. Must be an omen.
