RMJ 72 April 27

SUNDAY, APRIL 27 ● Houston, vs San Francisco

I took Ryan with me to the game this morning. I wasn’t sure how it would go, because I had things to do and he would have to sit and be patient at several intervals.

First, I had to study the stats and come up with a lineup. That took a half-hour or so. Then we went down to the field. They were setting up for batting practice, and it was still semi-dark inside.

“Hey, Larry,” said Cheo Cruz. “You gonna give him some BP?”

“Sure,” I said. “When do we hit?”

“I think about 11:10,” he said.

Since it was only 10:45, I said, “Yeah, let’s hit. Where are the bats?”

“They’re not down yet,” said one of the batboys. “I’ll go get one.”

Well, he came back down with one of Craig Biggio’s bats, with the handle taped and with pine tar around the neck so fresh you could smell it. I stood out in front of the cage with a shopping-cart full of baseballs. He stepped in to hit. 

The first few pitches were way outside. Then he fouled one off. Then he hit a line drive.

“Now, that’s how to hit a ball,” Cheo said. “You already hit better than your Dad!”

Ryan hit about 50 pitches in all. He hit about 40 of them well: hard grounders, line drives, and long flies. He showed good form, hitting to all fields.

I was proud of him, and he raced around helping us shag the balls and put them back in the shopping cart.

After that, I had to do a couple of interviews, and he sat waiting on the bench. I sat with him there until batting practice was almost over. It was a little more than an hour before game time when he said, “I think I want to go up in the stands now.”

A handful of boys and girls were grouped behind the dugout, seeking autographs. I thought maybe he wanted to be with the group of kids, but he was sitting by himself in our box seats back of the on-deck circle when I went back upstairs.

When I got back, it was time for chapel, and I regretted not having Ryan stay with me. The service was about three different kinds of sin. The last was arrogance, and I should have said a prayer about that before the game. I wouldn’t say I was arrogant, but I sure did think we would win the game. Shane Reynolds has pitched well against the Giants, and Osvaldo Fernandez was no mystery to our hitters last year.

 

In this game, however, Fernandez’s work could best be described as mysterious. From the side, it looked like a lot of hanging sliders and BP fastballs. The batters seemed unimpressed. They came back shaking their heads, wondering how they missed the fat offerings. But miss them they did.

The Giants got two in the first on solo home runs by Glenallen Hill and Barry Bonds. We came back with a run in the first and another in the second. I just knew we would knock out Osvaldo, and that Shane would win the game.

By the fifth inning, I was feeling uneasy. We were nicking the guy a little, but the frustration of not hitting him harder was building.

In the seventh inning, J.T. Snow opened with a single and stole second on the first pitch to Mark Lewis. I was surprised by the steal, but Dusty was lucky too: the pitch was a curve ball in the dirt. Ausmus had no chance to throw. On a fastball, he throws him out most of the time. This time, Lewis bunted Snow to third, and Damon Berryhill chopped a ball through a drawn-in infield to give the Giants a 3-2 lead.

Most of the time, I would be undismayed; I would be confident that we would score at least one more run. But there was something subtle in the atmosphere today. I just knew we were up against it.

The Giants finished up with Taveras, Henry, and Beck. I thought all three were hittable, but we didn’t prove it.

It was the most disappointing loss of the year for me. This was a game we should have won. I’m sure we have won games the other team thought they should win, but I don’t remember them. This loss may stick with me for a while.

 

When I got home, I was ready to blow off some steam. No one was home, so I got on the old Rollerblades and toured the neighborhood. It was a cool and windy evening, which made the skating like sailing in one direction and like swimming in the other. I had enough steam going to enjoy the swimming as much as the sailing. It was a great way to vent my spleen.

When I got back, Ryan was playing with some boys across the street, and their mother, Fay, was at our house.

“Boy, was that ever a great thing you did with Ryan,” she said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Taking him to the Dome,” she said. “You should have heard him when he came over to our house. He was so excited, he could hardly tell us fast enough. ‘I went to work with my Dad,’ he said. ‘When we went down to hit, we were the only ones in the Dome. I didn’t have my bat, so the bat boy gave me a bag of bats and I carried them on my shoulder. Look: you can still see the pine tar on my shoulder.’

“He told us that you pitched about 100 balls to him, and how he hit some of them way out in the outfield. He told us that he used some guy’s bat, I can’t remember.”

“Craig Biggio’s,” I prompted.

“Yeah,” she said. “Biggio’s. And he said it had this stuff on the bat.”

“The pine tar,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s it,” she said. “The pine tar and the bat, alone with you in the Dome. He was so cute. He said, ‘I went to work with my Dad today.’”

This was news to me; I didn’t know he was having that good of a time. In fact, I was afraid he was bored when he went up into the stands.

“He was ready for me,” Judy said. “He said, ‘Where have you been?’”

It amazes me how stoic he can be when he is with me. Even with Judy.

“I don’t always know how he feels,” Judy admitted. “He can be pretty private with his feelings. The thing that gets me is that I find out from other people.”

“Well, I’m glad to be the bearer of good news,” Fay said. “He told us it was one of the best days of his life.”

 

Looking back, I am still disappointed about the game. But I’m not as upset as I was earlier.

I wouldn’t say that it was the best day of my life, but it might have been one of the best days.