Nostalgia's not what it was   Monsieur Patric Far from the madding crowd, Chambord, France

Did I forget to tell you the nicest guy in baseball, to me, was during the Dodgers' dada seasons at the ol' Coliseum ... a time when fifteen grand players walked to their cars mingled with the public. I'd heard Vinnie and Jerry go on and on how The Duke had an avocado farm in Fallbrook, near San Diego. I walked with Mister Snider to his winged Impala and talked a whole lot about avocados. Even avocado fungal anxieties. The great center fielder told me to show up again the next night. I sure did and left with a flat of near perfect avocados from his own trees. I'd entertain comment as to Mister Mays and Mister Mantle but the ground rules steer toward guac.

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Summertime and Baseball   Daniel Geary Sports fan exraordinaire

The baseball season has started and it always brings back fond memories of summer and childhood. This is not one of them. 

I remember a heat wave when I was about twelve. My best friend and I were sitting around my house, bored, when we thought it would be a great idea to take BART to the A's game. It was a Wednesday game and tickets were only $1. Without another thought we hop on BART and get our tickets to watch the professionals play a game we only dream about playing. We're excited and happy with our plan. What better way to spend a lazy summer day than to be at a baseball game?

Over the next three hours our feelings would change.

During the first inning it became apparent we would miss our baseball caps. In the excitement of deciding to go to the game we forgot our caps and gloves. What kind of a kid goes to a baseball game without his cap? It is as much of the experience as cracker jacks and peanuts and hot dogs. Our vision is hindered and we watch the game by shielding our eyes, but not as freely. 

We labor through as the innings slowly roll by. Neither of us are A's fans. In fact, we prefer National League baseball. Somehow the thought of a pitcher not having to bat was (and still is) offensive. But we had made the trek this far and we weren't going to throw in the towel.

By the 7th inning a father with his kids asked us if we were okay. I looked at my friend and he looked at me and we were in shock. We were burnt to a crisp. I had never seen this color of red on a human being. We were glowing. We looked like we were painted cherry red. It was ridiculous. The father took pity on us and bought us some lemonade and ice cream. Both helped but not for long. Soon our cups were empty and the ice cream lopped up. 

We used the energy from the treats to power through the rest of the game. I can't remember who the A's were playing and I have no idea who won but I was grateful when it was over. We gingerly (in movement and color) rose from our seats and thanked the good Samaritan for helping us. We finally made it to BART and were thankful for the air conditioning. We didn't speak for the entire journey home. We were too miserable and in too much agony. 

Once I reached home I turned on my front yard garden hose and held it over my head. I didn't move for at least a half hour. My mom saw me and froze. She had concern in her eyes. Then she started laughing. She ran and grabbed a bottle of aloe vera, turned off the hose and wiped aloe all over my face. 

I couldn't move for three days and spent hours sitting in one of those little plastic kiddy pools. My face, arms and legs were all toasted. Fortunately after a few days the burnt skin peeled off and I was back on the black top, playing with my friend.

Now when the weather warms up and players take to the diamond, I think back to many summer memories. This memory isn't a happy one but it is funny and I sure did learn my lesson. Always bring your cap and lots of sunscreen to the game.

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