Memorial Day has come and gone, marking the unofficial start of summer. And while the baseball season has been in literal full swing since April, summer is the time when America's favorite pastime truly comes to life. This Where to Wander Wednesday takes you out to the ballgame at stadiums across the country.
My mom was the sports fan in our house. Dad just came along to talk to everyone.
Growing up in New Jersey, we were relegated to rooting for New York teams. My mom, the sports fan in our family, followed her parents and chose the Mets. My dad's dad was a diehard Yankees fan. Somehow, they managed to bridge that major divide between the Bronx and Queens and get married. I grew up going to Mets games - piling in our 1980 Ford Econoline van with our family friends and trekking to Flushing for games at Shea. In my youngest memories, Dave Kingman was my favorite player. He was traded from the Mets (for the second time) when I was 8, but not before he replied to my fan mail with an autographed picture that I'm sure my mom can dig up somewhere. My inherited love for the Mets lasted well beyond the 1986 World Series (whose team roster I can still recite) and into my teen and collegiate years.
And then, actual New York happened. Like many a Jersey girl, I moved to Manhattan after college to start my life in the "real world." Apparently, to me, the real world also meant totally ditching my Mets-fan roots and buying into the Manhattan-chic love of the black and white. That's right: I became a Yankees fan. It was then that I realized that what I loved was not necessarily the team, but the sport itself. And, if I'm truly honest, not even the sport (it can be kind of boring, don't you think?), but the act of going to a game. There's something about being at a stadium filled with cheering fans, pump-you-up chants, THE WAVE and the smell of hot dogs and cheap-yet-expensive beer that is just so much fun. And that's the reason the following photo collage exists. I'm here to finally come clean: I'm Christina, and I'm a fickle sports fan.
From coast to coast, decade to decade, my loyalty does not run deep.
That's right. There I am. In a Yankees hat at the old Yankees stadium and a Mets hat at the new Citi Field. In a San Francisco sweatshirt at what's now AT&T Park (then Pac Bell Park) and in a ridiculous Anaheim umbrella hat at Angel Stadium. All the while, root, root, rooting for the home team - regardless of the fact that my actual "home team" for the past 16 years has been the love/hateable loser San Diego Padres. This may not be a popular opinion among diehard sports fans, but for me, the joy comes in sitting in those super-uncomfortable seats - no matter how hip and modern the new stadium is - and cheering on the home team, even if you're 3,000 miles from home.
My one exception: the dreaded Red Sox.
Putting my own curse on "The Cathedral" - home of the infamous Boston Red Sox.
See that red seat? It signifies the longest home run hit at the legendary Fenway Park by Ted Williams in 1946.
Red Sox fans have a reputation. That's really enough said. My beef with the team isn't at all about the team itself. It's about their diehard following that transcends time, place, noise volume and sensibility. All of that is said in sarcastic jest, of course - just as is the shirt I own that says, "Boston Is Wicked Awful." Funny, right? Still, a visit to Fenway is a bucket-list must for any baseball fan. Taking in a Sox home game would be even better - especially rooting for the away team. That's still on my list for someday - hoping that someday happens this season.
For now, though, I will remain a not-so-diehard Padres fan - one that demonstrates my true loyalty to my adopted hometown with partial season tickets to games that inevitably end in heartbreaking - yet not earth-shattering - loss. I go to Padres games not necessarily because I love the Padres. I go because I wholeheartedly LOVE San Diego and I think that loving a city means you commit to its sports teams, win or (much more likely, in our case) lose. Now that San Diego has lost its (also inevitable loser) Chargers, there's so much more at stake for the Padres, and this year - when our fine city is feeling the burn of the NFL - it's even more important to support Major League Baseball.
So I will excitedly go to my 22 games with my dear friend - a San Diego native and much-truer-than-I Padres fan for life - wearing my Padres garb, supporting awesome local eateries while indulging in my beloved Gaglione Bros. cheesesteaks, my Mission Brewery Blonde and my Baked Bear ice cream sandwiches. And I will love every minute in the most beautiful stadium in the entire country (just ask USA Today), Petco Park, where the seats may not be filled - unless it's with the other team's fans - but where the skyline view is impressive, the weather is almost always perfect, the fans are San Diego cool, the local beer is so much better than good, and where I will always root, root, root for the Padres.
Opening Day 2017: Padres 7, Giants 6