Candlestick, revisited
Even though I am a San Francisco Giants season ticket holder, I didn't have a ticket to today's game. Seems as though I let my brother "draft" that ticket from me in our season ticket disbursement. Never fear, where there's a will, there's a way...
I pulled myself out of bed this morning by 9:00 a.m. (what is quickly becoming my now usual get up time), and got myself together. Shower, shave, stock ticker check, the usual. Then I headed down to the Lytton Street Brewing Company for a cup o' joe and then made it to the train station in time for the 10:47 a.m. ballpark special. Before you knew it, I had digested my cup of coffee and two newspapers and I arrived at the ballpark.
Back in the days at Candlestick, the Giants used to call Wednesday day games the "Businessman's Special." Back then tickets were 2-for 1, and if you bought upper deck seats, that usually meant you didn't spend more than $5 on a ticket. Therefore, I was determined to make this an "Unemployed-man's Special," and do the same.
Upon disembarking from the train, I was subjected to the usual barking from the scalpers. "Who needs tickets?" "Box seats." And "Whattaya need man?" were to be heard within seconds of me entering the 4th & King intersection. But it was only 11:50. I knew I needed to wait a few more minutes. Just to be sure I checked with one scalper who apparently saw "sucker" written on my forehead.
"How many do you need?" he said, staring me down like a like a junkie in a alley.
"Just a nickle-bag, I mean a single," I responded.
"One? How 'bout this one, Field Club?"
I could see the $45 face value on the ticket.
"I'll give you 5 bucks for that one," I said.
"No no, man," he said. "Give me $15 for this one" (shows me a bleacher ticket).
"I'll give you five bucks," I said.
"Just give me face value, I ain't trying to overcharge you, man."
I kept walking. I was determined to stay on a poor man's budget, 1985-style, if at all possible.
I passed a few other scalpers who think they've got my number, but I knew it was still too early. I stopped at the new Safeway and picked up a sandwich and a Coke, again in the name of keeping my expenses down.
Before I knew it, I was at the ballpark. I cruised Willie Mays Plaza, but people still had their hopes up. Then I headed over to the Lefty O'Doul gate. Still couldn't get what I needed. At this point it was about 12:10, 25 minutes before game time. I decided to make a lap around the ballpark to see what I could see.
Nothing too much was happening at the center field gate, so I headed over to the Java House. Limited activity. Then I made a left turn and cruised by the 2nd Street gate. Still nothing. Then I headed back up King Street to Willie Mays Plaza. Soon I saw a 60-year old man clutching a single gold Field Club ticket, carefully displaying it for sale but not letting too much of it out of his control, seemingly fearful it might get swiped. I saw him from afar and approached slowly.
"You got a single for sale," I said.
Yes," he said.
Fully aware it was a Field Club seat, offered him five bucks. He shook his head. It was now only 15 minutes before the game. "Good luck," I said as I continued to walk past him.
As I approached the statue of Willie Mays I saw another man holding a single. But this was an upper-deck seat and I could tell this guy meant business.
"You got a single for sale," I said.
"Yep, he said.
"I'll give you five bucks," I said.
He handed the ticket to me. "It's in the upper deck," he said.
I said, "That's okay," as I handed him the $5 bill.
Ahhh, it was a beautiful spring day and I had just accomplished my goal, a seat to the game for only $5.
Some people might ask why I went to all of the trouble to save five or ten bucks on a ticket. To that, I have a few answers. Take your pick:
1) Just for the sport of it.
2) Hey, I've got nothing else to do, I'm unemployed!
3) Hey, I'm on an unemployed man's budget!
4) It ain't the price that counts, it's the art of the deal.
Too bad scoring a beer in the park will be a whole other ballgame.
I pulled myself out of bed this morning by 9:00 a.m. (what is quickly becoming my now usual get up time), and got myself together. Shower, shave, stock ticker check, the usual. Then I headed down to the Lytton Street Brewing Company for a cup o' joe and then made it to the train station in time for the 10:47 a.m. ballpark special. Before you knew it, I had digested my cup of coffee and two newspapers and I arrived at the ballpark.
Back in the days at Candlestick, the Giants used to call Wednesday day games the "Businessman's Special." Back then tickets were 2-for 1, and if you bought upper deck seats, that usually meant you didn't spend more than $5 on a ticket. Therefore, I was determined to make this an "Unemployed-man's Special," and do the same.
Upon disembarking from the train, I was subjected to the usual barking from the scalpers. "Who needs tickets?" "Box seats." And "Whattaya need man?" were to be heard within seconds of me entering the 4th & King intersection. But it was only 11:50. I knew I needed to wait a few more minutes. Just to be sure I checked with one scalper who apparently saw "sucker" written on my forehead.
"How many do you need?" he said, staring me down like a like a junkie in a alley.
"Just a nickle-bag, I mean a single," I responded.
"One? How 'bout this one, Field Club?"
I could see the $45 face value on the ticket.
"I'll give you 5 bucks for that one," I said.
"No no, man," he said. "Give me $15 for this one" (shows me a bleacher ticket).
"I'll give you five bucks," I said.
"Just give me face value, I ain't trying to overcharge you, man."
I kept walking. I was determined to stay on a poor man's budget, 1985-style, if at all possible.
I passed a few other scalpers who think they've got my number, but I knew it was still too early. I stopped at the new Safeway and picked up a sandwich and a Coke, again in the name of keeping my expenses down.
Before I knew it, I was at the ballpark. I cruised Willie Mays Plaza, but people still had their hopes up. Then I headed over to the Lefty O'Doul gate. Still couldn't get what I needed. At this point it was about 12:10, 25 minutes before game time. I decided to make a lap around the ballpark to see what I could see.
Nothing too much was happening at the center field gate, so I headed over to the Java House. Limited activity. Then I made a left turn and cruised by the 2nd Street gate. Still nothing. Then I headed back up King Street to Willie Mays Plaza. Soon I saw a 60-year old man clutching a single gold Field Club ticket, carefully displaying it for sale but not letting too much of it out of his control, seemingly fearful it might get swiped. I saw him from afar and approached slowly.
"You got a single for sale," I said.
Yes," he said.
Fully aware it was a Field Club seat, offered him five bucks. He shook his head. It was now only 15 minutes before the game. "Good luck," I said as I continued to walk past him.
As I approached the statue of Willie Mays I saw another man holding a single. But this was an upper-deck seat and I could tell this guy meant business.
"You got a single for sale," I said.
"Yep, he said.
"I'll give you five bucks," I said.
He handed the ticket to me. "It's in the upper deck," he said.
I said, "That's okay," as I handed him the $5 bill.
Ahhh, it was a beautiful spring day and I had just accomplished my goal, a seat to the game for only $5.
Some people might ask why I went to all of the trouble to save five or ten bucks on a ticket. To that, I have a few answers. Take your pick:
1) Just for the sport of it.
2) Hey, I've got nothing else to do, I'm unemployed!
3) Hey, I'm on an unemployed man's budget!
4) It ain't the price that counts, it's the art of the deal.
Too bad scoring a beer in the park will be a whole other ballgame.
posted by Leroy at
12:21 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home