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By Andy, June 13, 2009 12:03 am

For as long as I can remember, I was a San Francisco Giants fan. More so than any other Bay Area sports team, including the 49ers, the black and orange of the Giants has taken root deep in my soul.  From the bright orange road jerseys of the 1978 team with manager Joe Altobelli, to the 1981 and 1982 Frank Robinson teams (especially the 1982 team that gave the NL West to the Braves), the 1985 team that lost 100 games, the resurgence in the late 80s with Will Clark, Kevin Mitchell and Jeffrey “One Flap Down” Leonard, the near-move to Tampa in 1992, the signing of Barry Bonds in 1993, and the ill-fated 2002 World Series, the black and orange have been a large part of my life from childhood to adulthood. The Giants have been the team by which I choose to enjoy the game of baseball.

If baseball is a house complete with a large hallway with many rooms, I found myself in the hallway knocking on the door that led to the Giants.  Some of you found doors that led to the Cardinals, or the Athletics, or the Pirates, or the Cubs.  And others of you who I would deem to be a bit misguided knocked on the doors of the Yankees or (gasp) the Dodgers.

Each door, however, leads to a variation on the same theme…baseball.  We’ve merely chosen to enjoy the game from a slightly different perspective - with different “laundry” as Jerry Seinfeld would say.

Our Christian lives are no different.

It  (mere Christianity) is more like a hall out of which doors open into several rooms. If I can bring anyone into that hall I shall have done what I attempted. But it is in the rooms, not in the hall, that there are fires and chairs and meal. The hall is a place to wait in, a place from which to try the various doors, not a place to live in. For that purpose the worst of the rooms (whichever that may be) is, I think, preferable. It is true that some people may find they have to wait in the hall for a considerable time, while others feel certain almost at once which door they must knock at.  I do not know why there is this difference, but I am sure God keeps no one waiting unless He sees that it is good for him to wait.  When you do get into your room you will find that the long wait has done you some kind of good which you would not have had otherwise….

…When you have reached your own room, be kind to those who have chosen different doors and to those who are still in the hall.  If they are wrong they need your prayers all the more; and if they are your enemies, then you are under orders to pray for them.  That is one of the rules common to the whole house.

C.S. Lewis, from the Preface to Mere Christianity

Hmmm.

I guess Dodger fans need my prayers all the more.  ;-)

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By Andy, August 10, 2007 7:01 am

Growing up, most of my summers were spent in the cool fog that would roll in off the Pacific and envelop Daly City, the city immediately to the south of San Francisco. I lived a few hundred yards from the San Francisco city limit, a couple of football fields down from the Olympic Club Golf Course, where a couple of U.S. Opens have been held in recent years.

Many a day was spent playing baseball in the driveway of my home with the kids from the block, tossing a tennis ball that would bounce off the garage door if we missed the pitched ball. But if we made contact, it was ruled a base hit if we got it past the pitcher, a double if it hit the parked car across the street, a triple if it landed in the lawn of the house across the street, and a homer if it hit the house across the street.

We’d trade our Topps baseball cards that we collected in the wax wrappers with the hard stick of pink gum. “I’ll give you my Rennie Stennett for the Dale Murphy.”

“No way! You gotta give up the Dave Parker for the Dale Murphy.”

“But you have TWO of the Dale Murphys…”

“So?”

We’d place our cards back in our shoeboxes when we were done…knowing we’d bring them back out another day when we had purchased another couple of packs of cards.

In the background we would listen to Hank Greenwald on the radio calling the Giants game. Invariably we would hear yet another tough loss as the Giants would fail to hit with runners in scoring position, or the bullpen would blow another close game.

Rather like the 2007 Giants.

But unlike the Giants of 1979 or 1980, the 2007 version sports One Big Bat. The Guy Who Broke Hank Aaron’s Record this week. The Guy who, on Tuesday night, hit a home run into the centerfield bleachers - setting off a mad scramble that resulted in bloodied fans with torn clothing, while others simply would dive over other fans from a couple of rows back.

All for a baseball that might fetch a little bit of coin if sold at auction.

Oftentimes, there doesn’t seem to be the same innocence regarding baseball (or sports in general) that I remember experiencing in my youth in the late 70s and early 80s, but then I look at my own kids on Tuesday night, and realize that no matter the circumstances surrounding said ballplayer, the Game still can grab a hold of the young.

It was clear from the second the ball left the bat that it was going out. My kids had just gone to bed during the half inning prior, so when the ball landed in the seats, I quickly hit the pause button on our DVR and ran to their rooms to wake them up. Both had yet to fall asleep, and both immediately hopped out of bed and ran back out to the living room.

I rewound a few seconds on the DVR and we watched the magic of the moment together as a family, the kids cheering and enjoying the spectacle of those record-breaking moments. Hank, in particular, had been counting down the number of home runs remaining and watched the ensuing celebration with pure joy in his face.

Watching that moment through the eyes of my kids I saw how jaded I had become with this game that I love. Did he use illicit substances in recent years? More than likely. Did many other players do the same? Of course they did - some have even died due to complications (see former Padre and Astro Ken Caminiti). And lest we forget, the Padre pitcher who gave up #755 on Saturday night was suspended for 15 days in the minors for using steroids.

But in that moment on Tuesday night, I did not think about all that. What I witnessed, through the eyes of my kids, was the magic of a historical baseball moment. To them, it was a great ballplayer achieving a remarkable milestone. To me, it was a great ballplayer achieving a remarkable milestone.

I know many out there will disagree with me. I don’t have any issue with the arguments that you will undoubtedly throw my way. It’s tainted, you’ll say, he’s a cheater who used illicit substances…Aaron didn’t use those substances to get to his number…on and on and on.

You get no argument from me on that. But if you want to place asterisks on the number of home runs, or discount his career totals because he used those substances, then you’ll need to place an asterisk on every run that he scored, every RBI as a result of those home runs, and place an asterisk on every game played during that period. I am willing to bet that the outcome of many of those games would have to be altered, and therefore, the integrity of ALL those games would need to be called into question, as won-loss records change, which means the standings change, and suddenly, all those playoff matchups over the past decade are determined to be “wrong”.

In short, we cannot say that those HRs are invalid without obliterating the outcomes of the games themselves. And if MLB were to discover that other players and pitchers used, what then?

The sad thing is that we adults know how to screw up a good things. Whether we are players, coaches, managers, journalists, radio announcers or simply fans of the game, we are all at fault. We want to see the great results without really wanting to know the truth of how we arrived at those results. And when we are confronted with the truth, we want to turn tail and deny, whether we are the perpetrator of the lie, the discoverer of the lie, or just a witness to the lie. In the case of baseball, it does ultimately end with dollar signs, too, whether the well-paid ballplayer, the gate revenues of the teams, the advertising revenue for the league and sports networks, or the memorabilia market with the fan who caught the ball or the trading card company that will undoubtedly come out with a special edition card (that will NOT come in a wax wrapper with pink bubble gum).

It was a form of baseball Eden when I played baseball in the street with the neighborhood kids, or when I traded cards with them. We weren’t ashamed of our dog eared cardboard trading cards or climbing over the fences of the homes across the street to retrieve the tennis ball.

But somewhere along the way, we took a bite of the forbidden fruit and lost the joy that we once had.

I can only hope that my kids will continue to enjoy the game through those same innocent eyes. Alas, reality is staring right back at them.

Such is the fallen world in which we live.

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By Andy, July 30, 2007 6:02 am

It has been a long weekend, filled with joy, frustration, joy, frustration, and more joy. It began with a powerful prayer meeting at the home of a fellow believer, a joyful occasion in which we were able to submit ourselves to God’s love and allow Him to peer into the deepest recesses of our soul and extract the pain that we submitted to Him.

The power of His release was freeing, and this weight was lifted, bringing peace into each of our lives.

That was followed by a lengthy meeting at church on Saturday, the kind of meeting that we have seen in Scripture, particularly in the book of Acts, where issues are debated and the Body collectively works to discern God’s Will. There were moments of pure joy and peace, followed by moments of intense frustration, ending with more peace at the end.

Immediately thereafter, I was on my way to the ballpark with my daughter to watch the Giants take on the Marlins, but more importantly, to hang out in Barry’s house awaiting number Seven Fifty Five. Alas, it was not meant to be, but a father/daughter night at the the ballpark was the perfect way to end this Saturday, especially when it meant the hometown nine pulled out their fourth straight win.

Today was our weekly church service, which had moments of pure joy, but was followed with yet another meeting, in which there was once again moments of frustration, yet also moments of education, seeing the varying points of view showing the care and love that individual members have for this particular community of believers in Jesus.

The day ended, once again, in another house of baseball…this time San Jose Municipal Stadium, home of the single A San Jose Giants, the California League minor league affiliate of the aforementioned San Francisco Giants. I took 4 kids, my own and 2 of their friends, on this 45 minute sojourn south of our hometown to meet with Will and his family, sit in the inexpensive general admission seats, watching these minor league ballplayers play with intense passion, while watching various fans play games for prizes in between innings, or dancing to YMCA or doing the Chicken Dance.

The minor league nine won 2-1 in a quickly played game that lasted approximatlely 2 hours, with the Giants’ winning pitcher going the distance with 15 strikeouts.

The passion that we have as baseball fans came out in the top of the 9th, as the leadoff batter for the Lake Elsinore Storm hit a quick triple. The next batter struck out. The third batter of the inning was walked and stole second base. The next batter struck out.

I looked at the kids. They were clapping and heckling the next batter.

“Hey batta batta…hey batta batta…sa-wing batta!”

First pitch ball.

Second pitch…a strike.

Next pitch…a long foul ball.

The couple of thousand fans in the stands were yelling, standing up with the 2 strike count. Breaking pitch…swing…and a miss!

Giants win!

We high-fived each other. We didn’t know any of these kids, but it didn’t matter. Baseball had healed us tonight. Baseball allowed us to be kids, to see the passion of the kids entranced by the simplicity of the game. I was able to let go of any frustrations I may have held this weekend by drinking a soda, eating a hot dog, and watching kids watch baseball and play baseball-themed carnival games on the concourse outside the ballpark.

I was at peace again. And I felt joy.

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By Andy, July 18, 2007 9:59 pm

…to The 7th Inning Stretch baseball blog. Will just put up a must read baseball post.

And trust me, it has nothing to do with the sad state of affairs for the local AL West and NL West teams.

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By Andy, July 10, 2007 7:33 am

…But first…the truth about my past.

What you probably don’t know about me is that I began my managing career after completing a Hall of Fame caliber career. Just last year, SportsWeekly named me manager of the year, in just my third year of managing at this level, after a year coaching third base for the Giants.

I have hesitated to speak of this, preferring to focus primarily on my budding interest in Christian theology, but I felt at this juncture that it was important to share this bit of information with you, in light of the fact that later today, my hometown will be hosting baseball’s All-Star game.

Besides, if this info is on my baseball card, it must be true, right?

More impressive, however, are last season’s totals for my son, a powerhitting first baseman. He batted with a .377 average in 544 at bats, with 205 hits and 41 home runs, driving in a whopping 141 runs. He even made the 40/40 club with 49 stolen bases. He still struck out 80 times.

It is amazing to see what kind of revisionist history occurs at All-Star Fan Fests.

::

Tonight, my T-Ball team was invited by another T-Ball team in our local Little League to participate in a T-Ball Exhibition Game at the All-Star Fan Fest here in San Francisco as part of the week-long All-Star Game festivities.

We arrived at the Moscone Center at 4 pm, were let in by 4:15 (after waiting for our escort to take us to The Diamond on the 3rd level), then had about an hour to enjoy the Fan Fest before meeting back at The Diamond to play our game. Several of the youngsters on my squad, along with several on our opponent’s squad, participated in a catch, hit and run drill conducted at 4:30, with guest coaches Jay Johnstone and Rollie Fingers.

Afterward, the kids got ready to play a 3 inning game, with an announcer calling up each batter to his/her at bat, and calling a radio-style play by play, much to the amusement of the parents and other Fan Fest attendees.

It was a fantastic opportunity for these kids, being able to play a game in the spotlight, a perfect coda to a fun Little League season.

I have coached at the T-Ball level for 4 years - 2 with my daughter and 2 with my son. Never did I think that this kind of opportunity would present itself to me and my team this year. Think about all the things that have to go right so that we would have the opportunity to play in this event, from having a kid of the right age, who plays T-Ball, to the selection of your hometown as the All-Star host city, to finally being one of only 6 teams in the entire SF Bay Area asked to participate.

Coincidence?

I think not. As Will said to me when we had lunch together earlier in the day, “Think of this as a reward for your 4 years of coaching T-Ball.” And there he was in the stands, cheering on both clubs as we played in front of grandstands full of family, friends, and other baseball fans.

There are days when God clearly speaks to me. Tonight was one of them, as I watched the joy of these kids playing a game many of them love, being able to share that joy with their friends and family. It was a family outing, our individual families sharing an afternoon and evening of baseball as one family, as one community, Christians and non-Christians alike. God continues to remind me the importance of being an active part of my local community, outside the church, and tonight was a prime example.

After the game, our families went our separate ways to enjoy the rest of the Fan Fest, whether getting free photos in various baseball garb, winning free prizes (my wife won an All-Star Game visor and baseball) or recording our version of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” (which is what my daughter did - MP3 coming at a later date).

As Hank said on the subway ride home…”This was one of the best days of my life.”

It doesn’t get any better than that.

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By Andy, June 26, 2007 5:13 am

Tonight I was at AT&T Park with Hank for a father/son baseball outing as my Yankee-beating Giants took on the San Diego Padres (winning 4-3 in 11 innings). We arrived shortly after 7 pm in time for the 7:15 pm first pitch.

As we made our way to our seats, the PA Announcer announced a moment of silence for Rod Beck, the former Giant, Cub, Red Sox and Padre relief pitcher who died at his home this weekend at 38 years of age. The moment of silence was preceded by a video montage of some of Beck’s moments with the Giants.

The crowd stood up in silence, caps over our collective hearts as we paid tribute to a 3-time All-Star with the Giants, who had 199 saves in a Giants uniform. A lone sign several rows in front of me was raised - “We’ll Miss You Shooter” - “Shooter” having been his nickname during his Giant years.

A couple of innings later, during one of the mid-inning breaks, an interview was replayed from several years ago with a Giants announced and then-manager Dusty Baker, talking about Beck’s role in the 1997 NL West Championship season. That was the season in which I personally attended the most number of games I ever had in a single year…26 games…mostly with my wife, a couple of them solo, and a couple with some friends. The most memorable was on September 18 - a key moment which was highlighted in the Dusty Baker video on the high def scoreboard.

The Giants and Dodgers were in a heated race that September - going into a 2 game set on the 17th and 18th of September, the Giants were down 2 games in the West. After winning on the 17th (a game which I also attended), the Giants and Dodgers went into extra innings at Candlestick Park. In the 10th inning, the following occurred (courtesy of the Giants’ website):

Beck, who had blown a save and taken the loss two games earlier, entered to a smattering of boos from the crowd, and things turned downright ugly when Piazza, Eric Karros and Mondesi all singled to load the bases with none out. With the huge crowd voicing their disapproval of Beck’s continued presence in the game, Baker went to the mound and told his pitcher to dig down deep for something special.

The man nicknamed “Shooter” delivered, striking out Todd Zeile. Facing pinch-hitter Eddie Murray, Beck got the member of the 500-homer club to hit a slow grounder to second, where Jeff Kent picked it up and fired home for one out. Johnson’s throw to first beat the aging Murray to end the inning.

Beck went on to pitch 2 more innings until catcher Brian Johnson ended it with a HR to the left field bleachers in the bottom of the 12th.  The Giants had caught the Dodgers, and little more than a week later, beat San Diego at Candlestick to clinch the NL West title.  

That 10th inning was a definitive “Shooter” moment. Beck was pure guts on the mound, a player who took command of the mound and the field when he was in the game, and showed no fear…he simply challenged the batter. He was the “everyman” on the diamond - he looked like you and me, not a professional ballplayer, and I know that’s why I loved him as a player.

I don’t know why he had to go at such a young age, leaving behind a young family. The physical suffering that his family must endure with his loss is not something we can easily understand - only to the extent that we know each of us must face physical death at various points in our lives as we lose loved ones.

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By Andy, June 23, 2007 10:35 pm

Fear leads to anger…
…anger leads to hate…
…hate leads to suffering.

- Yoda, Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace

It is no secret that one of my great passions in this physical world is that of the sport of baseball. And the team which garners much of my attention during the baseball season is the San Francisco Giants, a team that originated in New York back in 1883.  This is a franchise that has had much success during its New York days, with periods of intermittent success after its move to San Francisco in 1958.  

1 He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. [a]

2 I will say [b] of the LORD, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”

3 Surely he will save you from the fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.

4 He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

5 You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,

6 nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.

7 A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.

8 You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.

9 If you make the Most High your dwelling—
even the LORD, who is my refuge-

10 then no harm will befall you,
no disaster will come near your tent.

11 For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;

12 they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.

13 You will tread upon the lion and the cobra;
you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

14 “Because he loves me,” says the LORD, “I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.

15 He will call upon me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.

16 With long life will I satisfy him
and show him my salvation.”

Psalm 91 (NIV)

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By Andy, June 18, 2007 5:55 am

Definitely not Giants tickets. Not in 2007, anyway.

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By Andy, June 4, 2007 6:19 am

Today was the end of season party for my Tee-ball team. It also marks the end of 4 years of coaching this level of Little League baseball - 2 years with my daughter, and 2 years with my son. Next year, I will be moving up in the coaching ranks as my son moves up to machine/coach pitch baseball.

The party was at a local pizza joint, and after we ate our pizzas I got up with my assistant coach and handed out the trophies to each player. The team’s parents pitched in for a couple of gifts for the two of us, the coolest of which was a scrapbook highlighting our season, with pics of the players throughout the season, along with assorted quotes.

What touched me was the quote on the scrapbook pages entitled, “Our Coaches”.

Flatter me, and I may not believe you.
Criticize me, and I may not like you.
Ignore me, and I may not forgive you.
Encourage me, and I will not forget you.

- William Arthur Ward

It is a quote that encapsulates the art of coaching. We do want to encourage the kids, because we want them to hopefully develop the love of the game that we have as coaches. It is a difficult balance between flattery, criticism, ignoring and encouragement - with 14 players, each requires attention from us, positive and negative, and it is all too easy to be drawn to the better players or the ones who respond to direction, rather than the ones who don’t pay attention or listen to you. It is easy to ignore or criticize the more difficult players on the team.

Yet I know I continue to learn the art of encouragement - that no matter how small the improvement in their game, that they know that as their coach, I will give them the positive reinforcement they need to grow in confidence in their game.

In Jesus’ prayer in John 17, he states “16They are not of the world, even as I am not of it. 17Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth. 18As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world. 19For them I sanctify myself, that they too may be truly sanctified.”

We are to be of this world, and we have been commanded in the Great Commission in Matthew 28 to go and make disciples. Coaching is a ministry opportunity, and hopefully those who might not know Christ now might see the Light in my life through coaching. I might not be waving the Bible at practice, but I would hope that at the end of the season these folks see a Christian guy just trying to teach some kids about a sport he loves.

I’m already looking forward to next season.

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By Andy, June 1, 2007 4:19 pm

My hometown nine, the San Francisco Giants, have struggled the past few seasons with the closer’s role ever since Robb Nen went down with an injury after the 2002 World Series (and ultimately, Nen never recovered, retiring a couple of years ago). In the fall of 2004, they signed Armando Benitez to a 3 year deal, due to expire this year, with the expectation that he would be the dominant closer they’ve needed.

It never happened.

Whether one blames injuries or his persona, Benitez never fit in with the Giants, saving only a handful of games during his tenure here, spending too much time on the DL, and even when healthy, making the final inning of a game a roller coaster ride for fans, management and his teammates.

The final straw occurred this week when with a one run lead at Shea Stadium, he walks the leadoff batter, then proceeds to balk — not once, but twice — moving the tying run to 3rd base, before giving up a walk-off home run, giving the Mets the victory.

After last night’s game, the Giants traded him to Florida.

As a fan, I’m glad he’s gone, because for the kind of money he was being paid, we expect a high level of performance, which he was unable to do. Giving up a leadoff walk in the 9th inning of a close game has been a regular occurrence for Benitez while a Giant, even though he (and most baseball aficionados) know that the primary duty of a closer is to throw strikes, challenging the batter to hit, and hopefully AT a fielder. He kept making this mistake over and over and over…

::

Sounds a lot like our own lives…we have so many opportunities to get closer to God, to shed some of old ways and live transformed lives…yet we decide not to throw strikes and allow the opposition on base, moving ever so closer to our “homes”. We keep making the same mistakes over and over and over again.

If I were a General Manager of a baseball team, I’d release me or trade myself for making those mistakes.

But OUR General Manager, of that Eternal Ballclub, will never release us, will never trade us.