I was listening to KNBR this morning, and Mike and Murph were talking about seeing Willie McCovey at the game last night.  The conversation moved to McCovey’s last game at Candlestick Park, July 6, 1980 (against the Reds), and how one of them went to the game with their dad, and how great it was when McCovey got a hit, and how he’d get a standing ovation at every at bat, and how Reds catcher Johnny Bench stood for an extended period of time, just so the crowd could continuing applauding for McCovey.

As they told this story, I began to cry.  On a crowded bus.

I was 13 years old, and as part of that year’s ‘Giants Good Student Program’, tickets to that game were given away, and I got a pair.  This was long before Willie Mac announced his retirement, so I was excited that I had these tickets, once it was announced as ‘McCovey’s last game’.

I’m still not sure why, maybe because he was the only one that was not busy that day, but I went to the game with my grandpa.  He was always there at every game that I remember going to during the ’70s, in General Admission section 28, just to the left of the big screen and scoreboard so you could turn your head a bit to look and still see the game.

At this game, however, we got to sit in the upper deck (yikes) behind home plate, or maybe it was a little to the left.  We were right on the aisle, and at the time I didn’t even think how difficult it was for a 74 year old to make it up those steep stairs.  He didn’t say anything about it, but as I feel my own aches and pains at 43, I can only imagine how he felt.  But his love for baseball, and his Giants, was probably more than worth trouble.

You see, my mom’s family moved here in 1958, same year that the Giants moved to San Francisco.  I’m not sure when grandpa went to his first game, but I do know that we both share one distinction in the family, that of being the only ones to attend a Giants World Series game, 40 years apart, he in 1962, me in 2002.

He probably followed the entire career of Willie McCovey from his rookie year in 1959, to his eventual trade to San Diego and his eventual return to San Francisco.  It was only fitting that he would be at Stretch’s last home game.

My fading memory doesn’t recall all the details of the game, just that I was happy to be at a baseball game with grandpa.

I remember days at grandma’s house on Mansell, game on TV, or grandpa sitting in his chair, with a small transistor radio in his hand, held up to his ear.  He’d express himself during the game by kicking out at the air in front of him if it was bad, followed by a curse word or two in Tagalog.  Or if it was a tense moment, he’d stretch his leg out a bit before his little kick.

So why the tears?

One, I miss him.

Two, so many articles about what this World Series Championship would mean to this city touch upon the generational/family aspect of being a San Francisco Giants fan, and that is all too true when it comes to me, my cousins, my siblings, and any other fans around my age who have family from San Francisco.  We’ve waited so long for this, and it’s now so close that we can taste it.

Being the sentimentalist that I am, I’m sad that this is going to happen without my grandparents and my mother and my godmother, all of whom were huge Giants fans, and who shared the disappointment and tears (in the case of 2002) over the losses in 1962, 1989, and 2002.

And make no mistake, this is going to happen.  Giants in 6 games.  Don’t stop believing.

When the Giants come to town, it’s Bye-Bye Baby.