For two or three years now, Daddy has taken Smunch to visit the San Francisco Giants at their annual FanFest event. This year it was a bigger deal for him since it meant bailing on his team for basketball, but he really wanted to go. And Daddy delegated the responsibility to me for the first time.
I've rarely made a worse parenting decision than choosing to go up there. I suppose, in some way, it was a nice bonding experience for Smunch and me, but mostly, it was a lesson in misery. I packed up some brand new baseballs for autographs and Smunch's World Series baseball cards. We got there an hour before the gates were to open. This was the line to get in.This is at least a quarter of a mile to the entrance. See how the people are walking away from the park? They aren't leaving, they're looking for the end of the line...and they've got at least a quarter mile to go.
When we got to the end of the line, we were misinformed that this wasn't a line at all and that we should go across the street...by a well-meaning traffic director who probably hadn't realized that the line had gone all the way around his very large parking lot and come back his direction. We ended up at the park and in the line to see the World Series trophy. It wasn't that long, so I thought it might be a good way to get in.I was wrong. We waited and waited in full sun in near 80-degree February weather. We got in line at 10:30. Around noon, I scored Smunch a Sprite for $5. There was no food. He was hot, grouchy and hungry. I was sympathetic. I was all of those things too. And the line wasn't moving. So at 12:30, we left to find a line to get into the park. I made Smunch wait there until 1 o'clock, on the off-chance that the line would move enough to give him hope of getting food inside.
But at 1, he said he wanted to go home. Realizing that we'd have to wait at least another half hour or more to get into the park and that we'd be in line for at least another hour after that (and probably more) if we wanted autographs, I decided to grant Smunch's wish and we left. FanFest was going to end at 3 o'clock anyway.
Three hours waiting in line and we left with my broken camera lens, that refused to focus, and a fuzzy picture of the back of this guy. The best moment of the day was when a woman saw this guy and said "Wow, there's Willie Mays!" Smunch scoffed under his breath. "That's not Willie Mays. That's Willie McCovey..." I love that kid. (The number 23 actually belongs to Ron Wotus, the bench coach. This doesn't look like him, so I dunno what was up in this picture. I doubt it was really Willie McCovey, somehow.)
There was still a line all the way out to the mommymobile and then some as we left.
So, thanks Giants, for the wonderful World Series memories, but geez, I think you're going to have to find a better way to thank your fans for their support. We'll be back at FanFest when you stop winning so much and your fair-weather fans are gone.