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What does a woman want? Season tickets | page 1, 2
And yes, the corporate sponsorship was a little over the top. There are ads everywhere. Even the cup holders attached to the seats have Webvan stickers wrapped around them. I tried to scold my young friend and co-worker who, that first night, peeled off two of the stickers and marked our seats with them to write a note to our partners who had tickets for the next night's exhibition against the New York Yankees. It was the park's first act of vandalism! It was one of my favorite moments. But I'm happy to say that when I showed up opening day the stickers were where he left them -- maintenance Nazis hadn't stripped them off. They're my seats, after all. But, to my surprise, I loved the people in my section. Despite my worries, they're more or less just like me -- avid Giants lovers without trust funds, who split the charter fee with lots of their friends and share the season tickets. The handful of jerks with the nerve to talk loudly on cell phones at the early games were booed as rudely as at Candlestick. It seems the riffraff -- the investment bankers and dot-com jerks (the ones who, unlike me, have made big money) -- are confined to the club section just above mine, where they have their own bars and restaurants, plus a business center where they can work and watch the game. I'd be remiss if I ignored one other demographic change: Men outnumber women by about a 2-1 ratio, vastly more than at Candlestick. The feminist in me, who is disturbed, fights with the flirt in me, who had a great time. But it also made me proud I'd purchased a piece of the park. I was chatting with a stockbroker who asked if my great seats were "one-day seats," a term I heard several times, meaning they were borrowed or bought but weren't your own season tickets. When I said no, he pressed me: Were they my company's? My boss's? My boyfriend's? His shock and admiration at the news they were mine made me realize a woman needs season tickets of her own. But Opening Day didn't resolve my biggest worry: How will all the luxury affect my gutsy, blue-collar baseball team? After a week in the new park, the Giants have yet to win a game. They were swept three straight by the loathsome Los Angeles Dodgers, who hadn't swept a series in San Francisco since 1981 -- when Dusty Baker was a Dodgers outfielder. They lost two to the Arizona Diamondbacks, and when the third game was rained out, it felt like a mercy. Unbelievably, in that first week, I saw the first two rainouts of my entire life, plus a visit to the new ballpark by President Clinton, but I have yet to see a win. It'll be OK, I tell myself. It just doesn't feel like home yet. The fans seem distracted -- hell, I am. We dropped the home opener and I didn't really care; I was grooving on the sun and the people and the incredible view of the bay. When the next night's game was suspended by rain, I wasn't that unhappy either -- I was hanging with my friends in the less-crowded promenade, drinking beer and eating garlic fries, watching folks talk on cell phones while a few Candlestick hooligans jumped the fences and slid on the big white tarps. It wasn't until I watched the third game on television that I began to obsess. The fans are distracted -- on TV I could see entirely too many cell phones behind home plate, and too many people milling around talking to their friends. Plus, some of those sacred field box seats emptied fairly early in the game. The stands are a little too full of people there for the spectacle, who neither know nor care much about baseball. The players seem distracted, too, flat and fretful, too small for their new park. And I'm back to worrying about Baker's lack of a contract. Through the Giants-fan grapevine -- friends of friends of friends who know him -- comes word he's unhappy with the Giants' latest offer (no shock since he hasn't signed it), and other teams are known to be after him. Put him on top of the talent-rich but dysfunctional Dodgers -- who've in the past expressed keen interest in their former All-Star -- and they'd own the National League. Players profess not to be worried about their manager's future. "The Giants owners are smart baseball people," outfielder Ellis Burks told me during spring training. "They'll sign Dusty. They've just been distracted getting the new park open." Understandable. We've all been distracted. But it's time to get serious. I'm hoping the Giants' slow start will discourage the thrill seekers and hangers-on. The stadium's sold out, but maybe some of the riffraff won't bother showing up when the team comes back to town next weekend. I'm looking forward to a cold and windy Friday night, a Candlestick special. We'll put down our cell phones, stop gawking at the views and just play baseball.
- - - - - - - - - - - - Sound off Related Salon stories Willie Mays In the mid-'60s, whites weren't ready for the best baseball player to be
black, and blacks weren't ready for him to be black like Mays. In a league of their own Even Dusty Baker told her to get a life, but one baseball fanatic and her daughter wouldn't think of missing spring training.
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