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Health & Fitness

Patch Blog: Home Plate Is Where The Heart Is

And I still wonder why baseball is so much like that one delicate little flower I just can't seem to forget?

Yeah, I’m up here in Spokane where men are men and the polar bears run scared for my Napoleon Hill-inspired annual mastermind retreat. And all I know is last year we were in Napa wine tasting with my LDS/DDS masterminders and this year the big field trip is a tour to Idaho and a probable reunion with some retired LA cops.

I might add that in between my hosting the boys with In ‘n Out and the Getty and last year’s Napa experience, we went behind the lines at Folsom Prison and then promptly cut the Sacramento Molar Jockey from the squad.

Truth is our group of like-minded dentites has shared priceless monthly conference calls and annual retreats for something like twelve years and it’s pretty much like we’re family (they’re all Republicans so they’re more like family than the friends you actually get to choose.)

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Our guest presenter this time around is a smart, super-energetic, take charge, attractive woman of Italian descent who describes herself as an inspirer/noticer/connector and now you know what it takes to get me to hop a plane to Spokane.

Anyway, I was hangin’ out with some new SF fans at Wolfgang Puck’s at SeaTac between flights as my beloved Giants battled the Tigers and is there anything better than bs-ing sports, sipping a cold Anchor Steam, and watching your fav childhood team win a World Series game? Well yeah, a few things do come to mind but this is supposed to be a family neighborhood rag, right?

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And I still wonder why baseball is so much like that one delicate little flower I just can’t seem to forget?

There are four films that flat out make me cry every single freakin’ time and three of ‘em are about baseball. Field of Dreams and The Natural are automatics and so is Stand by Me (A Yankee cap plays a key role.) #4 is It’s a Wonderful Life and Jimmy Stewart did star in The Stratton Story, a biography about a major league pitcher who came back to throw with a wooden leg (another tear.)

And when I’m watching the Giants or the Angels first thing that happens is 35mm of my Golden childhood; my big brother and dad guiding me through the best years any kid could ever have.

There’s stuff that happened even before JFK was sworn in and it seems like it was just last week Bobby Boardman made the catch that didn’t count in leftfield to win it all and I was lining shots to left, center, and right fields but still drawing the collar for the Garvey Park Peewee Pirates.

I clearly remember being seven and having my breath taken away walking through the corridor with my dad and seeing the manicured lawn of old Wrigley Field for the very first time. Shucks, I remember a certain lunar landing leading up to “…one Giant step…” and Vin Scully reminding my dad and I and millions more “…that they said we’d land a man on the moon before (Giants pitcher) Gaylord Perry would ever hit a major league home run.”

So while I mercilessly jab at Bill the Bartender at Gale’s for his love of the National Pastime and a game that you can watch while reading War and Peace between naps, I was glued to the Giants and the Tigers while being totally sleepless in Seattle.

Tell ya the truth, when the Giants won it all two years ago, I had that same ole tear in my eye but I knew somewhere up there, big brother Jay and dad were smilin’.

Talk about some good medicine and some serious chicken soup for the

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