As I grow older,
committing names to new faces
seems a constant struggle,
yet there are still many things I can easily remember:
I remember being fascinated
watching Willie McCovey at the plate
and wondering just how nervous
he made the pitcher.
I remember how Willie Mays
sometimes wouldn’t take 2nd base
so they would have to pitch to McCovey.
I don’t remember anyone explaining to me
what “The Say Hey Kid” meant.
No one had to explain to me
what “Dirty Al Gallagher” meant.
I remember Dick Dietz
crowding the plate and getting hit by pitches
to get on base. I thought that was awesome.
I remember Candlestick Park
was always cold and windy.
Nobody cared. You brought a jacket
and wore a sweater underneath it.
If the Giants were losing 6-0 in the 7th inning,
for $5.00 you could go to the Stadium Club
and watch it on T.V. and wait for the
parking lot to empty (it didn’t take long.)
I remember the night Johnnie LeMaster
replaced the name on his jersey with “Boo”.
I remember thinking that
Chris Speier seemed like a regular guy.
I remember thinking
Manny Trillo was the best 2nd baseman
I had ever seen.
***
I remember hating the Oakland A’s
because I was secretly jealous
of all their great players.
Bill King was their announcer
and would yell, “Holy Toledo!”
after a great play.
Bill King and Rollie Fingers
both had handlebar mustaches.
I remember Gene Tenance’s name
was pronounced ‘Geno Ten-notch-A’
in Italian.
I adopted the Baltimore Orioles
as my American League team
because of my jealousy of the Oakland A’s.
The 1970 Baltimore Orioles
were the last team that had a
starting rotation with four 20 game winners:
Jim Palmer, Dave McNally, Mike Cuellar, and Pat Dobson.
(That makes for a great bar room trivia question
because everyone always forgets Pat Dobson.)
Brooks Robinson
was a god.
Boog Powell
was a mountain.
Frank Robinson
was a great player.
Frank Robinson
became a lousy manager.
Earl Weaver
was a nut
and he loved to beat
Sparky Anderson.
Sparky Anderson
was a nut
and he loved to beat
Earl Weaver.
Those Cincinnati Reds teams
were great and they beat the Dodgers
so I was cool with that.
I remember thinking
Joe Morgan was the best 2nd baseman
I had ever seen.
***
I remember Jeffrey Leonard
hitting home runs
and running the bases
with “One Flap Down.”
I remember thinking
we finally have a real lead-off hitter
when we signed Brett Butler.
I remember disowning Brett Butler
when he signed with the Dodgers.
I remember Will Clark “over modulating”
Gary Park’s microphone
after winning the pennant.
I remember Kevin Mitchell
catching a ball he over-ran with his bare hand
while smiling with his gold tooth.
I remember trying not to tear up
when Dave Dravecky made his return
to pitch at Candlestick Park.
I remember
no one drafted Bob Brenly
out of college.
I remember thinking
Matt Williams would never
learn how to hit a curve ball.
He finally did.
I remember thinking
Robby Thompson was the best 2nd baseman
I had ever seen.
***
I remember Steve Carlton and Randy Johnson
came to the Giants chasing wins and strikeouts
before they retired.
I remember everyone knew
Darryl Strawberry as a Giant
wouldn’t work out.
It didn’t.
I remember being very excited
about the 1989 Bay Bridge World Series.
I remember being surprised
that nobody else in the country was excited
about the 1989 Bay Bridge World Series.
I remember thinking
we had a real shot
at beating Canseco, McGwire, and Dave Stewart
in the 1989 Bay Bridge World Series.
Not even close.
I remember being at the 2002 World Series,
Giants and Angels, game 6 in Anaheim
with my father, a long time San Francisco Seals and Giants fan.
I don’t want to talk about it.
I remember being confused
that I was the only one in the Men’s room
at Pac Bell Park until I heard the crowd
cheering a Barry Bonds home run.
I remember looking at my girlfriend
with tears in my eyes when we won
the World Series in 2010.
She thought I had lost my mind.
I remember reading the opening day lineup
every year since I was a kid and thinking
“Hey, I think we might have a shot at it this year!”
***
It seems I will always have my memories
of watching a long list of great players like
Ozzie Smith, Mike Schmidt, Reggie Jackson
Carl Yastrzemski, and Hank Aaron,
and I guess I shouldn’t be surprised
how I just remembered
both Roberto Clemente
and Thurman Munson
died in small airplane crashes.
They say it’s the new memories
that are hardest to establish
as you get older,
so I still read my team’s box score each morning,
review the lineup before each game,
and try to commit to memory
the names of our backup catchers
because you never know
when that might come in handy
in some bar room discussion.
Ken Owen July 2026 Van Niddy Press
