I was one of those goofballs who was hoping for one last exhibition game at Candlestick Park. Gimme the cold for one more night. Gimme the wind. Gimme the miserable arctic chill blowing out the coals before my bratwurst can even get warm. That last one is not a metaphor. Some of the best times of my life were at that place. The urine troughs were a drag, and I guess the cold was a little miserable at times, but Candlestick was more to me than the punchline to a national joke.
Also, the weenie kids of today should experience it at least once. Spoiled brats.
This comes up now because the good folks at sister site Curbed SF flew a drone over a dilapidated, sad Candlestick Park, and it looks like something out of Mad Max now.
Sigh. There, right there. That was the seat I sat in for the 1987 NLCS. And, look, just beyond that: Where I sat for a friend's birthday party. I walked up and down every aisle, trying to sell Cracker Jack to people who didn't want it. Over there, say, that's where I sat behind Joe Garagiola, Jr. when he calmly told a couple of drunks not to touch him again. In the top left is where I sat for the '84 All-Star Game, and in the middle of the frame is where Bonds hit it against Trevor Hoffman in '95, reinforcing my love for this stupid sport.
Instead, it's a concrete reminder that everyone you know and love will eventually die. Including the buildings. Especially the buildings.
On the other hand, that place was really, really unfair with how it distributed championships to its tenants, and the new place is so, so much better in that respect. Candlestick was kind of an ass to the Giants.
Click through for a bunch more pictures. It's depressing. It's expected. Goodbye, Candlestick. You were the felonious uncle I always stuck up for, even if my aunt is dating Matt Damon now.
Also, now that the $700 seats aren't for sale anymore ... can I just, you know, have one? Email me offline, movers and shakers.