Matt Cain eyed me in the tunnel leading to the dugout before Wednesday’s Giants-Rockies game. He sized up my ill-fitting pants, my out-of-place jersey and my bearing that projected zero confidence.
After all, I was about to be a Ball Dude for the very first time.
“I can’t wait,” Cain deadpanned, “to see you screw this up.”
That’s my guy Cainer. Been dropping deadpan sarcasm on us since he broke into the bigs in 2005. At least I think it was sarcasm.
Right behind him on the steps was Bruce Bochy. The skipper was taken aback at the sight of a radio gasbag clad in Giants threads.
“You should sit next to me in the dugout today,” he said, unable to contain his grin. “Nobody would notice.”
“I’m here for ya, Bruce,” I said. “That is, if you need a left-handed bat with middle infield power.”
He looked me up, head to toe.
“You gonna make a diving play today?” he said, twinkle in his eye.
“Getting dirty, Boch!” I answered.
After all, those were my only marching orders from Mike Krukow on the air Wednesday: Get dirty. Krukow might have been joking, but there was an air of intensity to his advice: “I’m serious. Get dirty today!” he said.
Well, Kruk, that was about the only thing that didn’t go totally awesomely on Wednesday.
Being a Ball Dude brought all the thrills you might imagine — a field-level view to a big league game; the feeling that you were inside the velvet rope at one of the world’s coolest sports clubs; the constant adrenaline rush of thinking the next pitch would result in a screamer headed your way; the interaction with all the kids sitting down the right field line who viewed the big league experience while slack-jawed; the sensation of crouching inches away from Rockies relievers throwing mid-90s gas in the bullpen — it all was a lifetime experience, and then some.
But . . . I did not get dirty.
I did develop sore-ish knees from planting my hams on the Ball Dude stool down the right field line. I did develop a slight sense of unease wearing the double-flap helmet (safety first!) that I felt made me look like the Great Kazoo from The Flintstones. I did hold a pee from about the second inning on, knowing that the alternative — using the Rockies visiting urinal mid-game — might have been a bit awkward.
I could see myself banging on the door and demanding Nolan Arenado to “HURRY UP!” But I thought better of it and held it, knowing that the lesson could be passed on to my 5-year-old on the next Murphy family road trip.
The strangest thing I was asked? A teenage boy handed me a shot glass in the second inning, and asked for a scoop of warning track dirt. I found the request so oddly compelling, I did it, not knowing if I was violating Ball Dude etiquette.
He told me he was from Colorado and was collecting dirt from every ballpark he went to. I thought that was cool, and handed him his shot glass of China Basin dirt.
Handing out trading cards of Giants to eager kids down the line was another thrill. You forget how excited a kid can get, holding a baseball card. Or, they just wanted free stuff. One of the two. Strangely, I was handed two Jake Peavy cards in my pack. I do dig Peavy. Just . . . he’s not on the team. But I found some partying ladies in Sec. 103 and sold them on the Peavy cards. They were pumped, and gladly took them.
And, of course, I yawned.
In the 9th inning, after the thrills of a Jae-gyun Hwang home run, of a Nick Hundley home run, of Ty Blach fighting his way out of the corner for a win, the adrenaline began to subside and the morning show/Ball Dude combo set in. I found my posture slumping a bit. My feet, rigidly placed in front of me in playmaking position all game, bent to the sides. I chastised myself and sat up — but not before the sand man got me, and I let loose with one of the biggest yawns of my life.
Fortunately, just in time for Kruk and Kuip and the NBC Sports Bay Area cameras to catch it. Kruk’s “Tarzan Yell” to accompany the replay of my yawn was one of 2017’s highlights, in my book.
Hey, it could have been worse. I could have fallen down. That was seriously a thought after dozens of listeners and so-called friends gave me their pre-Ball Dude advice: “Don’t fall down!”
I think Matt Cain was rooting for the fall.
The 27th out recorded, I gathered my stool and made the triumphant march down past the Rockies dugout, around home plate, down the same Giants dugout steps I’d ascended hours earlier. Tony Bennett sang. Hwang did an interview with Amy G. The sun shined. Life was good.
Plus, I didn’t totally tell the truth earlier.
As the game progressed, and I had the feeling that no foul balls were set to come sizzling my way, I reached down and scooped up a couple of handfuls of China Basin dirt and rubbed them on my baseball pants.
It felt good. After all . . . ya gotta get dirty!