The game is over. The crowds press on out the gates waving to the GSR’s and guards. The cleaning crews come out of their tunnels trash bags in hand into the almost empty park. In Power Alley, where the kids’ games are, the power washers sit in lines as if they were prehistoric monsters with their hoses twisted into external intestines.
The sound system is quieted. The shouts for help, for assistance, for information and news on the guard’s radios, in the guard’s ears, dim to only an occasional remark. Groups of red shirted security personal begin slowly to sweep the stadium from one end to another peeking into every corner. There is an occasional call when someone needs assistance. One man is found drunk and passed out in a front row seat. A young drunk woman is vomiting in a bathroom then passes out on the floor. Paramedics are called. Just as the last few people exit the gate, a woman trips going out a gate. Her husband insists that first aid be called. Paramedics respond. And respond. The gate fills with emergency personal as the silence of night falls on the ballpark. She’s not injured, and they transport her to her car. The world grows silent again.
“Main Concourse is clear,” comes the final call.
I check outside my gate and find that all the GSR’s have gotten rides home.
“GSR and East Village Gates can now close,” radios the gate supervisor.
I call down the tunnel, “The gate’s closing.” I know there are three or four more employees down there. One player comes out. He’s not feeling well. No one else. The remaining employees can go out the front door or the player’s parking lot garage. I close and lock the gate.
This day, G has come to a game. He has waited the long, extra hour with me while the last fans in suites and the GSR’s slowly leave the ballpark. Hand in hand we now walk across the back of the outfield to sign me out for the night. G stops a moment and takes a last picture. The groundskeepers are watering down the dirt giving it a silver glow. Several of the players families have stopped for a moment out on the field too.
Yet sometimes, there’s still magic for fans of all ages.
Me: Beyond tired. My eyes feel as if I have all of the “beach” in them. The beach is a sandbox just off the bleacher area. Legs a draggin’ too. Real rain this morning. We both ran out and watched it come down and turn the whole world into grey. Magic.
G: No Ba for baseball yesterday….she caught a cold. Baseball today with grandkids, and tomorrow to end the season. End of season parties begin tomorrow too. Office pot-luck first, then next weekend, after the SDSU game, the GSR party and a birthday party for one GSR.
Duck: Fuzzy. G is stopping by before the game.
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