The first thing that strikes me as soon as  I settle into my seat in Section 315 at Oracle Park is just how far I can see. The Easy Bay hills and its’ million dollar homes are clearly visible, miles away across San Francisco Bay. When conditions are just right the windows of these houses are ablaze with the rays of the setting sun. The massive dinosaur like cranes at the Oakland waterfront loom in the foreground. Just beyond the outfield walls, watercraft of all types, from kayaks to container ships, ply the cobalt blue waters of the bay. Like brushstrokes on canvas, white caps appear when the wind kicks up.

A massive scoreboard towers over centerfield. The words “Oracle Park” are framed by an arc of nine pennants that dance and dive in the wind. Each pennant represents one of the Giants’ World Series championships. Light towers stand like castle parapets on either side. The players, already larger than life, appear almost God like when their images are projected onto the video screen. To the left of the scoreboard is a giant sculpture of a 1920’s vintage baseball mitt and next to that a green Coca Cola bottle inside of which is a slide. During a game kids can begin at the mouth of the bottle and slide all the way to the bottom.The bleachers and outfield stands are a constantly shifting multicolored mass of humanity which stands, sits and sways to the polyrhythms of the game.

And the grass! How do I begin to describe the impossibly green grass of a major league baseball field? To this day, the memory that sticks with me from my first visit to Yankee Stadium as a child is just how green the grass was. Up until that day I had only watched baseball games on an 18” black and white tv set.  I had no idea grass could be that green. Looking out onto the field today I see the green of an Irish hillside after a quenching rain.

The infield dirt is the rich brown of a freshly plowed Iowa cornfield, the bases perfectly, brilliantly white squares marking the three corners of the infield. The pentagon of home plate is where it all begins. During a game, the umpire keeps the plate clean with the occasional swipe of his pocket whiskbroom. The foul lines radiate out from here, arrow straight and terminating at the base of bright yellow foul poles which rise nearly to the top of the upper deck.

And the sounds! The crack of the bat, the snap of ball on leather are grace notes in the music of a baseball game. The crowd noise ebbs and flows like waves on the beach, rising from a whisper to a scream and back again as the game unfolds below. The explosion of ecstasy as a game winning homerun sails into the stands, the collective groan when a Giant strikes out at a pivotal moment in the game. My favorite sound? The timeless voice of Tony Bennett. The stadium’s PA system plays Tony’s signature tune I Left My Heart In San Francisco after every Giants victory. Tony croons, seagulls wheel above the field, swirling winds lift random food wrappers into the sky, and I file out with the rest of the crowd into the cool San Francisco night.