The Tailgater, The Rocker, and The Angel in the Outfield.

This time of year our newsfeeds are peppered with shared posts of photo retrospectives. Fun as they are, you all know a “share and post” isn’t my way of doing things. And seeing as how it’s been a while since I wrote an open letter to my Padres family, I felt now is as good as a time as ever to get back on the horse, so to speak.

The year started with anticipation unseen since we opened Petco Park in 2004 and it built right up

until Opening Day. Sadly, we didn’t quite have the outstanding season we were expecting. You went to the games, you read the box scores so I won’t put salt on the wounds with a recap of the season. I will however give something of a recap of what means much more to me than the game itself.

The people. All of you, My Family.

In my thirteen years we had only three winning seasons, with some of the rest challenging for the worst record in team history. At one point, even a dependent of a former owner mocked me for proudly waving the Padres flag.

I used to grow angry over such comments, especially coming from someone who bit the proverbial hand that fed him. Yet I, and WE have something he and other such “fans” will never have.

Heart.
Loyalty.
And an undying appreciation of our local nine.

Year after year, we give our hearts and souls to the Padres and more often than not, we end up with little to do in October, saying “wait ‘til next year” two weeks before the World Series starts and sometimes, much earlier.

No matter, for when I return to the Ballpark for a game or even drive by on the way home from a pizza dinner with the family at Seaport Village, I am reminded why I and we keep returning every season. Jerry Seinfeld once said he was confused with sports fandom. After all, we don’t root for the players after they leave, (of course, he doesn’t know the way we’ve treated guys like Jake Peavy, Tim Flannery, Trevor Hoffman and countless others after they’ve returned in a visitor uniform) we root for the uniform. I must add that the new white home uniforms are all kinds of hideous, but that’s a rant for another time.

We return for the games but the real reason we have put our hearts and souls into it all is each other. I couldn’t imagine having a pregame meal with anyone but Cub, Kathy and the rest of the tailgate crew. And though my son Trevor loves watching BP, I spend more time looking out for good friends like Summer, Delia, Teri, Terry, Barb and all the wonderful ladies of the Madres. My tradition of whacking Harry the Heckler with my cap is nearing its third decade. And no matter how great my seats are, I usually spend most of my time with FranKlin and the rest of the crazy right field crew.

As beautiful as it is to see you at the Balllpark and various events throughout the year, it saddens me to know we have seen each other nearly as much while saying goodbye to a member of the Family as we have at games.

Winning records are nice, but nothing breaks our hearts more than losing one of our many loved ones. I am certain many more were lost but this season, there were three losses that hit me as hard as that terrible one-two punch of 2014 when we lost the Colonel and Mr. Padre.

It started with a somewhat late notice of losing a longtime friend and season ticketholder. Harry Shultz had been a Friar Faithful since the 1970’s and was the point man for the Tailgate crew I spent many a lunch break with. Harry often talked about the good ol’ days when, after Mrs. Kroc banned alcohol in the clubhouse, players used to go out into the parking lot and bring their own coolers. A Navy veteran, Harry was like the cool old neighbor down the street who always had a cold beer ready for you at the end of the day. For me, it was always a cold Pepsi at the beginning of my workday. The Pepsi’s became so endearing to me I always bring several extras to the tailgate. That way when I get home, I’m not only drinking Pepsi, I’m drinking Pepsi’s from Tailgate PARK! Those of you who are San Diego transplants may understand it in this context; think of the corner restaurant or regional product your family has loved for years and how rare it is you get to enjoy it. I can get a Pepsi anywhere, but a Pepsi from Tailgate Park is nearly as rare as a Cheesesteak from Ray’s or brisket from Texas!

Not long after the season ended came a tremendous blow to the Pad Squad family. Charla Williams was one of the original “Padrette’s”, a Pad Squad precursor from the days of Tuba Man, Nate Colbert and fifty cent beers. For over a decade, Pad Squad members all called her Mom. It’s safe to say NO woman contributed more to the Pad Squad and therefore, the Fan Experience than Charla. Her son Mike still oversees the roster and daughter Kelly epitomized the kindness, playfulness and all-around fan friendliness the Pad Squad is known for. I always considered Charla one of those you would call a Rock and Roll Mom. After all, she named her first born after Mick Jagger and there ain’t nothing more Rock and Roll than that! (At press time, my suggestion her grandson be named after Keith Richards has received no response.)

As we neared the Holidays, yet another devastating loss rocked the Family. I don’t recall the first time I met Press Gate Bruce, maybe that’s because once you knew him, it was like he was always part of your life. At the Murph, he was usually the first person I saw on Gameday. Once we moved Downtown, I usually bypassed the employee entrance in favor of going through Bruce’s gate. In baseball, we have many traditions and superstitions. I have thought about this much recently and I have realized my carrying the tradition from the stadium to the ballpark had nothing to do with either. It had everything to do with starting the day off right. In my later years, I often arrived at the Ballpark in a sour mood. Seeing Bruce, even if it was just for a moment, always changed that. Whether it was just a simple hello and hang in there, or a raucous dirty joke fest, Bruce always had a way of turning my day around for the better.

In thinking of Bruce these past few weeks, I have been thinking of another loved one we lost some years ago. Many of you will remember Mark Gomez, a longtime usher from the third base side. One afternoon, I showed up in my usual angry mood and I decided to talk a walk around the nearly-empty park to cool off. As I walked out of the tunnel near the visitors’ bullpen, I saw Mark across the field wiping down seats in section 110. Just seeing him made me smile, first on the outside then on the inside. What a tremendous soul to have that effect on people, especially considering the state of mind I was in those days. And it’s a safe bet to say each and every one of you is smiling at the mere thought of Mark…

We have been blessed to know so many wonderful people. I’ve met nearly every living Hall of Famer and a few who have since penciled their names to the big box score in the sky. I’ve met CEO’S, Admirals, Generals and even an ex-President. Each are textbook examples of success in their chosen fields. Yet in the Field of Life, no accomplishment can match the overall success I have seen in people like Harry, Charla, Bruce and Mark. The success of being such a person who can make another smile with just a thought. A person who can bring others together in their own special ways, many without even trying but simply by being themselves.

Friends, I love a winning season as much as anyone. You know this, as you’ve seen it on my face when the team succeeds as well as on my slumped shoulders when the team fails. But I don’t go to the Ballpark to see a win. Hell, I often don’t even go to see a game! I go for the mini-family reunion we have every time I walk through those gates. I go to remember how you all make me feel like Norm from Cheers whenever I hear “Rudy!” from family members in every section of the Park. But most of all, I go in tribute to the loved ones we lost and continue sharing the gifts they have given to me but to my own family and my Family of 40,000…