It was a beautiful summer Sunday. My father had promised that we would go to Candlestick and watch the Giants play, my first memory of seeing a live professional game. It was probably 1965, and I was perhaps 6-years old, so my memory of details could easily be mistaken. But I think they were playing the Dodgers that day. Or at least I want to believe that.
To my dismay, we had to go to church first. Church got out at noon, and we left soon after, and I remember being nervous about missing the first inning because the game …