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- Aug 1, 2017
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As a guy who grew up a Dodger fan it feels strange to pay homage to a legendary San Francisco Giant.
But Willie McCovey became personal for me back in the late ‘70s. One of my “Forest Gump” moments was being able to meet him, and hang out with him at his home in Woodside, Ca.
My moms sister actually befriended him when he played a few years down in San Diego. When Willie Mac came back to San Francisco the Padres came up to Candlestick late September she got some extra tickets for a game, (1978?).
We all got to watch Willie hit one of his signature loping swings into the right field seats, then head back to his house to celebrate.
Aside from the game, my memories of that day include: learning what a bidet toilet was, checking out his great view, and tennis courts, and sitting on the couch on the left shoulder of “Stretch” McCovey, watching Football on his TV.
“Chaaaar-lotte? Could you get me a beer?” He called out to his housekeeper, in his nicest southern drawl. For this was a man not capable of being demanding, or full of himself. I can still hear his kind voice.
He was very gracious during our short visit. I never visited with him again. But the right field cove in San Francisco now bears his name. Home runs will forever be chased down in canoes and paddle boats in “McCovey Cove”.
Baseball lost a great man yesterday.
And though he didn’t offer this formerly-13-year-old kid a beer, via housekeeper, Charlotte, for at least a couple hours he was
my football-watching pal.
And I never felt like I was getting in his way.
Go with God, Willie.
But Willie McCovey became personal for me back in the late ‘70s. One of my “Forest Gump” moments was being able to meet him, and hang out with him at his home in Woodside, Ca.
My moms sister actually befriended him when he played a few years down in San Diego. When Willie Mac came back to San Francisco the Padres came up to Candlestick late September she got some extra tickets for a game, (1978?).
We all got to watch Willie hit one of his signature loping swings into the right field seats, then head back to his house to celebrate.
Aside from the game, my memories of that day include: learning what a bidet toilet was, checking out his great view, and tennis courts, and sitting on the couch on the left shoulder of “Stretch” McCovey, watching Football on his TV.
“Chaaaar-lotte? Could you get me a beer?” He called out to his housekeeper, in his nicest southern drawl. For this was a man not capable of being demanding, or full of himself. I can still hear his kind voice.
He was very gracious during our short visit. I never visited with him again. But the right field cove in San Francisco now bears his name. Home runs will forever be chased down in canoes and paddle boats in “McCovey Cove”.
Baseball lost a great man yesterday.
And though he didn’t offer this formerly-13-year-old kid a beer, via housekeeper, Charlotte, for at least a couple hours he was
my football-watching pal.
And I never felt like I was getting in his way.
Go with God, Willie.
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