Sometimes, I think parking lots get re-branded as places to go show off your fixie and man-culottes during baseball games just to piss me off.
By Andrew Pridgen
After the final out of the last Giants game at Candlestick (a 9-4 loss to the Dodgers), home plate was ceremoniously dug out and medevac’d to a pile of landfill in China Basin. That day, Candlestick and its faithful should have disappeared into a sinkhole as more than 60,000 somber fans paid tribute to the cracked-concrete-and-exposed-Rebar stanchions that was the best-worst place to watch baseball in the country.
Bolting to concessions during the beer cut-off inning, I ran into a buddy of mine I hadn’t seen in a fair bit. We attended summer school together in Berkeley about four years prior and worked in the same building in the City straight out of school. He’d was getting ready to leave for med school in the Midwest and paying tribute to the ballpark.
“You gonna go to the new stadium next year?” I asked.
But instead of hells-to-the-yeah, I got a furrowed brow and blank look.
“Fuck no,” he said. “Every dickhead in town’s gonna be there.”
He gave me a hug and sent me on my merry. Since there was no facebook poke, no the twitters, no cell phones then, we just assumed we might see one another, soon.
I haven’t run into him since.
It’s tough criticizing today’s ballpark or the fans in it without sounding curmudgeonly. The Giants’ new fanbase is a direct result of that brick-faced bayfront gem and the unprecedented success of the team’s last half-decade. The winning streak is a direct reflection of the City on the verge of full faux financial bloom. I’m OK with things changing—for the good and the bad—and will continue to support the Giants even when the ice caps melt and right field is four feet under water as the team settles back into its four games under .500 repose.
That being said…
At this very moment—not only has SF become the most-expensive, most-annoying, most-full-of-assholes-per-capita place in the world—but those jerkfaces love love love to see or be seen or take pictures of #themselves at the old fucking ball game.
This year, it’s going to be a whole new level of dickhead at the new
parking lot The Yard, anchored by an Anchor Brewing Co. beer garden which comes complete with, as the douchebag bible’s Adrian Spinelli puts it: “a brand new (no hyphen) pop-up (hyphen) pre-game (hyphen) village …complete with food trucks, coffee year round (no hyphen) activities and more.”
Note to Mr. Spinelli who lifted a press fucking release and put a byline on it: I have no fucking problem lifting from a press release, I lifted what you lifted from a press release. But at least have the common writerly decency to lop off the “and more” like you did that ironic mustache after Halloween.
What the fuck does that mean, and more?
Will George Michael be wearing yoga pants and turning tricks in the port-a-potty? Is there going to be a lifesize Will Ferrell statue that you can point at and take a selfie with in front of one of the food trucks? Maybe a Ryan Gosling kissing booth? A live Etsy shop selling wigs made of John Travolta’s real fake hair? An artisanal booth that installs a winding app for your Apple Watch?
Mr. Spinelli, please fucking clarify what “and more” means in the comments below.
The beer garden is a direct threat to Momo’s as the place to go see and be seen as an upwardly mobile dickhead; the spot to camp out and look busy on your phone when you try to start talking to a Marina girl and she ignores you.
Anchor Steam will roll out some new beers for the space including a double-IPA which fucking of course it’s going to be a double IPA, so they can double-charge for double-yuck while everyone pretends they’re having fun playing Cards Against Humanity as their Warby Parkers get all sweaty.
Other dickhead flypaper at The Yard includes:
- A North Face retail shop: So assholes can buy a bunch of overpriced, over-engineered fleece made with children’s hands so their spray-tanned forearms don’t get windburn in the 72-degree afternoons.
- Some fucking food trucks: Because it’s more fun to spend $20 on something with chipotle aioli mayo when it’s cooked in something run by a generator.
- Something called Les Merchants: Which I can only assume is exclusively selling black sweatshirts with a caricature of an orphan girl who blushes French flag colors.
- Farmers’ market on Sunday: The weekend’s not quite over and it’s never too late to try to beg for a hangover handjob over summer squash grown in Livermore.
- Cooking and workout classes: Going to a baseball game should be good for your online dating profile.
Back to our homeboy Spinelli, who follows up the cooking and workout classes at the ballpark news not with outrage, disgust, contempt or the kind of fucking out-and-out frustration that makes one have to back away from the keyboard and go for a quick five-mile run to get it together, but with, “Does it get more San Francisco than that? I didn’t think so.”
He didn’t think so? Is that to say at some point he might? Or maybe he changed his mind since he wrote this? If by “getting more San Francisco” he means getting suckier than it already sucks, then I guess the rhetorical answer he wasn’t looking for is…no.
“This is exactly the kind of project I personally want to see in Mission Rock.”
Mr. Spinelli, you’re the kind of writer I (personally, because that’s what I means) want to see buried in a cube fucking writing press releases for Uber about how fleecing underemployed fake cabbies who still have the keys to their parents’ Lexus till the lease expires in 2017 is the best business model ever. Maybe that was your last job. Maybe that’s why you can afford to pay $3,700/mo. for a studio in South Beach re-penning press releases for Gannett’s stab at a vanity blog project; I
don’t didn’t know.
Spinelli ends the snippet with the curious nonsequitur that he rode his bike to check the new blacktop with benches because, well, some chick’s going to read this and maybe going to want to suck him off at newly minted parking lot across from 3rd and King (if George Michael…and more, doesn’t do it first).
Also, he needs to plant that flag and be that first who said he rode his bike there, because within two week’s time, the dickhead army of swipe-left Spinellis will gravitate to and multiply in this place like bad Gremlins in a Y swimming pool.
I used to really really like going to Giants games, back when it was about going to a fucking Giants game…and peeing with a bunch of dudes in a trough. The only thing I like about this The Yard thing is I could probably sell 200 pair of “vintage” orange Wayfarer knock-offs for $50 each in about a half hour.
Oh, as for my buddy: Josh Meyer, thanks for sticking to your word and not showing up at the new ballpark, ever. If you ever want to grab a brew and watch a game you know where to not find me.