I once saw an account from one of the early European expeditions to the area (possibly Portolla's, but I wouldn't swear to it) who made the mistake of camping atop (what was later named) Mt Davis, only to be kept awake all night by the "relentless, biting wind" (or words to that effect). Only a madman would say "I know! Let's build a ballpark here."
Afternoon games at the 'Stick were lovely, though.
PS. In 1999 I took a first date to the last night game at Candlestick. I'd been to many, many night games there - earned eight or ten "Croix de Candlesticks", if that rings any bells for any of you. My date had never been to an MLB game, far less the frigid confines of nocturnal Candlestick, and I was determined to be prepared. I warned this girl to wear more layers than she thought necessary, schlepped in extra jackets, a massive blanket, and multiple flasks of hot chocolate. I was ready for whatever the wind-gods would throw at us, and we looked more like we were mounting a polar expedition than a couple on the way to a baseball game.
But then, irony of ironies, the night was balmy. I'd never experienced anything like it. The breezes were benign, and I doubt the temperature dropped below 60°. My date didn't quite believe that this wasn't what it was always like, and my careful preparations made me look like a wimp at best, and at worst a madman. One last f-u from the fickle fates of Candlestick, which had broken so many Giants fans' hearts for so many years.
Afternoon games at the 'Stick were lovely, though.
PS. In 1999 I took a first date to the last night game at Candlestick. I'd been to many, many night games there - earned eight or ten "Croix de Candlesticks", if that rings any bells for any of you. My date had never been to an MLB game, far less the frigid confines of nocturnal Candlestick, and I was determined to be prepared. I warned this girl to wear more layers than she thought necessary, schlepped in extra jackets, a massive blanket, and multiple flasks of hot chocolate. I was ready for whatever the wind-gods would throw at us, and we looked more like we were mounting a polar expedition than a couple on the way to a baseball game.
But then, irony of ironies, the night was balmy. I'd never experienced anything like it. The breezes were benign, and I doubt the temperature dropped below 60°. My date didn't quite believe that this wasn't what it was always like, and my careful preparations made me look like a wimp at best, and at worst a madman. One last f-u from the fickle fates of Candlestick, which had broken so many Giants fans' hearts for so many years.