Peanut ritual proves more than superstition
By Bill Zarchy
Baseball season is in full swing, and Barry Bonds is bashing baseballs again. The sting of the Giants' loss in the World Series has subsided a bit, but the bizarre image of the Angels' Rally Monkey lives on.
A little known fact about last season, however, was the influence of salted legumes in the Giants' success, especially the night in August when Barry hit his 600th homer.
"I have an extra ticket to tomorrow night's game," said the message from Randy. "Maybe we'll get to see Barry hit number 600."
I called back to accept his invitation. Bonds, 10 months after breaking the single-season record with 73 home runs, was just shy of another milestone: 600 career homers, previously passed only by Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth and Willie Mays, Barry's godfather.
The next night was unseasonably warm for San Francisco. Randy wouldn't let me pay for my ticket, so I bought hot dogs and beer. "And peanuts," he said, "good for rallies late in the game. But not 'til the sixth inning."
I wondered what he meant, but I didn't press.
Randy's seats were on the lower deck, just past third base. The crowd applauded Barry as he jogged out to his left-field position, limping from the torn hamstring that had kept him out of several games. Each team had a two-run homer in the first inning. 2-2.
A sweet warm breeze wafted the aroma of garlic fries across the field. I ate another hot dog and bought Randy a salt pretzel. He insisted we keep the peanuts for later. In front of us sat two young women, a feisty brunette and a pretty blonde, enjoying the game and playing with the blonde's year-old baby. After the first-inning homers, both pitchers dueled brilliantly. Barry reached base on an infield hit, but no one scored.
Until the sixth. The Pirates got two runs and still had men on base. 4-2. I worried that the game might get out of reach.
"When do we eat the nuts?" I asked.
Randy explained his ritual: If the Giants were behind in the sixth, he started eating his peanuts. This stopped rallies by the opposing team and helped the Giants score. I was dubious. "It's a good thing you're not superstitious," I said.
"But it works," he insisted. "It's magic. Eat my nuts."
Contra Costa Times
By Bill Zarchy
Baseball season is in full swing, and Barry Bonds is bashing baseballs again. The sting of the Giants' loss in the World Series has subsided a bit, but the bizarre image of the Angels' Rally Monkey lives on.
A little known fact about last season, however, was the influence of salted legumes in the Giants' success, especially the night in August when Barry hit his 600th homer.
"I have an extra ticket to tomorrow night's game," said the message from Randy. "Maybe we'll get to see Barry hit number 600."
I called back to accept his invitation. Bonds, 10 months after breaking the single-season record with 73 home runs, was just shy of another milestone: 600 career homers, previously passed only by Hank Aaron, Babe Ruth and Willie Mays, Barry's godfather.
The next night was unseasonably warm for San Francisco. Randy wouldn't let me pay for my ticket, so I bought hot dogs and beer. "And peanuts," he said, "good for rallies late in the game. But not 'til the sixth inning."
I wondered what he meant, but I didn't press.
Randy's seats were on the lower deck, just past third base. The crowd applauded Barry as he jogged out to his left-field position, limping from the torn hamstring that had kept him out of several games. Each team had a two-run homer in the first inning. 2-2.
A sweet warm breeze wafted the aroma of garlic fries across the field. I ate another hot dog and bought Randy a salt pretzel. He insisted we keep the peanuts for later. In front of us sat two young women, a feisty brunette and a pretty blonde, enjoying the game and playing with the blonde's year-old baby. After the first-inning homers, both pitchers dueled brilliantly. Barry reached base on an infield hit, but no one scored.
Until the sixth. The Pirates got two runs and still had men on base. 4-2. I worried that the game might get out of reach.
"When do we eat the nuts?" I asked.
Randy explained his ritual: If the Giants were behind in the sixth, he started eating his peanuts. This stopped rallies by the opposing team and helped the Giants score. I was dubious. "It's a good thing you're not superstitious," I said.
"But it works," he insisted. "It's magic. Eat my nuts."
Contra Costa Times
