My Night at Petco Park
Seats behind home plate. My face on TV. (Sorry, America.)
There are worse places to spend a warm California evening than San Diego’s Petco Park. And worse ways to spend it than with great seats, a cold drink in your hand, and the Pittsburgh Pirates in town to take a good shellackin’.
My son, Alex, and I stayed at the Marriott in the Gaslamp District— right across the street from the park. You can throw a splitter from the lobby and hit centerfield. No need for Ubers, just your feet. A short walk, a buzz in your step, and in minutes you’re in a big-league ballpark that’s more cathedral than stadium.
Play Ball
The San Diego Padres were playing the Pirates that night, but honestly, that was just the garnish. The real meal started with the seats—the seats. Not just close to the action. I’m talking right behind home plate, so close you could see the stitching on the fastballs. So close you could hear the smack of the ball hit the catcher’s mitt. So close the crack of the bat sounded like a gunshot.
Credit where credit’s due—Julie, an old and dear friend, and her partner Lynn (great guy) have season tickets, and they generously invited us. But these weren’t just seats. These were “you’re-on-television” seats. Sure enough – in the first inning, mind you — our phones were blowing up from friends, co-workers, ex-girlfriends, you name it. Yep, Alex and I were on TV, larger than life on the broadcast, trying to look like we weren’t basking in our own smug glow. Spoiler alert: we absolutely were.
All-You-Can Gorge
The tickets came with perks that could put a Las Vegas buffet to shame. Free food. Real food. Korean BBQ tacos, lobster mac n cheese, desserts worthy of a Michelin star, bratwurst the size of a donkey’s…ear. And drinks. Bourbon, if you wanted it. A dam burst of margaritas. Local IPAs that tasted like rebellion. All of it included, like some kind of divine mistake some angel forgot to fix.
We ate like kings, we drank like idiots, and we watched the kind of baseball you always hope for: loud, close, and soaked in pure fandom. Padres’ fans are like surfers—chill. But when something exciting happens, wow, it’s a vibe. Electric but casual. The best kind. And this praise comes courtesy of a true-blue Dodgers fan.
High in the Sky
After the game, and a prodigious display of pyrotechnics, Alex and I bid farewell to Julie and Lynn. (The next time I see them I will wash their feet with tears of joy.) We then floated back across the street, lifted by wonder and several rounds of Elysian Space Dust, and took the elevator up to the Marriott’s rooftop bar, the Altitude Sky Lounge.
From up there, you can see right into the heart of Petco Park. The field was quiet now, empty except for the cleanup crew and thousands of discarded beer cups. But we could see our seats, clear as day, and we both took a moment to drink it all in – along with the last round of Ballast Point Sculpins. The breeze rolled in off the bay, soft and salty, and everything about the night just clicked. There’s something about an experience like that – being in the thick of it, then moments later 22-stories above it. Magic.
What Goes Up…
The next morning, we paid the price. At least I did. Headache like a jackhammer. Mouth dry as sand. But worth it. Absolutely worth it. Because sometimes the best nights aren’t about the final score (Padres 3, Pirates 2, by the way). They’re about the people you’re with, and the fact that—for a few golden hours—you had everything you needed.
And the hangover?
That’s just proof you lived it.
