Baseball time is here once again Go and watch our Giants score Go on strike the ball outside in the area View those Giants along with the foundations they slip We expect the pennant is in sight Giants attempt with all your might again Go, go Giants and triumph now We’re with you personally Giants all the way. (Lyrics from a souvenir recording from the Art Mineo Combo, tune composed by Joe Jordan}.

Does anyone out there remember that little song? It had been “Go Giants Go,” introduced by Joe Jordan in 1963. It had been accessible on a 45 RPM, and it had been a part of the product being sold in the Tacoma Giants souvenir store at Cheney Stadium. I couldn’t happen to be the only child in T-town to have embezzled his dad from the weekly allowance. It cost just four pieces (50 cents) and that I didn’t actually need to wash our cellar for this. Such a bargain!

“Go Giants Go” was performed one day through intermission of a twin-bill (day-night double header). Joe Jordan was followed closely from the 80-piece Lincoln High School group, the faculty’s 50-member male choir, along with the Tacoma Giants Booster Club headed by baritone Jack Sonntag. And other times it’d play across the scene’s public address system, drowning from the home conduct foghorn, the clanging cowbells, and the humming manhood in the grandstands. For this day, I hold in my ownership, “Go Giants Go” in my private hall of fame along with souvenir box. I’ve even gone up to duplicating it on a CD.

The next story is all about my passion for travel baseball as a youth and also for the passion that I have for the game now. My hometown is in Tacoma, Washington. This story occurs back there from the ’60s.

I was just seven years old if the San Francisco Giants franchised their plantation club to Tacoma’s lovely Cheney Stadium in 1960. Cheney Stadium was only constructed and finished by local lumberman, Ben Cheney. Who’d have figured the following six years had been to be the most impressionable years of my life? I frequently wondered what meant to me through the warm summer days of the first to mid-60s–watching my older brothers acquire a warmth during the days of the Kiwanis Soap Box Derby or celebrating that the high-kicking wind-up of Tacoma Giants’ pitcher Juan Marichal about the mound along with the fielding excellence of shortstop Gil Garrido, my hero afterward, No. 17. When I had been anywhere close to Bantz Boulevard, I had the very best of both worlds. Don’t forget that the Cheney Studs playing hardball in neighboring Heidelberg Field. I chose the land of this “Giants. “