Opening Their Arms to the Buoys of Spring : Padres’ Faithful Revel in Hope and Possibilities

Gary Winters likes baseball in April for its sheer sense of anticipation, for the rush of starting over, for the feeling of hope and renewal.

Even with a team called the San Diego Padres, which Winters thinks is more than a few seasons away from being a winner, he can’t shake the feeling that it might just happen.

He is talking about a championship, and all that it implies.

Winters, a management consultant who lives in San Carlos, was among the tens of thousands of Padre fans who went to San Diego Jack Murphy Stadium Wednesday night for the 1988 home opener--and to revel in the feeling of hope and renewal he says every human needs.

Box Scores at Breakfast

OK, so the team isn’t supposed to be good. But who really knows? Winters says the fact that the infant season remains a mystery keeps him interested to the point of compulsion--he turns to the sports page first thing every breakfast.

“We’re not 44 games out of first place--yet,” he said. “I like to go to games when the stadium’s full, like tonight. I like the energy, the enthusiasm, the passion.

“It’s a metaphor for life, this feeling of starting over. How many of us really get that chance? In baseball you get it every spring. It also takes us to a simpler, freer time, which all of us need, especially in the crazy ‘80s.”

Good Luck, Senator

Winters was wearing his cap, standing in front of a baseball roughly the size of a pup tent. The giant ball bore hundreds of autographs, all penned in honor of Steve Garvey, the Padres’ first baseman who retired in 1987.

Winters was asked why he wanted to sign the ball. That made him laugh.

“I was just asking myself that question,” he said. “And I don’t know the answer. But I do know I’m going to sign it. ‘The Garv’ gave us some good years and many happy memories. And I wish the senator the best of luck.” Garvey has expressed interest in running for a U. S. Senate seat from California.

Winters remembers him most--and always will, he said, for the home run hit in the 1984 National League playoffs. The blast sent the Padres into the fifth and deciding game against the Chicago Cubs. The Padres won the series after losing the first two games.

Like a Baby Being Born

John Marsteller, an El Cajon resident tailgate-picnicking in the parking lot before the game, likes the thrill of a new season as much as any the grand old game has to offer. He says it’s like a baby being born.

“I like the excitement of being here,” he said, munching from a bowl of chips and salsa. “I like having the team home. Starting a new year, never knowing how it might wind up. It’s like watching cars roll off a giant assembly line. That’s a feeling only an opener can produce.”

So what kind of a car would the Padres be?

“Oh, not a very good one,” he said. “But I enjoy watching baseball, even if the team is bad.”

Marsteller wishes the team would either do something about its pitching or “quit bitching about it.” A first-place finish by the Padres, especially with the pitching they have, would, in his mind, constitute a miracle.

Marsteller likes the quiet part of the game, the strategy and moves, but also appreciates

the force of a throw by Tony Gwynn or Benito Santiago to nail a runner at second or third. Even if the Padres languish in the basement, Marsteller says, Gwynn and Santiago are a fan’s rare pleasure--as well as hope for a bright future.

John and Sheila Corcoran were cooking a steak fajita dinner in the parking lot, talking about the hope-springs-eternal outlook of a team peppered with young talent.

“They play hard and try hard,” Corcoran said. “I like these guys better than the $800,000-a-year deadwood they had in the past. A youth movement generates optimism, even if it fails.”

Donald Albee was in the parking lot, looking like a refugee from Woodstock. A mane of black hair billowed out from underneath his Padre cap, and his beard curled down to his chest.

He was asked whether the Padres have a prayer.

“I plead the Fifth,” he said with a sly smile.

No Night for Pessimism

Kris Krabbenhoft is a nurse at Children’s Hospital. She was munching potato chips with a bunch of other nurses from Children’s. Krabbenhoft comes to baseball for the friendship of the group, for the pleasure of quiet conversation on a breezy night and, yes, even the thrill of a team that many greet with harsh pessimism.

Opening nights are not for pessimism, she said. She even said winning is a bonus--gravy for the fans, but not the reason they love the game.

It’s baseball, the sight of men at play in the fields of the Lord, that causes her to return year after hope-filled year.

“And what better place to feel it than San Diego?” she asked.