It was during the summer of 1967 when my dad took me to my first baseball game. The wonder that I felt when we got into the car and began the 45 mile drive to the big city of Los Angeles turned into excitement and joy as we turned off the highway and onto the winding road to Chavez Ravine.

My dad had given me my first real baseball glove earlier that same summer, so I was finally able to play catch with him and my big brother. Nothing better in the world.

The Giants were in town, which happened a lot in those days. When #24, Willie Mays, was introduced, I felt a sense of awe, for here was the greatest player ever.

He didn't disappoint, and I've been a Giants fan ever since.