baseball has been a berry berry good to me.

• On August 4, 2000 sometime in the middle of the night, I dreamed I won a contest to suit up as a San Francisco Giant. The Rules of the Contest said I had to play. I met with the representative of the Giants and had to take a physical to clear me to play. The team rep explained to me what would happen. I would be penciled into the lineup that night.

I was given a locker and my uniform hung on a hanger. I was a very nervous man trying to get dressed in the Club's Friday orange. I so wanted a shot of tequila and a Corona to calm my nerves, and then Willie McCovey gave me a look filled with love that understood what I was thinking and that it would be inappropriate for me to show up on the field at Pacific Bell Park with liquor on my breath.

Of course the Manager of the SF Giants, Felipe Alou, was not happy about this contest. He kept mumbling, "This is Bill Veeck shit" under his breath, and who could blame him. I might as well have been a midget.

After I was suited up I went to look at the posted lineup. Felipe had penciled me in at right field and had me hitting eighth. I ran to the bathroom and threw up.

The national anthem was played and I ran out to right field and I noticed I couldn't breathe or hear; all I could feel was my heart beating. Thankfully, nobody hit anything out to me and I survived the first inning.

I came up to hit in the second inning. The pitcher brushed me back and I was too slow to get out of the way and I was hit in the upper arm and boy did it hurt. I ran down to first base and the hometown Giants fans were booing the pitcher but it wasn't his fault. My reflexes were too slow.

The pitcher wasn't paying attention to me because I had a small lead. He was a right-hander, and when his front foot came up I broke, my head down, digging my feet into the earth as fast as my feet could hit the ground again and again and again. I started my head-first slide into second base about 11 feet from the bag, and my left was a distraction because when the shortstop went to tag my left hand I drew it back and slid my right finger tips into the base. He still tagged me on the upper arm, but the ump was in perfect position and he called me safe. The crowed was cheering and as the ump retired to his position I heard him say, "Nice".

I was taking a small lead off second, scared out of my wits I might get picked off, and the Giant's pitcher singles to right field. The Giant's third base coach WK (don't call me Wendell, don't call me Kim, don't call me Number 20!!!) is waving me home. I round third, digging my cleats into the earth for all I'm worth, and I slide around the catcher who is illegally blocking the plate without the ball, and I grabbed the dish with the finger tips of my left hand. The Home Plate Umpire was right on it and he called me safe. I thought, "Oh my God, I just scored a Major League run."

When I returned to the dugout a couple of the Giant's “high-fived” me and I thought I would just burst from joy.

In the third I went back out to right field. I was a little more relaxed but so humbled and I could take a deep breath and that gave me some small confidence. There were 2 outs and the hitter hit a high fly ball toward the right field crowd. I put my head down and dug for eight giant steps and then looked up and found the ball. The ball was foul but the wind got it and blew the ball back toward the field. I was already there and I caught it about two feet foul. The inning was over and one of the kids asked for the ball. I looked over at the center fielder and he nodded yes so I flipped it to the kid.

I came up to hit again in the 4th inning. The opposing pitcher had hit me already and was getting quite a bit of static from the fans as I walked toward the batter's box. I figured he'd pitch me away. I started stepping and swinging toward the outer half of the plate before he even released the pitch. I just dropped the bat head into the lower half of the strike zone and I swear to God I hit it. It was a total act of nature, an accident by most people's standards, and I broke out of the batter's box toward first base, my head down, digging, and I never saw it clear the right field wall above McCovey Cove. When I got to first base I looked up and the first base coach was smiling and had his hand out for a handshake and I looked around and none of the Dodgers were moving and everyone of them was smiling and it dawned on me what had happened and I ran around the bases fast. Time was standing still and I couldn't hear anything but I was hustling. And when I got to the dugout all the Giants were waiting for me by the steps and I “high-fived” everyone.

I sat down on the bench by my glove. Felipe walked up to me and said, "You're through for the night nice job." And I was glad because playing for the Giants was the most horribly nerve racking experience of my life.

Felipe sat down next to me after the game and I saw in his eyes playfulness, and truth, and love and he smiled, and then he walked away laughing. I remember thinking what a really good man he was.

Thirteen years after that color dream I finally met him, and he hadn't changed a bit.