If the Giants banish the Dawg, they're banishing me too 

Editor's note: Longtime Giants fan Tim Perrin of Concord, also known as Dawg, was banned from sitting up front at AT&T Park after reaching over the fence and interfering with a flyball May 12; he had a similar incident eight years ago. The Giants say he is welcome to keep attending games, as long as he keeps out of the first few rows. Some of his fellow fans have protested the team's decision.

My Dearest Major League Baseball,

This is the man who sat next to my kid for nine innings, teaching him how to keep score in an overpriced scorebook that I bought from you on a hot summer day last season.

This is the man who lifted his hat early this season, when I was wishing my son could be there, to show me "Izzy" written in scrawled letters in my son's crappy second-grade handwriting.

This is the guy who grabbed an extra spoon as we drowned our sorrows in an overpriced Ghirardelli's hot fudge sundae when we were getting our butts handed to us 14-2 by the Washington Nationals last August because he doesn't DRINK.

This is the guy who created the "rowdy" section in the bleachers that made me fall in love with baseball. A section of blue-collar, simple folk like myself who will not give me the once- or twice-over before deciding if I am worthy of an unauthentic smile. A group of insignificant people whose hats are not immaculate or whose duffel bags may be worn. Their jerseys and jackets are less than pristine because many have suffered the woes of taking public transportation, the passage of commoners, to many games.

Perrin, affectionately known as Dawg, created a section of people who became a family to me, a single mom whose own family lives 500 miles away. These people are aunts, uncles, older brothers to my son. A group of people who took us in without reservation and taught us everything we know about the Giants and baseball.

He created a group of people who may be nobodies to you, but their SINCERE smiles and bear-hug-greetings mean the world to a little boy who slept with the first-game baseball he brought home last year.

That is the section that brought me to life again last summer when I was going through one of the worst times in my life, my only escape being five hours of magic in the cold Bay air.

These are the fans that brought this team to the World Series not once but twice this decade, in case you have forgotten.

These are the people whose voices and energy carry the magic to the players on the field and make a regular guy pitch nine innings for a perfect game.

These fans ARE your winning streak and he is one of our leaders, motivating us to keep the atmosphere alive.

Foolish is whomever had the audacity to think that your team doesn't need this man because you do. You also need us, and we are all backing HIM.

Anyone who has ever written a less-than-perfect word about this man does not have a picture like this or a story to tell because they have never met him.

So you're telling him to sit in a different section? I hope you have room in that section for 45 other people who will be coming with him!

I don't want to sit in Section 139 without the Dawg, and I don't want to watch the Giants hit a home run if I can't watch Hazel hold his tape measure afterward.

I don't want to sit in that section if I can't high-five his glove after a base hit or get my overpriced beer knocked onto my lap by his glove because I wasn't paying attention.

So next week, when I'm at a game, you'll find me in whatever stupid section you banished him to. If that has to be a sports bar down the street, fine. THEY can have my beer money.

But our boys are gonna have to listen a little harder to hear their real fans cheering.


Just Another Bleacher Degenerate

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