by Cristian Rubalcava
In the heart of my childhood, where baseball players were my heroes, I was grateful enough to attend the 2012 World Series with my dad. On the day of, I woke myself up early, happily knowing that I was not going to be at school that day. I put on every piece of Giant’s gear that I owned and even got my mitt ready, hoping to catch a foul ball. Bright and early, my mother took us to the Caltrain where we began our journey to San Francisco. Although it was still early in the morning, I could already feel the excitement and energy coming from myself and the fans around me as we prepared to head to San Francisco. As the long train ride ended, and the fresh air of San Francisco started to hit, I began to bring in a crazy realization of where I was: thinking about how I am going to see my biggest heroes play in the World Series. Once we got into the stadium, we admired the beautiful field with fresh-cut grass and “World Series” painted all over. We awaited the game and once the National Anthem ended, the electricity of the stadium popped off. The high notes as well as the jet flyover brought excitement toward the whole stadium. “We are here,” my dad stated as the first batter came up, smiling knowing how much this game would mean for me for the rest of my life.
The Bolt Magazine 