The heroics happened where they so often do in ballparks: out in deep center field.
The hero was barely visible in the twilight and haze under Raley Field's lights on that summer night, but he electrified the crowd.
There was a wave traveling around the stadium. Whatever you think about the notion of the wave – me, I'm mixed – this was a good one. It surged through the stands, rippled up the first base line toward the outfield and swept around the right field corner, racing toward center.
But there was a sudden, empty moment. Nothing was out there but an empty, green knoll. Then, in straightaway center, behind the wall, up against the side fence, one lone man rose and waved.
The stadium roared and picked up the wave back in the left field corner. It swept around again, and the place tensed as it rounded into the outfield once more. And there he was again. One guy, sustaining an 8,000-spectator wave.
I can't remember if the Sacramento River Cats won on that night earlier this summer, but if I ever meet that man in center field, I'll shake his hand.
I know this is a bit blasphemous – and I say it as a lifelong, adoring baseball fan – but one of the many good things about going to a River Cats game at Raley Field is that it doesn't entirely matter who wins.
It's such a perfect park for baseball in a city equally ideal for the sport, that it's too easy to get lost in the moment, in the linear beauty of the game, in that powerful enchantment that baseball parks always have. The score there matters mostly in that it gives people something to root for.
Raley Field, a few steps into West Sacramento, is simply a great place for baseball. It's a complete park, with charm, texture, Home Run Hill and a killer city view.
If you sit along the third base line, that view – of the yellow-gold Tower Bridge and of the western edge of Sacramento's downtown – looms behind the outfield wall, surprisingly tall and multifaceted.
As a whole, Raley Field is a mix of cool, urban setting and take-me-out-to-the-ballgame throwback, and the throwback includes the fact you can almost afford the peanuts and Cracker Jack.
Not that the food's horribly cheap – popcorn is $3.25, a big domestic beer is $6.75, a massive, meal-sized hot dog is $7 – but it's cheaper than at the movies. (Plus movie theaters don't sell beer, which is a fight for another day. I'm just pointing it out.)
Walking through the gate of any ballpark is always a happy moment. Going onto the airy concourse of Raley Field, with its open feel, comfortable scale and classic metal framework, is like entering some cynicism-free, old-school wonderland of green grass, beer, ice cream and baseball.
And there's a hominess, and a casual amiability in the stands that is part the nature of minor-league baseball and part of something ingrained in Sacramento. Lots of us are happy just to be at a place like Raley Field.
There is, however, the issue of rooting for the home team. I know that the Cats – can I call them the Cats? – have some devoted fans. They follow this very good team closely. They are better fans, and probably better people, than I am.
Not to insult the players, but the only consistent name associated with the Cats is Dinger the mascot, and that changes the formula. For a lot of people, it's about being at the park, particularly this park. And it's about watching good baseball.
And there was some terrific baseball in the game I saw last week against the Nashville Sounds. There were also some terrific, beyond-the-game moments.
One early foul ball bounced out of the hands of a woman in a blue shirt and red ball cap. A young, tough looking kid in a black T-shirt and hat turned sideways wound up with it. He gave the ball back to the woman.
A woman behind us, out of the blue, gave her bag of sunflower seeds to my friend Tom. "I've had enough salt," she said. At the concession stand, a worker cut Tom slack on a couple quarters. Tom had a good night.
The Nashville left fielder, a guy named Hernan Iribarren, tossed foul balls and inning-ending catches to kids in the stands all night. Once, they dropped the ball back on to the field, and Iribarren jogged 20 yards to throw it to them again.
Iribarren, who went 4-for-4, would also drive in three runs, key a three-run ninth inning rally, and score the winning run for Nashville. But even after that rally, lots of people were laughing and swaying to "I'm a Believer" playing on the loudspeaker. They seemed only a little bothered by the loss.
And the hero of this night? Clearly, Iribarren. Yeah, he helped beat the home team. But even more, he showed heart and generosity. A bunch of kids will remember their baseballs long after they've forgotten the score. That's the kind of magic I want from a ballpark.
Call The Bee's Rick Kushman, (916) 321-1187. Listen to him Thursdays at 8:40 a.m. on NewsTalk 1530 (KFBK) and 8:50 a.m. on Armstrong & Getty, Talk 650 KSTE.
