In 1908, Jack Norworth said “take me out to the ball game” on a subway train and his words burned into the national consciousness. Half a century later, in 1955, sportscaster Ernie Harwell characterized baseball as a symbol of “the American spirit.” In last year’s Gallup poll, however, only 37 percent of Americans identified themselves as being “fans” of the sport, representing one of the smallest fan bases Gallup has measured since 1993.

What if we’re missing out? What if baseball is everything the black-and-white movies promise: a time of family, sun-soaked bleachers, and cholesterol-laden, over-priced hot dogs? My friends and I ventured to see the San Francisco Giants play against the Arizona Diamondbacks (a longtime Giants rival) in order to recapture the magic of America’s golden pastime.

Pulling off of 280 North in southern San Francisco, the brown and green of the Santa Cruz Mountains transitioning to the orange and black of the Giants fans streaming towards AT&T stadium on the sidewalks of Mariposa Street. My friend and I join the flow, collect our tickets from a streamlined Will Call line and make our way up two consecutive escalators to the view level.

Immediately, AT&T Stadium strikes us as a well-oiled enterprise. The traditional stand selling hot-dogs crowned with relish and mustard appears in abundance, but so do stands selling garlic fries, clam chowder and even Safeway prepackaged sandwiches. For $8 you can purchase an ice cream, although the plummeting temperatures make the clam chowder far more appetizing.

After circling the outer ring for a few moments, searching for our “view restricted seats,” we walk through a brief tunnel and enter the stadium interior. Our seats, though relatively remote, provide us with a sweeping view of not only the unnaturally jade colored field but also of McCovey Cove, the Bay Bridge and the marina. Beyond a giant, 80-foot sculpture of an overturned Coca-Cola bottle (with playground slides underneath for children), we can see sailboats and docked freightliners. When a pop fly soars too high, there’s a risk of confusing its white blur with the underbelly of a passing seagull. I feel as though we’ve stepped into an electric fusion of ballpark, theme park and oceanic postcard.

Of course, AT&T Park is relatively cutting-edge, even outside of the ballpark community. It is distinctive as the first privately financed ballpark in Major League Baseball since 1962. It’s a “classic urban ballpark with an old-time feel” conceived, built and paid for by baseball fan Peter Magowan. It opened in 2000, although the seven years have barely touched it; walking to my seat last night, I could have believed it was the night of the grand opening.

The Giants’ game against the Diamondbacks unfolded with the characteristic drawn-out tempo fans have grown to count on. In between plays, my friend and I were able to talk to one another without yelling, and if our attention strayed from the field for too long, we could rejoin the game with only a glance at the detailed scoreboard. While some fans yelled, pounded their chests, stripped off their shirts and jumped to their feet with each Giant’s swing at the plate, the stands were overwhelmingly serene. The only (repeated) exceptions were the vendors — with everything from churros to seeds to coffee — who stood inches from our seats, hawking their product a minimum of ten times before moving on.

While I don’t know if the San Francisco Giants symbolize the American spirit, it’s clear that their industry — as well as the Major League Baseball industry that encompasses them — continues to captivate its faction of fans. Their games are multi-faceted (where else can you slide out of a Coca-Cola bottle?), and I can easily see why parents prefer to bring their children to this sporting event as opposed to rowdier alternatives. And for those of you among the readers who would fall into the 37 percent of American baseball fans, the Giants won, 4-2.