<Otherwise, knotholers, who named their vantage point after the knotholes in old wooden outfield fences through which fans could sneak peeks, enforce their own unwritten code of conduct.They police the queue of would-be gawkers for line-cutters. ("Back of the line!" Mr. Peragine barked at a woman who tried to cut in during Game Three.) They insist on etiquette. ("Hats off!" Mr. Peragine ordered at some rookie knotholers as the national anthem began for Game Four.)
Regulars stake out their favorite spots along a railing, and fellow knotholers know not to take one another's spots. A hard and fast rule: Once a game starts, no knotholer can save spots for others, even when those others need a bathroom break. "You leave your spot, you lose your spot," Mr. Peragine said. "It's democratic that way."
During one mid-season game with no one in line, knotholer Buford Buntin stood through a 14-inning game rather than risk losing his favorite spot. "You have to have strong kidneys," said the 60-year-old substitute teacher.
What the knothole lacks in amenities it makes up for in proximity. Cody Ross, the Giants star right fielder, stands a few feet away. It also offers a prime taunting spot: During several Phillies games this week, more than 200 knotholers heckled Philadelphia players on the field: "Worthless!" they brayed at right fielder Jayson Werth, who ignored them.
The spot isn't for softies. Fog-chilled winds often blow down into the park and out through the area's openings, making it the coldest place in the ballpark.
When the Giants aren't doing well, it's easy to get a spot at the fence. But it still means facing the diehards, which some fans say is like walking into an unfamiliar neighborhood bar and risking the cold stares of regulars on their favorite stools.
"It's very intimidating," said Anne Alvarez, a San Francisco mother of two who once considered going in but opted not to when she looked inside and saw the crew of knotholers. "You don't talk, everybody knows you've got to stand here. I figure it's just not worth it for me."
Knotholers agree they have a clubby culture, but insist they aren't unwelcoming. To help honor the no-pet rule, some take turns watching others' dogs on the promenade. "We take care of each other, man," said 57-year-old Joe Dirt, a punk-rock guitarist who watches over a Jindo named Nicky for its owner, Will Scott. Mr. Scott, a 54-year-old ironworker who lives on a boat nearby, is considered the unofficial "mayor" of the knothole. Mr. Scott said he sets a tone of "positive vibe" for the knothole.
Knotholers have a few secret tricks. Some know, for example, that the guards can be sweet-talked. "I bring them Coke and candy and they let me stay" beyond three innings, said 40-year-old Daniel Grady, who docks his 32-foot motorboat nearby. The guards say they don't play favorites.
During big games, though, no one can count on seeing a whole game. It's customary for fans at the fence to call out plays to those in back who can't see well. Still, "I can't tell anything," groused Brandon Olem, a 32-year-old Web designer standing at the rear of the knothole as thousands of fans erupted into cheers over what turned out to be a Giants double.
And the knothole can get gnarly. The promenade that feeds fans into the knothole often features rowdy revelers, panhandlers and people spoiling for a fight. "You have to be streetwise," said knotholer Tim Coppola, looking up at another hazard: objects such as beer bottles tumbling from the stadium wall above. A sign warns: "Watch out for all flying objects not limited to baseballs and bats."
Security guard Jason Smith says he routinely ejects knothole fans for offenses like drinking and smoking. Still, "I love this place," he said; "This is for the have-nots."
It's for haves, too. Mr. Coppola, a 70-year-old architect who owns a condo on San Francisco's Nob Hill, said he frequents the knothole because "you sit in the stands and you're with a bunch of strangers, but here everyone is your friend."
The knothole is a draw even to tourists with no affinity for baseball. "I have no idea what is going on," said 55-year-old Vincent Truijens, an Australian tourist standing in the knothole queue Tuesday to see his first baseball game ever. "But it seems fun." >
Kibitzing
