San Diego Union-Tribune (Sunday)
THERE’S NO-NO PLACE LIKE HOME
S.D. story runs deep in Musgrove’s gem, all the way to Alpine
When Padres starting pitcher Joe Musgrove began flirting with history Friday night, his family was sitting in the living room of the El Cajon house where he grew up, in the same formation they’ve sat in for every game he’s pitched since the minor leagues (when they would stream games through their computer). His sister Terra, on the floor; his other sister Marisa and his parents, on the couch.
They had ordered Uber
Eats and the delivery came in the seventh inning, nine outs shy of Musgrove becoming the first pitcher in Padres history to throw a no-hitter. But they didn’t know that yet. All they knew was his pitch count was low and it could happen. That was when the nerves set in and the twitching started. Feet tapped, bodies rocked, heads dropped into hands.
“I’ve never seen my dad’s feet move like that,” Terra said later, with a chuckle.
No one wanted to leave their spot to run outside and snag the food delivery — a two-minute trip at most, but that’s two minutes too long when you’ve waited a lifetime — so finally, annoyed, Marisa ran outside as quickly as she could, grabbed it, ran back in and threw it on the table where it sat untouched for hours. No one was about to eat, not at this moment. Not when their younger brother/ son was about to make history, when every pitch was heavy with the collective heart of San Diego behind it, thinking: “Is this really going to happen? Could the only MLB franchise without a nohitter finally have one?”
Happen it did, with the 8,206th game in franchise history, a 112-pitch masterpiece thrown by Musgrove, the hometown kid who grew up going to Padres games at Qualcomm Stadium and played baseball at Grossmont High School — a mere 2.1 miles from his childhood home, where his family started screaming and shrieking as the final out was caught.
“We were going nuts,” Terra said. “We were all crying and screaming. Our windows were open and the neighbors across the street called to check in to make sure we were OK, that nothing was wrong. They didn’t know what was going on and then they turned on the news and saw. We had another neighbor that rang the doorbell and then came running in. And then we had three guys who had just moved into the neighborhood — I had never met them — who came over in their Padres jerseys and brought some beer and were just celebrating and
screaming with us.”
It was a local IPA, and that’s the thing with this story: Every twist and turn drives you deeper into San Diego, to the haunts Joe grew up in and still visits, to the people who have crossed paths with him or his family through the years by way of baseball or the coffee shop they own in Alpine (more on that later).
Case in point: Terra works at Costco in La Mesa and Joe worked there, too, in 2012, boxing groceries and wrangling carts when he was in the minor leagues. Joe still attends the annual Costco Santa breakfast, reuniting with former coworkers who now keep tabs on him in the majors. So when Terra came into her office Saturday morning, her manager and fellow employees had decorated it with streamers, pictures of Joe and a congratulatory sign.
“Joe has so much support in this warehouse alone,” Terra said. “It’s awesome.”
At Caffé Adesso, a small drivethrough coffee shop in Alpine owned by the Musgrove family since 1998, employees geared up for what looked to be a busy Saturday morning. They had seen the social media posts that began circulating as soon as the game ended, encouraging fellow fans to hit up the shop in celebration of Joe.
“We woke up anticipating today to be a little more crazy than normal,” said Maria Valencia, a barista.
Padres fans arrived by the carload starting at 5:30 a.m. — when the coffeehouse opened — wearing brown and gold, honking and cheering as they patiently waited in a line that went at least 10 cars deep. People parked across the street and congregated around the walk-up window, taking pictures and ordering the #44 — the drink Joe gets, a cold brew with vanilla cream. (The shop also offers the “Cup of Mud,” an ode to Padres broadcaster Mark Grant, who lives in Alpine and visits often; in fact, he stopped by on this morning to the glee from fans, many of whom requested pictures).
“We’re always busy, but today has been insane,” Valencia said, noting that it was at least double the normal crowd. “Our walk-up (window) has been nonstop, our drive-through has been down the street all day. We’ve had people from all over: From Chula Vista, downtown, Rancho Peñasquitos. Ninety-percent of the drinks have been the #44 or the Cup of Mud; they’re both really big.
“Everyone coming through is saying, ‘Is this Java Joe’s shack?’ ‘Yeah Joe, congratulations Joe, we’re so happy to be from San Diego,’ ” Valencia added. “They’re asking me, ‘Do you know Joe?’ … It makes me really happy to be a San Diego native. It makes me feel really blessed to work here at Caffé Adesso, to know the family. They’re super nice and really genuine people.”
As Patrick Mares, 63, paid for his drink (the #44, of course) he left a message with Valencia: “Don’t forget to tell Mr. and Mrs. Musgrove thank you,” he said.
“I thought it was the greatest game I’d ever seen,” said Mares, a Lakeside resident, who wore a Padres hat. “I came here on purpose because of the game he threw last night. It’s special. It’s big-time special. It’s going to be huge for the city of San Diego. To have a local boy, who played at Grossmont … what better story can you get than that?”
Several cars with Padres flags honked as they drove by. One woman yelled, “Couldn’t have happened to a better family!” and another, “Go big Joe!”
“I’ve been going to Caffé Adesso since I was eight years old and have never seen the line this long,” said Alpine resident Kevin Keating, who reflected on the game. “It was pretty stressful (to watch). It felt like a playoff game. We were getting a little worried, because we’re Padres fans. I mean, stuff like this doesn’t happen to us, so it’s incredible.”
Santee resident Jonathan Finney ordered a #44, then parked his car to leave a baseball, nestled in a memorabilia case, on the counter of the walkup window. In his handwriting was the date of the no-hitter and a note that he had inscribed on the ball: “You pitched a gem. #19 couldn’t even hit off you in that game. Thanks for giving me a moment with my dad that I’ll never forget. Now go get that ring. Cheers, Friar Faithful.”
“Each out in the ninth, we counted down each one,” said Finney. “I got the final out on video and called my dad right after it and we were both just screaming. It was a great moment, one I’ll remember for the rest of my life. … That’ll be a moment that, when we have kids, we’ll be telling them, ‘Oh, I remember when the Padres had their first no-hitter.’ ”
Even Musgrove’s first-grade teacher paid a visit, her first to the coffeehouse.
“His dream at age six was to be a pro ball player,” said Lisa Castillo, who taught him at Flying Hills Elementary in El Cajon. “I still have goosebumps.”
As the day rolled on, so did the Padres fans, never giving the line a chance to shrink.
“It’s pretty crazy to see how many people are here just to support the Padres and the Musgrove family,” said Matt Sockett, a lifelong fan. “It’s full of Padres gear everywhere.
“Since the fourth inning (of the no-hitter) my wife and I were sitting on the edge of my seat. We can’t say no-hitter, right? So we just glanced at each other and turned back and waited. It just felt special. It feels like we’re breaking curses every day.”
Terra and her family have seen Joe toil through the minors. They’ve rallied around one another through the health problems Joe’s father has endured, and the elation and disappointment that go with being a professional athlete.
“To do what he did is so rare and so difficult, especially in the major leagues when you’re facing the best of the best,” Terra said. “You can’t write what happened. If you even tried to write it, it would seem too good to be true. There’s no one more deserving of it than Joe. He works so hard. He’s so disciplined and dedicated to his craft. We’re just so proud of him.”
And he gave San Diegans something they never dreamed they’d see in this lifetime.
“Java Joe,” Castillo mused, as she sipped her coffee in front of Caffé Adesso. “They might want to think about changing the name of this place.”