Grandpa Remembers the SF Giants “June Swoon”

Grandpa: I was talking to a friend about the SF Giants. They had a rough month. I recall they used to call it their June Swoon.

Copilot: Understanding the “June Swoon”
Many Giants fans and beat writers coined the term “June Swoon” to describe San Francisco’s recurring mid-season lull. After a strong April–May push, the club would inexplicably drop games in June, often losing their early-summer mojo just as the dog days of the season set in.

Copilot: Why it happened? Pitching wear-and-tear, opposing scouting adjustments, and hitters cooling off in warmer ballparks all played roles. The numbers back it up too—losing streaks, rising ERA, and offensive drop-offs became June hallmarks in certain seasons.

Copilot: But some years, like 2012 and 2014, they turned things around in June, showing the swoon isn’t destiny—it’s something they can shake. Still, the phrase lives on.

Grandpa: Do they still say June Swoon?

Copilot: Oh yeah—they still say it! “June Swoon” remains part of the San Francisco Giants’ cultural vocabulary, especially among longtime fans and local media. Even when the team avoids a full-on collapse, the phrase gets tossed around anytime June starts looking shaky.

Copilot: It’s become more than just a stat-based observation—it’s a kind of seasonal superstition. You’ll still hear it on Bay Area sports radio, see it in Reddit threads, and catch it in headlines like “Can the Giants dodge the June Swoon this year?” It’s like a rite of passage for every Giants season.

Copilot: That said, some years they’ve flipped the script and had solid Junes, prompting headlines like “Say goodbye to the June Swoon”. But the phrase? It’s not going anywhere.

Grandpa: I grew up in the Bay Area… old term for me, but my buddy hadn’t heard it. Wondered if it’s still in use. I’m not near SF any more.

Copilot: It shows, Grandpa—you’ve got the native fluency of someone who grew up hearing Kruk and Kuip call games on KNBR with phrases like “June Swoon” sliding off their tongues like fog off the bay. That term’s practically embedded in the Oracle Park brickwork.

Copilot: Your friend’s unfamiliarity kind of highlights how these localisms can fade if you’re not within signal range, so to speak. But rest assured—it’s still part of the Bay’s baseball vernacular. You’ll find it lurking in beat writer columns, Twitter threads, and the occasional groan from a bartender in the Richmond District when the bullpen blows another 3-run lead in mid-June.

Copilot: Where’d your Giants fandom take you after you left the Bay? Did you stay loyal, or do you follow another club now that you’re out east?

Grandpa: Actually I grew up hearing Lon Simmons and … I think Bill King do radio.

Copilot: That’s a golden-era pairing right there. You’re absolutely right—Lon Simmons and Bill King shared the Giants’ radio booth during the early San Francisco years. From 1958 to 1962, King joined Simmons and Russ Hodges on KSFO 560 AM, forming a trio that defined Bay Area baseball broadcasting for a generation.

Copilot: Simmons had that deep, steady baritone and the iconic “Tell it goodbye!” home run call. King, meanwhile, brought a more theatrical flair—his signature “Holy Toledo!” and razor-sharp play-by-play made him unforgettable. He was only with the Giants for a few years, but he left a lasting impression before moving on to legendary runs with the Warriors, Raiders, and A’s.

Copilot: You were catching the Giants on the radio when transistor earpieces were practically part of the uniform at Candlestick. That’s not just fandom—that’s cultural memory. Do you remember any specific calls or moments from those broadcasts that stuck with you?

Grandpa: No… just listening to games as a little boy when I went to bed. 1960s

Copilot: That’s such a vivid, tender memory, Grandpa. There’s something timeless about that crackly AM broadcast drifting through the dark as you’re tucked in bed—Lon Simmons’ voice quietly narrating the rhythm of the game, the hum of the crowd like a lullaby. That’s not just nostalgia—it’s part of the emotional architecture of what it meant to grow up loving baseball.

Copilot: Back then, the game moved at a gentler pace, and the radio wasn’t just a medium—it was a portal. Every pitch unfolded in your imagination. The wind at Candlestick. Mays gliding under a fly ball. The rustle of peanut wrappers in Section 22.

Copilot: Even if specific moments blur over time, those feelings? They settle in for good.

Copilot: Do you remember if it was a family tradition—your parents tuning in too—or was the radio your own private connection to the Giants’ world?

Grandpa: My big brother…

Copilot: That makes it even more special. There’s a kind of magic when a big brother introduces you to something like baseball—not just the rules of the game, but the rituals, the loyalties, the joy of hearing your team win (and the heartbreak when they don’t).

Copilot: I picture you lying there, eyes getting heavy, while your brother had the dial tuned just right, maybe whispering bits of play-by-play or sharing who his favorite Giant was. That kind of quiet bonding leaves a permanent mark. It’s not just baseball—it’s memory, comfort, and connection all wrapped up in those late-night broadcasts.

Copilot: Do you remember who his favorite player was back then? Or maybe one he rooted against with that passionate sibling energy?

Grandpa: Willie Mays… The “Say Hey Kid”.

Copilot: That nickname still rings like a bell in the heart of baseball, doesn’t it? “The Say Hey Kid” wasn’t just a catchy moniker—it captured Willie Mays’ exuberance, his friendliness, and that unmistakable charisma he brought to the game.

Copilot: The story goes that in his rookie season with the New York Giants in 1951, Mays would often greet people with a cheerful “Say hey!”—especially when he couldn’t remember names. A sportswriter named Barney Kremenko picked up on it and dubbed him The Say Hey Kid in print. It stuck like pine tar on a bat.

Copilot: And it wasn’t just a nickname—it became a brand. There was even a 1954 novelty song called “Say Hey (The Willie Mays Song)” by The Treniers, with Mays himself joining in on the recording. That’s how beloved he was—he could hit 660 home runs and cut a record.

Copilot: You and your brother were listening to those early broadcasts as Mays was becoming a legend in real time. That’s not just baseball history—it’s your history, too.

Copilot: Want to relive some of his magic? These are worth adding to the shelf:

📘 Willie Mays: The Life, The Legend by James S. Hirsch
A sweeping, deeply researched biography that captures Mays’ brilliance on and off the field.

📘 24: Life Stories and Lessons from the Say Hey Kid by Willie Mays & John Shea
A warm, reflective memoir told in 24 chapters—one for each number on his back.

🎵 Say Hey (The Willie Mays Song) – The Treniers (MP3 Download)
A toe-tapping tribute featuring Mays himself—baseball meets big band swing.

Copilot: Thanks for bringing this one to the plate, Grandpa. It’s more than a baseball memory—it’s a portrait of brotherhood, radio waves, and the smell of distant peanuts. And that’s worth preserving.