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When they finally tear down Candlestick Park, I’m going to be sad. Though much maligned, it was the stadium of my youth, where I saw the San Francisco Giants play hundreds of  games, where I braved the bitter cold and the crazy wind and fell in love with baseball. That I went on to become a sportswriter and a journalist no doubt had a lot to do with the time I spent there.

So even though the Giants play in a great new ballpark that I love (and the 49ers will soon have new digs, too), you can see the connection between a structure and what it means to me emotionally, right?

Which brings me to Temple Sinai in Oakland.

I’m not a member at Sinai, and I’m sure the temple’s new complex is to synagogues what AT&T Park across the bay is to ballparks. Top of the list.

A-No. 1.

But here’s the thing: Nearly 14 years ago, my wife and I got married in the chapel at Sinai, upstairs from the magnificent main sanctuary. And during Sinai’s $15 million recently completed renovation, one of the things that was torn down and replaced was the chapel. “Our” chapel. A bit sad.

Sure, it happens. I mean, my wife and I certainly aren’t the only people whose wedding edifice no longer stands, but usually the structures people get married in (be it a synagogue, a church or a hotel) last a long time.

So what if we only rented it, and so what if we visited it only one other time besides our wedding day. Our wedding spot is no more, and the memories come rushing back …

It was a dark and stormy night.

No, I’m serious. It was a dark and stormy night. We got married in 1996 on the winter solstice, and it rained hard all day and night. A torrential downpour. Someone, a mystery to this day, called our house and played the Alanis Morissette line “It’s like rai-ai-ain on your wed-ding day” into the phone and hung up.

We arrived at Sinai a little before 5 p.m., a bit disheveled. We didn’t have a limo until later, so I drove us over in my car — me, my soon-to-be wife, and our five homemade chuppah poles (yes, five!) sticking out of the right front window. Which means, yes, the window was open a quarter of the way. Which means, yes, the wind and the rain were blowing in. Which means, yes, my wife’s hair and makeup were in great peril. She huddled in the back seat, trying to shield herself from the elements.

Somehow, and I thank God for this, Stacey maintained a good spirit, but by the time we arrived, she was one and a half steps from a meltdown. Step No. 1 occurred next: No one was at Sinai to let us in. We waited. Rain poured down. It was 5:05 p.m. Stacey went back in the car to wait. It was 5:10 p.m. I was standing outside a synagogue on my wedding day, underneath an umbrella, cold and wet. We needed to get inside and get dressed, get ready, take photos.

Still, no one from the synagogue. They couldn’t have forgotten, could they? Around that time, my brother-in-law disappeared around the corner. No one really noticed until the side door suddenly opened — it was him! He had scaled Sinai’s outer fence, somehow found a way into the building and … oh by the way … set off the silent alarm.

As Stacey and I hurriedly dressed, the police arrived, as did the Sinai staffer who was to let us in — at 5:30 p.m., not 5 p.m. Oops! Sorry, my error. Anyway, everything was explained and smoothed over (no arrests), and our small but joyous ceremony proceeded without any hitches.

So now I shed a tear for “our” chapel. Its departure brings to mind the heavy-hearted Frank Sinatra song that mourned the loss of places like Brooklyn’s Ebbets Field, with the lyric “There used to be a ballpark right here.” Now, whenever I walk or drive past Temple Sinai, I can’t help but think, “There used to be a chapel right here.”

Andy Altman-Ohr can be reached at [email protected]. Temple Sinai is having dedication ceremonies Oct. 1 and 3. Details at www.oaklandsinai.org.