Louisville Slugger Field, Louisville, KENTUCKY

Number of states:  19
States to go:  31

Number of games:  1
First game:  July 30, 2006 (Toledo Mud Hens 6, Louisville Bats 1)

(Click on any image to view a larger version.)

First of all, check out that picture up there.  Seriously.  Do not Windex your screens.  Have you ever seen such a damn hot place?  The heat practically busts through your screen.  Temperatures for this late-afternoon game–a 5PM start on a Sunday in July–were in triple-digits. Public service announcement: THE THIRD BASE SIDE IS THE SHADY SIDE. SIT THERE.  I was on the first base side, and therefore, my recollections of the place are going to be as hazy as that picture. Everything I remember will be, to say the least, impacted by my broiled brain.

That’s a bit of a shame, I think, because under other circumstances, I probably would have liked Louisville Slugger Field more than I did. The park has a lot going for it. First, and most notably is its location. It’s just off the river and a not too far from downtown, and both are visible from the seating area (although the Ohio is on the other side of a wide road–the bridges are more therefore more visible than the water). It’s a nice ballpark of the new generation, with all the positives (nice location, good amenities, ability to see the game while getting food or desperately-needed water) and negatives (a bit similar to others of its generation, a few too many sponsors and sponsorships, and a damn carousel…no ballpark in the universe should be permitted to have one).

I give the team credit for a good name for its stadium and team. “Louisville Slugger Field” is a nice means of getting both sponsorship money, local color, and baseball history worked into one name, and “Bats” is a decent play off of that. I seem to recall the team was named “Redbirds” in my youth, but with the Cardinals long gone, it’s totally reasonable to junk that and to have a more locally-appropriate name.

Local color was noticeable throughout the ballpark as well. The “Kentucky Baseball Hall of Fame” is housed on the premises. There are Cooperstown-style plaques for particularly noteworthy Kentuckians (Pee Wee Reese, Rube Waddell, and Jim Bunning were three that stood out to me). There’s also a lengthy bit of Louisville minor league history, focusing on decade-by-decade rundowns of local teams. I’m always glad to see who’s passed through a particular town on their way to stardom, and what teams happened to come together to see success along the way.  The Bats seem to get the appeal of that.

Louisville itself, which I had no impression of prior to my arrival, impressed me. I got into town at what I thought was three hours before game time to spend a little time at the Muhammad Ali Museum.  Immediately upon my arrival in Louisville from Nashville, I discovered that, even though I had driven more or less directly north, I had gone from Central to Eastern time.  So I didn’t have the time to enjoy the city that I would have liked, and that’s too bad. The Ali Museum looked lovely, but I only arrived about a half hour before closing.  Oh well–worth checking out the Louisville Slugger factory/museum, right?  Closed for a private party. The main drag of what looked to be old downtown looked like a place to have a good time, but by the time I’d stepped into two closed or closing museums, I was too hot and annoyed to care. But I won’t hold a grudge; Louisville looked like a fine place to go.

Quick guess: who’s the subject of the sculpture outside of Louisville Slugger Field?  Sorry–wrong.  It’s Paul Hornung.  Yeah, I didn’t guess it either.  It was probably the only non-sequitur in a place that otherwise did a fine job of respecting baseball.

I encountered this funny situation in my pregame circumnavigation of the field.  I spotted two kids faced with this very intimidating sign at the bottom of the left-field berm (or, to put it another way, on the spectator side of the left-field wall):

The heat did not prevent the Bats from pulling out all stops to put on a decent show.  For starters, the Indianapolis Colts’ cheerleaders made the drive down I-65 to do some dancing for us all.  Under most circumstances, I would take a look at their skimpy uniforms and think “Gosh, how alluring and pleasant.”  On this occasion, however, I thought: “How practical.” I’d have dressed that way myself if I felt that I could pull it off.  I doubt it, though…I don’t have the chest for it.  Also, the Bats had a wacky pre-game deal where they would send a dog out onto the field with a bucket of baseballs for the umpires.  At first, I felt for the dog and was ready to call the ASPCA on the spot.  But then, later in the game, the dog provided the umpires with cold bottles of water.  That’s very, very kind of the Bats.  And of the dog.  Good dog!

I sat next to some very friendly (and very, very rural) folks for a few innings, and enjoyed talking to the guy.  He’s a Reds fan who takes his kids to one game a year. I just wish the kids had wanted to watch the game: after the hundredth time running in front of me and making me move my feet so he could run by, it got rather old.

So, even though the weather conspired against me this time, as it would for subsequent games in Peoria and Pittsburgh, I can see through that and be complimentary towards Louisville Slugger Field.  The best part of the game, I will have to admit, was the part where I was ordering a Sprite and water (not mixed together) and peering at the game over my shoulder. But even beyond that, I was able to sense that this was a nice ballpark with fine fans and a decent atmosphere in a city with a good deal of character.  I’ll be back.  I hope it’s in April or May, when I can likely enjoy it more.

BALLPARK SCORE:

Regional feel: 8/10
Sure, the place is a cookie-cutter, but you can’t argue with that river or that downtown view.

Charm:  4/5
Not too bad here.

Spectacle:  4/5
Pretty good–not overbearing.

Team mascot/name:  4/5

Here’s Buddy Bat getting the snot beat out of him at a kid’s party.  I like both Buddy (maybe a tad commercial?) and the punny name Bats.

Aesthetics:  5/5
Gorgeous place with a nice view.

Pavilion area:  3.5/5

Scoreability:  4/5

From the Technologically Advanced Does Not Mean Better Department:  The Bats put the lineups on a readerboard in the concourse.  I thought it was a cool thing to do…until I realized there was no way I’d be able to write them all down (the screens weren’t on nearly long enough). This was countered by the nice, updated scoring and such they had on their scoreboard.

Fans:  5/5
The fact that people showed up at all on this miserably-hot day means they earn the maximum score.

Intangibles:  1/5
Sorry, Louisville fans, but the intangibles for me were that I felt like I’d been trapped in a closed tanning bed with hot jelly donut filling poured over my body–for nearly 3 hours.

TOTAL:  38.5/50

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

Josh Phelps’ three-run homer in the ninth puts the game away for the Mud Hens.

Chad Durbin pitches eight innings of three-hit ball to pick up the win.

Chad Bentz (pictured) pitches an inning and a third for the Bats. I notice something about him from my angle…and realize that he does not have a right hand, and has a delivery which includes him slipping a glove onto his pitching hand, much like fellow one-handed pitcher Jim Abbott.  Unfortunately for Bentz, he’s the pitcher who gives up the home run to Phelps.

Ed Smith Stadium, Sarasota, FLORIDA

Number of states: 9
States to go: 41
Number of games: 1
First game:  April 11, 2005 (Sarasota Reds 5, Dunedin Blue Jays 1)

Ed Smith Stadium and Sarasota were my introduction to the Florida State League and to the ballparks the big-league clubs use for their Spring Training.  It was my introduction to High-A baseball and the Florida State League.  While I was impressed with the quality of baseball I saw on this night–it’s a long way from the short-season ball I’m accustomed to seeing from my home minor-league team at Memorial Stadium in Everett–there was something missing about the entire culture of this ballpark that I’m concerned might be unique to the Florida State League and playing ball in a park that the big club uses in the spring.

First of all, there were only 237 fans in the ballpark.  Sarasota is a town of 52,000 that was packed to the gills, I’m sure, with folks on their Spring Break like I was.  Why only 237 fans?  I have a hypothesis.  As little as a week earlier, the residents of Sarasota could watch actual major leaguers in spring training games.  Perhaps they feel like it’s not worth their time to watch high-A ball.  Now, I haven’t seen a Major League Spring Training game (and it’s unlikely I will in the foreseeable future…you know, I’m a teacher and all that, and my spring break is in April).  I’m certain I’d enjoy it if I ever did.  But I have a suspicion that these aren’t as enjoyable to a guy who likes stories as minor league games are.  The stories of a spring training are interesting…who’s headed up, who’s headed down, and the like.  But the games?  They don’t count.  It’s not worth it to say they do.  The primary purpose is not to win or lose, but to impress people.  I suppose that one could argue the same in the minor leagues, and there’s a bit of truth to that.  But the games count for something.  The stories are deeper and longer…they are stories of multiple years, where spring training stories are about who will be around that year.

Second, I feel like the town has adopted a major league club, not a minor league club.  Unlike places like Yakima or Batavia, Sarasota didn’t have any “Past Sarasota Players Who Made The Majors” plaques lying around.  The history they honored in the pavilion was Cincinnati’s history, not Sarasota’s.  Cincinnati’s retired numbers on the wall?  I think that’s wonderful for spring training, sure, but it feels dreadfully out of place for the minor league game.  The kids are trying to make the show.  After that, let’s worry about striving to retire the numbers.  Plaques and sculptures in the pavilion dedicated to Cincinnati Reds history?  Give me a break.  Single-A ball is not the place for that.  Leave them up for Spring Training, then focus on Florida after that.  We’re about a thousand miles and three levels of ball from Cincinnati.  Let’s celebrate who came from here, not the destination that many of them won’t ever see.

This might also explain why such a wonderful night of baseball didn’t have the accoutrements I normally associate with minor league ball.  It looked like there wasn’t a serious effort to get butts in the seats.  There was no mascot, not a lot of music, few between-innings promotions, and very little excitement.  Don’t get me wrong…I don’t want a circus.  But I do want something to make it feel like the ballclub is happy I’ve come, particularly when I’ve come so far.  But I get the sense that they don’t want, need, or expect a crowd.  Perhaps they make their year’s worth of money during Spring Training…I don’t know.  But I know it didn’t feel right.

I haven’t had a chance to see any other Florida State League teams play ball–but I’m wondering if they aren’t faced with similar issues.  It feels to me like the high-A ballclubs are not valued for their own sake.

Anyhoo.  Enough hypothesizing about an entire league on the basis of a sample size of one.

The ballpark was fairly antiseptic…a seating bowl stretching most of the way from bullpen to bullpen.  There was no real sense of place here…were it not for the palm trees past the outfield wall, I would not have known where I was.  I enjoyed the advertising for a plumbing company on the foul poles…it gave the park a small-town and minor-league feel that the Reds were so obviously trying to avoid.  And there was one plaque of Ed Smith himself, a man “dedicated to service of the youth of Sarasota.”  Beyond that:  not much exciting or locally recognizable about Ed Smith Stadium.

I happened to be in Sarasota the same week that David, a fellow teacher at my Seattle-area school, was in Sarasota. So we hooked up 3200 miles from home for a ballgame with some Floridian buddies of his. A pleasant guys’ night out was had by all.  We encountered this man a few seats away.  He heckled ballplayers and umpires throughout the game.  Normally this bugs me, but there was something about him that was kind of good-natured.  It was interesting to hear him gradually damage his vocal cords as the game wore on.  More head voice, fan–support with the diaphragm, not at the throat.  

The best play of the game turned out to be turned in by this kid on the right, Cody.  He got, by my count, over half of the foul balls that made it into the seats.  My favorite came early in the game.  A batter hit a foul ball down the right field line, beyond the stands.  A kid wearing red, a few years older and a few pounds heavier than Cody, was seated just past first base.  He was the only person interested in the foul ball, so he started running towards the ball…then walking when he thought he had it in the bag.  But my boy Cody had a bead on it.  He started on the third base side of home plate, and just sprinted towards the ball.  The funniest part was when the kid in red first spotted him.  He realized he was in trouble and started running.  Cody, in spite of surrendering about an 80-yard head start, beat him to the ball.  It was incredible.  And for Cody, it wasn’t about gathering or hoarding the balls, it was about the chase.  Like a fisherman letting his catch go, he always gave up the foul balls he gathered.  He gave the kid in red that ball, and he gave me one.  Strange…I still haven’t had a chance to give a foul ball to a kid, but a kid has given one to me.  Hmmm.

I also saw a bizarre pregame near-incident.  I don’t have to tell you what almost happened.  All you have to do is look at the picture.  That’s Will Hudson talking on the phone.  As this photograph is being snapped, Miguel Perez, the catcher, #37, is in the process of repeating:  “Look out!  Heads up!  Watch out!”  Hudson, apparently engrossed in conversation, is not hearing it.

The ball missed Hudson by an uncomfortably small distance.  So remember, kids:  Friends don’t let friends talk on cell phones on the field during long-toss.

So, to sum up:  Great baseball.  I’m just not sure anyone in Sarasota–including Reds’ staffers–is doing anything to convince people that a night of high-A ball can be a worthwhile night out–even more fun, in its own way, than spring training.

BALLPARK SCORE:

Regional feel:  3.5/10
There was loads of regional feel…but the region the Ohio River Valley. All I could find that said Sarasota to me was a plaque of Mr. Ed Smith and a few palm trees.  Why not a little bit more to make me feel like I’m in Florida?

Charm:  2.5/5
Not a whole lot here.  Fairly standard stadium.

Spectacle: 2/5
Next to none.  If anything, I got a vibe of disinterest.

Team mascot/name:  1.5/5
No mascot.  Under some circumstances, I’m okay with a name like “Reds” (as in the Appalachian League).  Here, it just adds to the sense that the parent club is more important than these flesh-and-blood players in front of us.

Aesthetics:  2.5/5
Palm trees are pretty.  The stadium is dull.

Pavilion area:  2.5/5
There was a little bit of a pavilion area–a couple of little deals pertaining to Reds history–but nothing terribly interesting or exciting.  Lineups were posted with both uniform number and position–convenient.  But it was, on the whole, an antiseptic, dreary place.  Check out this picture of the pavilion just before the game begins.  There’s nobody there and nothing to see.

Scoreability:  1.5/5
A few skipped decisions.

Fans:  1.5/5
Cody the foul ball kid was cool.  The nearby heckler was nice to me, although annoying.  But any park with an attendance of 237 won’t get a high score here.

Intangibles:  2/5
Great game and good company, but I get the sense that Sarasota–including those who run the club–do not believe a high-A baseball game is worth much time or effort.

TOTAL:  19.5/50

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

Sarasota’s fifth game as a Reds’ affiliate turned into the first win in their history as the Sarasota Reds.

Calvin Medlock, Kyle Edens, and David Shafer combined on a six-hitter.

Junior Ruiz went 4-for-4.  Chris Dickerson homered.