Category Archives: no longer in use

Ballparks that are no longer in use for the majors or the affiliated minors. (This excepts those that were independent league parks at the time I saw them.)

demolished, double a, former kansas city royals affiliates, kansas, minor league, no longer in use, texas league

Lawrence-Dumont Stadium, Wichita, Kansas

July 6, 2009 Paul Comment

wichitaexterior

Lawrence-Dumont Stadium, Wichita, KANSAS

Number of states: 3
States to go: 47
Number of games: 1
First and last game: April 10, 2004 (Arkansas Travelers 10, Wichita Wranglers 0)

Lawrence-Dumont Stadium was no longer used for the affiliated minors as of the 2008 season. It was destroyed in December of 2018.

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

Spring Break 2004. I set out for my spring break, leaving chilly, rainy Seattle for warmer climes–Wichita, Tulsa, Arlington, and Houston. Why did I have to pick a week when Seattle had beautiful, record-setting temperatures and a mass of Northern air settled over Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas? The first Saturday night of the baseball season in Wichita was colder than the proverbial witch’s tit (and, I am sure, colder than a literal witch’s tit…not that I have any experience. With witches.) Thank goodness for the $23 K-Mart jacket I secured earlier that day. In any event, Lawrence-Dumont Stadium was an excellent Texas League ballpark that nobody in Wichita seems to have found.

For starters, Lawrence-Dumont Stadium has a rich sense of baseball history. Its pavilion makes a special point to commemorate Wichita baseball history, most notably the National Baseball Congress

tournaments held there through the years…basically the semipro baseball championship. There are plaques all the way around the ballpark talking about folks from Whitey Herzog to Mark McGwire. A fun walk! I must admit, I enjoyed that a good deal, but I felt it was sort of cheating. I mean, it’s just a tournament they host…not really related to Wichita minor league history. But when I learned that Mr. Dumont was responsible for the tournament, I relaxed my concerns a bit. After all, it was he and Mr. Lawrence, the mayor of Wichita, who decided to build the stadium. Hence, that pesky hyphen in “Lawrence-Dumont Stadium”: it’s named after two guys, not one.

But the walk around the stadium also teaches us about Wichita’s minor league past. Included in this was a list of all of the teams that have played minor league ball in Wichita. On that list, I was delighted to find the infamous Wichita Jobbers.

Now maybe I’ve watched a few too many episodes of Beavis and Butthead, but I couldn’t stop snickering about that. Somewhere, after squandering a series of late-inning leads, an article must have been written under the headline “Jobbers Blow Another.” So I’m walking around enjoying a juvenile snicker (and thinking that, as bad a nickname as “Jobbers” is, it’s actually better than “Jabbers” or the feminine “Witches”) when I come upon a plaque commemorating the 1910 Jobbers, considered one of the best minor league ballclubs in history. And what picture did they put next to it? God as my witness, they put it next to popular former Wichita Aero and major league stalwart Pete LaCock.

Perhaps most impressive was the story–I hope it’s true–that Joe Carter hit a home run during an NBC tournament that hit the Metropolitan Baptist Church on one bounce. The church is nearly 900 feet away. This picture probably doesn’t do it justice, but still, check out this view of the church from home plate. The church is the red brick building with the white steeple beyond the left field wall.

On the whole, this was an excellent night of baseball. The staff with the Wranglers have done a fine job of putting together solid entertainment. They ran wacky ads starring their young staff (a send-up of The Apprentice, for instance). There were frequent promotions, but not so frequent as to take away from the baseball. The ballpark has a fine location on the Arkansas river–there’s a view of downtown right past the outfield fence. And Double-A baseball is great entertainment in and of itself. Still, only 155,547 showed up to watch the Wranglers in Wichita in 2003…barely 2,000 per game, only about a quarter of the league leaders and behind even Midland, which is a far smaller city than Wichita. I can’t for the life of me figure out why. It’s not because they have a less-than-good ballpark…Lawrence-Dumont is a great place. It’s not because it’s a poorly-run night of baseball…it was excellent. It’s not because it’s inconveniently located…it’s right in the heart of town. There’s no excuse, Wichita. Get out to your wonderful ballpark. You’ll have at least as good a time as I did.

Okay, now that I’ve said that, let me cut the Wichita folk some slack…the weather certainly was the lion’s share of the reason that attendance was so abysmally

low the night I was there (announced as 528, but that was a laughably high number…I put attendance at 130. That’s right, I actually counted…I figure that the people who were in the bathroom are counterbalanced by ushers I mistakenly included in my count.) It’s funny who you see among the most die-hard fans who would show up on a 40-something degree night in April with horrendous winds. I noticed a good number of women sitting alone and wondered why. Of course! Wives and girlfriends. And there were a good number of scouts with radar guns. Also, several close relatives. Notable among the latter were the friendly brother- and sister-in-law of a backup catcher I chatted with throughout the game…I had a long conversation with their four-year-old son. It’s awesome how four-year-olds start conversations. His starter? “I have the same name as my grandpa. His name is James…and my name is James!” And later: “I live out in the country.” Cool kid! He’d get along with my nephew, but as his mother said, “1500 miles is an awfully tough play date.” I like the Midwest. Friendly people. Women with ponytails and minimal makeup. People who assume you’re a good guy and talk to you.

And I like Lawrence-Dumont Stadium, which more Kansans should get out to see, especially on a night where they can’t see their breath.

BALLPARK SCORE:

Regional feel: 9.5/10
The celebration of Kansas baseball in the museum-like pavilion is fantastic. Add to that a location on the Arkansas river, a view of downtown Wichita, and a few friendly Kansans, and there’s not a doubt as to where you are.

Charm: 2.5/5
There’s a contagious love of baseball here. But ICK!!! The astroturf infield with the grass outfield? WHY???? Back when Wichita fed the Astros, it made sense. But now they feed Kansas City, who has a grass infield. It’s just an eyesore now. Lose it.

Spectacle: 3.5/5
Didn’t get in the way…but I didn’t see much of the mascots.

Team mascot/name: 5/5

Didn’t see much of Wilbur–the best I can do for a picture is the distorted shot at left. I think the cold night kept him in. I did take a shot with the Garbage Goblin, however, on the right. Please note that a gust of wind has gone up my K-mart jacket…that’s not my belly under there, it’s mostly cold Wichita air. I never saw Wilbur and the Garbage Goblin together, which strongly leads me to suspect they’re the same guy. “Wranglers” is a completely appropriate name for Wichita, and the horse totally appropriate as a mascot…although, upon reflection, aren’t horses the natural adversaries of wranglers?

Aesthetics: 4.5/5
Quite nice, with a view of downtown and the river.

Pavilion area: 5/5
A wonderful walk through Wichita baseball history that starts at home plate and goes all the way back to center field. Lots of good stories. The best part of the ballpark.

Scoreability: 4/5
No major issues here, but no major plusses.

Fans: 1/5
Nice people, but far too few of them.

Intangibles: 4/5
In spite of the weather, the sparse crowd, and the incredibly lousy game, I got a great feeling from this place

TOTAL: 41/50

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

A god-awful game in hellish cold. Arkansas pounds out 19 singles and a double. The worst part was that 5 of the runs were in the 9th inning, just as all of us were ready to head home. If I’d had a date with me who wanted to take off, I would have probably demurred…and that is saying something.

3 RBIs for Traveler Jason Aspito.

Tim Bittner pitched 6 innings of 4-hit ball for the win, with Cam Esslinger and Dan Mozingo closing out the 4-hit shutout.

The Arkansas Travelers’ road uniforms read “Little Rock.” Their jackets read “Angels.” The Arkansas Travelers are neither Arkansas nor Travelers. Discuss.

district of columbia, national league, no longer in use, washington nationals

RFK Stadium

July 1, 2009 Paul Comment

Robert F. Kennedy Stadium, Washington DC

First game: August 16, 2006 (Nationals 9, Braves 6)
Last game: August 17, 2006 (Braves 5, Nationals 0)

RFK Stadium is no longer in use for baseball as of the 2008 season.

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

I never got to Montreal (although I did make it to San Juan). When the Expos finally headed to DC, I admit I was grateful…for while my chances

of going to Quebec had fallen off severely, I had some excuses to visit my kid sister and other buddies of mine who congregate in DC. If it were another city, I’d have considered waiting a few years until the big new

ballpark was finally built, but any excuse for an American history lover and patriot like me to head to our nation’s capital and hang out with people I love…hey, I’ll take that.

The ballpark suffers from the same problems as other multi-purpose stadiums: it’s simply not meant for baseball, and it shows. Like Dolphin Stadium, this is especially football-oriented. From the many football players honored on the wall of fame to the George Marshall plaque on the outside, it’s clear that the football memories do and always will dominate this place.

Even beyond this, RFK Stadium is simply not a nice place to watch a baseball game. For starters, there is an expansive batch of first-level seats that are below the second deck. Scoreboards and fly balls are invisible from here, so a good deal of the game is spent looking at the televisions hanging beneath the second deck…and their screens are so small that one cannot really see the ball-strike count. Additionally, the PA system is almost unhearable back there. During a hot sunny day game, I can see the appeal, but at night, I’d rather be under the stars. After about four innings, my kid sister (with whom, by the way, I have now enjoyed ballgames in four different major league ballparks…approaching the record set by my dad, but which will surely be eclipsed by my wife) and I moved up to the upper deck. Highly recommended. If you’re going

to go to RFK Stadium, there’s no need to spend a lot of money on the lower deck,

particularly if you’re far back. Save a few bucks and go up high.

Once up there, stretch out (there will be plenty of room) and look around to section 535. There, find the white seat up surprisingly high. That’s the seat where Frank

Howard hit the longest home run in RFK Stadium history. On the way out, dodge the ushers (who are annoyingly eager to get everyone away after the game) and sit in the seat. It’s a heck of a long way from home plate.

After a marvelous time with my kid sister, I returned area natives and longtime buddies Tom and Elizabeth. I like hanging out with locals at the ballpark who might be able to tell me something about the team’s history. Of course, the Nationals don’t have any history, so it’s a bit more of a challenge here.

But my DC buddies got to tell me something about the ballpark’s political history. Tom expressed intense dislike for the racist beliefs espoused by Calvin Griffith and George Marshall. He talked about the efforts to build a new ballpark and the incredible political firestorm therein. And all of this before the game began! Once the game got going, I taught Elizabeth to score. She caught on quickly, and her handwriting is in my book forever.

Of course, Tom and Elizabeth are two of the very few people who are from the DC area. As a result, it’s tough to play the “regional feel” game. However, RFK stadium does well. The bust of RFK himself joins the monuments to Griffith and Marshall (perhaps serving as a liberal anchor situated between the two). And rather than a Milwaukee sausage race or

the Pittsburgh pirogi race, Presidents race in RFK stadium. Who to root for…Washington, Jefferson, Lincoln, or Teddy Roosevelt? Why not a lesser-President race between Hayes, W.H. Harrison, Arthur, and van Buren? Or a day when all 43 race, including Cleveland twice? I’d love that.

On the whole, there’s not a whole lot going for RFK Stadium–it’s a charmless relic, more so even than several other multipurpose stadiums of its era. But the company can’t be beat, and I can’t wait to take in the new ballpark with them.

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

Brian Schneider and Ryan Zimmerman hit home runs to lead a big Nationals assault on John Smoltz.

Oscar Villareal combines with three relievers on a 4-hit shutout for Atlanta.

Ryan Langerhans manages to walk four times in four at bats. He scores twice.

atlanta braves, georgia, national league, no longer in use

Turner Field

July 1, 2009 Paul 1 Comment

Turner Field, Atlanta, GA

Number of games: 2
First game: April 12, 2005 (Nationals 4, Braves 3)
Most recent game: April 13, 2005 (Nationals 11, Braves 4)

The Braves left Turner Field for the 2017 season. The park was reconfigured and now hosts Georgia State football.

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

FUN THING TO DO: Go up to a concession stand at Turner Field, preferably with someone else.

Order lots of salty food–popcorn, nachos, french fries, hot dogs, etc. When the concessionaire asks you what

you’d like to drink, say: “How about a Pepsi?” See what reaction you get. My guy, fortunately, laughed.

Turner Field came to us at the tail end of the new-retro stadium craze of the 1990s, so we can count on its quality. It has a lot of the positive attributes of ballparks of its era, including charm in its architecture and a sense of history integrated into it. The folks at Turner Field also make a good night’s entertainment out of the game. Combine that with quality baseball the Braves traditionally give, and you have a fine Georgia night.

I made it all the way up from a game at Sarasota, Florida the night before, listening to sports talk radio and Les Miserables for most of the trip. The plan was to take it easy and only attend the Wednesday afternoon game that my kid sister was flying down for, but the drive wasn’t as difficult as I thought it would be. I was up in time for a Tuesday night game, and decided to get a cheap single ticket. The ticket woman offered me a front row seat in center field, “right behind Andruw.” I took it. And I enjoyed a load of pre-game hype. The Braves have one of the best drum/dance troupes out there. As they did their big drumming and dancing routine on the center field pavilion before the game–awesome rhythmic dancing by the drummers, gyrations by the cute young women in pink–I thought they were the entertainment recruited

for just the one game. I was wrong. They’ve hired some excellent drummers to bang away both before and during every game, while the scantily-clad pink ladies dance around, periodically appearing on the giant scoreboard for promotions.

And oh, that scoreboard! It is the largest LED screen in the United States. I don’t care how much of a traditionalist you are…you’ve got to admit that’s kind of cool. There’s enough room that the bottom 20% or so of the board can be devoted to full lineups AND statistics AND the linescore of the game, still leaving a breathtakingly large expanse for pictures and replays. I certainly hope that the Braves have a charity auction where they team up with Xbox or Playstation or someone to sell the right to sit in center field and play video games on the big screen. I’m not a big video game guy myself, but I would pay big bucks to do that.

The stadium itself is designed well, albeit not quite as well as others of its generation. I’d like to be able to see the field from the concourse (like in Coors Field or Safeco Field, to name two). I’d also like to have a view of the outside world from the upper-level concourses, like at Jacobs Field. It’s a hell of a long trip to the top of the left-field stands by the foul pole, which is the only place where spectators can get a look at the downtown skyline. Plus, the overwhelming Coke advertising is oppressive.

Still, there were many positives. Most notable was the wonderful concourse. There is a nice party atmosphere to be had there, and you don’t need a ticket to be there. Of course, you do need a ticket to get in with the drummers! Anyone can walk in and see statues of Warren Spahn, Phil Niekro (with a perfect knuckleballers grip), Ty Cobb, and Hank Aaron (twice). There are 6-foot-in-dia

meter baseballs representing each of the Major League clubs and several other notable baseball events. Quite beautiful. Also, I appreciated how the Braves did such a thorough job documenting their history. I didn’t have a chance to visit the Braves Museum, but that’s very much the kind of thing I like in my stadiums. I also like the Braves’ history in the concourse. They had every single team photo since the Braves moved to Atlanta on display. The 1995 World Champions are honored with a large mural, but even the lamentable teams in history like the 1

985 Braves have their team photos present. There is something slightly amiss in my eyes about Braves fans. Hard to pinpoint it exactly, to be honest, but there’s just a hair of smugness about them. Make no mistake–I enjoyed the company of a very nice man from Knoxville and his sweet daughter on the first night, and a guy who didn’t mind my sister rooting for the Nationals on the second night. Still, it seems strange. When I attended this ballgame in 2005, the Braves were on a string of 12 consecutive division titles, and were favored to win a 13th…but each game featured only about 20,000 fans. What’s the deal?

Of course, the Braves suffer from a certain self-obsession that probably comes from their field’s namesake. My kid sister Kathleen flew in from DC to join me for a Nationals/Braves game; this, the day before the

Nationals’ first home game after moving from Montreal. She brought me a baseball cap that said “Washington DC” on it, just to force me to display allegiance to her new team. She was very excited to pick up a Nationals hat, since Nationals Fever was so pronounced in DC at that time that she couldn’t find one there. We wandered around the ballpark looking in the shops. Braves hats. Braves hats. More Braves hats. Come ON! I can’t remember ever being in a ballpark that didn’t sell caps for any other MLB teams. What’s more, I would think selling others’ caps would be good business…there are surely a few people per night who want to buy that night’s opponent’s hat, or some other rival’s hat. So we asked a

cashier: “Where can we find hats for teams other than the Braves?” Her answer, I swear to God, was this: “At the other teams’ stadiums.” Yes, she really was that snide. Whatever…that’s $25 Ted Turner won’t be getting.

If memory serves, this is the fourth ballpark I’ve been to with Kathleen.

I casually–half-jokingly, actually–mentioned to her that I was going to go to a game in Atlanta, and that if she wanted to, she could swing by. Much to my surprise, she obliged. She’s a very busy first-year lawyer who is, of course, slammed with first-year lawyer work which had included flying back from observing the Djiboutian elections just a few days before taking a day off to fly to Atlanta. (For those of you scoring at home, Ismael Omar Guelleh ran unopposed and won.) She told some fine stories about the Djibouti City Sheraton, which, apparently, is not at all like a Sheraton.

Anyway, between her cool jet-setter stories and a big Nats win, we had loads of fun. In fact, we had every bit as wacky a time as I do with my brother or with my buddy Rob. Case in point: When the Nationals got on a couple of runners, Kath and I started shouting: “C’mon Nats!

Bring him home! Bring him home!” Now, when you were raised in the house Kathleen and I were raised in, what follows will seem like normal behavior, but I recognize that it might feel downright bizarre to others. But whenever any bit of dialogue happens to distantly remind any Hamann of any song, it instantly becomes a moral imperative to sing that song, ideally with great gusto, and with harmony if at all possible. So I’m not sure who started it–I’m probably the guilty one–but it didn’t take long before we were singing the chorus to “Bring Him Home,” the show-stopping heart-rending climax of Les Miserables. “Bring hiiiim hoooooooooooooome…bring him hooooooome…” High notes, schmigh notes. Colm Wilkinson had nothing on us. Of course, when we got to the bridge (“He’s like the son I might have known/If God had granted me a son”), it was important for me to make up wacky baseball-appropriate lyrics. Alas, the exact lyrics are lost to time, but they probably went something like this: “It surely would be very fun/If Jose Vidro scored a run…” Laughing. High notes. We had about a three- or four-row buffer zone between us and the next fan (remember, only 20,000 were in attendance). It wasn’t enough. The Atlantan a few rows ahead of us turned 180 degrees around to check out the freaks. I had on my Washington DC hat. He probably figured I was a government weirdo.

There were a surprising number of Nationals fans at the game who, like my sister, were getting a jump, seeing their home team before they had a home game. After enduring a ninth-inning rain delay, during

which most of the crowd went home, the few fans who remained came up behind the dugouts to cheer. That’s how I found myself behind the Nats’ dugout, surrounded by Nats fans, watching Nats’ pitching coach Randy St. Claire converse with umpire-in-chief Randy Marsh, watching Carlos Baerga warming up, and watching legendary Frank Robinson, who, immediately after this photo, gave a friendly wave to the guy next to me who shouted “DC loves you guys!”

So, quite a fun pair of nights. The ballpark had positives (fun atmosphere, good sense of history) that outweighed its provincialist

negatives, and I got to do it all with my kid sister who very kindly took a day off to fly down. Thumbs up for both the park and the experience.

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

Two Nationals wins, the first one quite dramatic. The Braves led 3-1 going into the ninth inning. Danny Kolb came on to close it out, but failed. A walk, a hit, and a walk, and the bases were loaded with nobody out. Kolb got a fielders’ choice and a sacrifice. Two out, 3-2, tying run on second. Brian Schneider up…and he spanks a double to right-center. The Nationals lead. The skies open up…it’s a big downpour. Rain delay for 31 minutes. The suddenly cold, wet night sees Chad Cordero nail down a save.

Jose Guillen homers twice in one game. Jose Vidro and Chipper Jones also homer.

(Written April 2005.)

florida, florida marlins, national league, no longer in use

Dolphins Stadium

July 1, 2009 Paul 1 Comment

Dolphins Stadium, Miami, FL

Number of games: 1
First game: April 9, 2005 (Nationals 3, Marlins 2, 10 innings)

The Marlins left this ballpark in 2012.

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

I had never been to Florida when I traveled there over my spring break in 2005 to take care of the Southeastern United States’ major league baseball stadiums.

This might serve as a surprise for many of you for whom Florida is a regular vacation destination, but I in fact made it to 45 states before I made it to Florida. I had heard negative things about Miami as a tourist destination, and therefore had low expectations once I disembarked from the red-eye, lathered my pasty Seattle skin with suntan lotion, and headed out for my one-day-to-see-Miami adventure. I had a fun day puttering around the town before fighting through God-awful traffic to get to an early-evening start at the too-distant-from-the-city-center ballpark. All in all, the ballpark was subpar, but the wonderful fans of Miami made the night memorable.

Let’s start with the name, which gives away the main problem with the stadium. Its original name, Joe Robbie Stadium, came from the Dolphins’ owner. Its second name, Pro Player Stadium (which, as of the start of the 2005 season, still graced a few forgotten signs both inside and outside the stadium), was a fairly typical dull corporate name,

but when that name was gone, it reverted to Dolphins Stadium. The name says it all: it is a football stadium, sitting on Dan Marino Drive. Indeed, calling this a “multipurpose stadium” is a bit kind, as baseball is quite clearly an afterthought at this ballpark. This leads to a few problems with atmosphere that are insurmountable. Most importantly, there’s no place in the seats where one can see outside of the ballpark. I even went up to the top row of the top deck (quite a trip) to see what kind of views it offered. Once there, I discovered that the wall behind the back row was about nine feet tall and could not be seen over. And since the stadium is the same height all the way around, there’s an enclosed feeling that doesn’t work for baseball. It’d be great for football, I’m sure…I bet that 70,000 Dolphins fans can make a lot of noise there. But it’s terrible for baseball, where I like my eyes to be able to wander outside the ballpark during quiet times. Additionally, the place feels empty even when it isn’t. About 30,000 people were at the game I attended–not bad for the first Saturday of the season. But in a football stadium, that feels desolate. The seats’ annoying orange color doesn’t help, either. It’s just not a very nice atmosphere.

One of the things I was most looking forward to at the ballpark was seeing the salsa dancing.

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I happened to see a special on cable TV listing the top ten ballpark foods. There, I learned that the Marlins have a salsa band play before Saturday night games. Sure enough, when I got there, there was a salsa band playing. Sort of. By playing, I mean “mailing it in.” For starters, although the band featured a singer, a guitar player, and a drummer, most of their noise came from a boom box which appeared to be playing karaoke versions of their salsa favorites. Secondly, when I arrived at the ballpark, I found the drummer actually talking on a cell phone while he played. This has to be the worst possible thing a performer can do. Was he working on a

real estate transaction? Was he missing beats with his left hand while he played with his right? Combine that with the yucky concrete concourse where they played, which was bad for both acoustics and atmosphere, and there wasn’t any reason to hang around and listen to them…and few people did.

One more complaint–in spite of the smallish crowd, the concession lines at Dolphins Stadium were the longest I’ve ever experienced. I got in line a half hour before the game began, and barely made it back for first pitch. The service was slow, but the folks made up for it by being rude. You might not want to head to the concourse to eat, at least not on the lower level.

In spite of all of these negatives, I still had a marvelous time at Dolphins Stadium, in good part due to the wonderful fans around me.

I met a kindred spirit seated behind me. Jackie is about 17 years old–a senior in high school–but appeared to watch the game in the same spirit as I do. She had a stat or an anecdote for every batter who came to the plate, not only for her beloved Marlins, but even for the Nationals. And she had a photographic memory for the details of the game. To be honest, I really felt like I was listening to a version of myself from 20-some years earlier. Baseball wasn’t my sport yet–it was basketball. I could feel myself sitting in McNichols Sports Arena, telling my dad and anyone else would would listen minutiae about Dan Issel, Alex English, Mike Evans, and any Nuggets opponents whose Statis Pro Basketball cards I remembered. It was really wonderful to listen to her riffs. She’d chug along in perfect English until she came to a word where Spanish would be a better match for her thoughts, at which point she’d seamlessly throw in the Spanish word. I eavesdropped for six innings before I finally told her family how fun it was to listen to her.

Jackie’s eidetic skill was most apparent in the following exchange she had with her dad after a screaming foul ball landed not far from us:

JACKIE’S DAD: “Remember that game we came to last year, where they guy near us got hit in the head by a foul ball?”
JACKIE: “Yes. That was when we saw the Braves on April 24th last year. A Saturday game. Brad Penny got the win, and Conine had his first homer of the year. The foul was off of Cabrera’s bat.”

Guess what? Every detail of that was accurate. I checked it out.

Now that’s a fan after my own heart. Someone asked Jackie how she knew so much about the game. Her answer could apply to anyone who’s knowledgeable about any topic, from history to calculus to baseball to musical theater to motorcycles: “Baseball is interesting. I just watch, listen, and read a lot.” Charming kid.

I also had a bizarre small-world moment after meeting a Floridian next to me. He casually mentioned that his son played Division III baseball. I don’t know what Division III schools are in the Southeast, so I asked where his son went to school. His answer: “A school called Kenyon in Gambier, Ohio.” What a bizarre moment! I went to Kenyon, and only missed his son by a couple of years. The odds against that were astonishing…I’m from Seattle, so Dolphins’ Stadium is 4,000 miles away from home and 1,500 miles away from Kenyon.

As the game wore on, I grew to like these people around me, and once they started talking to me (because they figured out that I was trying to get to all of the ballparks), we got to be buds, and I started rooting for the Marlins, even though I don’t have any emotional attachment to them

at all. It came down to the bottom of the ninth inning. When Carlos Delgado came up with the Marlins down by one, I said to the Kenyon father: “You know, Carlos Delgado leads the league in the very esoteric statistic of Most Home Runs in Paul’s Presence By A Non-Rockie or Mariner.” Not surprisingly, the guy looked at me with a confused expression, but broke out of it in time to say “Well, that’s good news. We could use the help.” Next pitch: Carlos hits it out. His first homer as a Marlin. I take full credit for that! I high-fived all my new friends.

Points for the organist at Dolphins Stadium, for playing snippets from tangentially-appropriate songs as every Nationals’ player approached the plate–snippets that were only appropriate with some thought. For example:

Jose Vidro–The Carpenters’ “Do You Know the Way to San Jose”
Livan Hernandez–Elton John’s “Levon”
Ryan Church–Dixie Cups’ “Goin’ to the Chapel”

Nick Johnson–“Santa Claus is Comin’ To Town”

The organist would play bits buried in the verses of the songs, too, so that I had to think ahead to future lyrics to get the jokes. Fun stuff.

Special thanks to the Dolphins Stadium usher who saved my bacon. I had lost my rental car key…it had fallen out of my pocket when I took my camera out to take pictures of the postgame fireworks display (always a silly idea, yet one I keep trying when I’m at a game with fireworks). It had fallen out of my shorts pocket. When you’re carrying a big wallet, cellphone, tickets, camera, and more in your pockets, it’s easy to lose keys when taking things in and out of them. I was trying to figure out how I’d make the game at Tropicana Field the next afternoon, and my new friends were desperately looking for a single car key, when an usher found the key for me–and, incredibly, refused my grateful tip. I only wish guys like him worked the concession stands.

So while I believe that there are a lot of negative aspects to Dolphins Stadium–namely, that it’s the Dolphins’ Stadium first and foremost, and that baseball isn’t meant to be there–I still had a tremendous time there with the residents of South Florida. I continue to be impressed with how nice people are when I travel, and on this swing through Florida, Georgia, and North Carolina, the fine folks of Miami were the nicest I encountered. Great baseball fans, all of them. Although things don’t look good for them as I write this in May of 2005, I hope something comes through for them and that they get a stadium they deserve someday soon.

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

A tremendous ballgame. Ryan Church and Vinny Castilla homer back-to-back to give Washington a 5th-inning lead, but the Marlins tie it up with Delgado’s 9th-inning homer. Two batters later, Paul LoDuca pounds one to left field that I am convinced ends the game…I start high-fiving people again…but it turns out that, rather than a home run, it’s a single that hit six inches from the top of the tall left-field scoreboard. The game goes to extra innings, and the Nats win it on Jose Guillen’s homer in the 10th.

(Written April 2005.)

american league, no longer in use, texas, texas rangers

The Ballpark in Arlington

July 1, 2009 Paul Comment

The Ballpark in Arlington, Arlington TX

Number of games: 2
First game: April 12, 2004 (Rangers 7, Angels 6)
Most recent game: April 13, 2004 (A’s 10, Rangers 9)

After several name changes from their beautiful original name, the ballpark has been known as Globe Life Field in Arlington since 2014.

(Click any image to view a larger version.)

Two things I like, and will travel to see: baseball stadiums and historic museums. The Ballpark in Arlington enabled me to see both of them in the same day! For this and many other reasons, The Ballpark in Arlington was a huge, pleasant surprise…big enough of a pleasant surprise to be a top-5 ballpark.

Why didn’t Ventura sign it too?

So unabashedly baseball-loving, and so unabashedly Texan! For starters, there’s the deification of Nolan Ryan.

Of course, everybody deifies Nolan Ryan, as he is the only player in baseball history to have his number retired by three different teams. But in Arlington, Ryan-worship is taken to the nth degree. The ballpark is located on Nolan Ryan Drive (closer to the ballpark even than the cleverly named Pennant Drive…perhaps because, while the Rangers have had Nolan Ryan, they haven’t had a pennant). Everywhere you look, there’s a Ryan reminder. The statue feels right, although I’d rather it not be hidden away beyond the center field bleachers. It deserves a spot outside the entrance. Perhaps a little more disturbing was the signed photo for sale in the gift shop of one of the most famous pummelings in the history of sports…his facial on Robin Ventura. Now, I normally hate bench-clearing brawls, but even I got a visceral charge out of watching him crush Ventura that night. There was something just so, well, one-sided about it, on top of the notion that you can’t challenge God. But would I want this on my wall? Would I pay money to bring this into my home? Well, maybe if I were a massive Ranger or Ryan fan, I suppose…

It’s not just Ranger or Ryan history that the ballpark celebrates. It also is a hotspot for baseball history in general. The ballpark is attached to the Legends of the Game Museum, which contains the largest collection of baseball memorabilia outside of Cooperstown. I can classify the memorabilia in this museum (and, I assume, in Cooperstown) into two groups: idol-worship and history. The first bit–the busts, jerseys, bats, balls, and shoes–does absolutely nothing for me. Out of all of the items in this classification, I only took a picture of one…Sparky Anderson’s shoes, worn during a game in 1990. Seriously.

Who the hell wants to see Sparky’s shoes? And not even from a playoff year? It reminds me a bit of going to a church in Italy and seeing some saint’s blackened, decaying finger in a glass case. Only nobody’s praying in front of Sparky’s shoes. Yet.

The second classification is the numbers section. I love seeing all of the numbers, and the folks at the Legends museum take care

of theirs with care. Note the all-time home run leader list in this picture here. The picture is not otherwise notable except for what’s going on with the tie for third place all-time. Barry Bonds is tied for third with Willie Mays at 660. The key here is that I visited the museum the afternoon of April 13, 2004. Barry had only hit #660 the night before, and would hit #661 that night. This means that the museum staff are updating their numbers daily! This is quite a feat, especially when one considers that the museum didn’t just track all-time leaders in at least a dozen categories, but also active league leaders, Rangers’ all-time leaders, and Rangers’ active leaders. There were quite a few numbers up there that the staff had to stay on top of nightly, and the net result was me feeling exactly the way I like to feel in a ballpark: like I’m in the middle of a thousand stories that will be recorded for all of history.

Finally, the museum did an excellent job of communicating baseball history, especially local baseball history. Their large section on Rangers history included an original scorecard of Kenny Rogers’ perfect game, and they branched out to the minor leagues with a large exhibit on Texas League history. I like this even more than the numbers…these are stories, interesting stories I’ve never known, presented in the context of where I am and what I’m doing that night.

The sense of history continued in the walk around the stadium. The Ballpark in Arlington has a brick display to commemorate every team in Rangers history…and every player on every team in Rangers history. Think I’m kidding? Check out these bricks:

Yup. There it is, etched in stone for time immemorial: Larry Biittner’s underwhelming numbers that were achieved, it appears, during the baseball season of 197 A.D. Immediately, I was curious as to who I could see commemorated from my single trip to Arlington Stadium (which, by the way, I am certain NOBODY but an incredibly sentimental Texan sap misses). The Rangers had a god-awful day…the only performance I could remember was the horrendous start by Brian Bohanon, who, along with four teammates, helped to walk Jose Canseco five times in five at-bats. I think it was one of Bohanon’s first starts in a long and undistinguished career. But I wanted to see him commemorated, so I walked to the 1992 team to find this:

Ouch! What a sad diss to Mr. Bohanon. I remember how to spell your name, Brian, even if your former employers don’t.

The exterior also gives an artistic nod to some key images in Texas history in faux-marble (at least I believe it’s faux) etchings along the building’s exterior. Etchings include an oil gusher, the Alamo battle, astronauts, and cowboys on the range. When you combine this with the museum and the team bricks, I’m already deeply ensconced in both baseball history and local history. I can’t conceive of a better frame of mind to be in when I enter a ballpark in a strange city.

Once inside, my only disappointment is the center-field terraces, which seem architecturally out of place. I assumed they were skyboxes; it turns out they’re offices, and not even just the Rangers’ offices. (An usher informed me that Troy Aikman has an office

there.) It seems to me that there’s no need to block off that center field view–even if it’s just of the neighborhood–just to have all offices with ads stacked on top. But that’s quibbling…the offices don’t look too bad, particularly when there’s so much else the ballpark offers.

The tony club level has suites that are named after Hall of Fame baseball players. I was able to wander around and check them all out because an usher was kind enough to let me in and wander around “as long as I don’t tell anyone.” (Does this website count?) Each suite has a big portrait of the player on the door…a portrait that’s visible to everyone on the concourse and on the ramps headed up to the upper decks. They further celebrate baseball history–Rangers’ history–by posting plaques commemorating the key games in the Ballpark’s history on the main level…the first game,

Kenny Rogers’ perfect game, the first interleague game (I’d have left that one out…now, it’s just a weird Giants/Rangers matchup), and the first playoff game, plus perhaps one or two I’m forgetting. The plaque contains the box score of the game as well as a brief synopsis and a picture. It’s the only ballpark I can think of where there are box scores available for public view. That’s a major plus.

The ballpark also passes the third-level test…the level-three concourse is open to allow for views. I looked out on Six Flags (immediately adjacent to the park) and downtown Dallas (quite a ways in the distance). I don’t understand why more of the recent ballparks don’t incorporate third-level views. It provides local color. Of course, even without the view, the Ballpark had local color in spades. For starters, there’s the friendly presence of Texans. It doesn’t take long for me to join them in calling everyone

I encounter over a certain age “sir” or “ma’am.” What a pleasant way to get along with each other. And as if the Ryan-deification, view, sense of history, and trademark Southern politeness were not enough for the park to pass the “is there any question where you are” test, I heard the following actual bits of dialogue from those around me in the park:

“Is an armadillo on the side of the road spooky? Out where we are, it’s all racoons.”

In the front row, where some fans joined me late in the game: “Down here, you can smell the dirt. Intoxicating!”

From a child, in the first homestand after Alex Rodriguez left Texas for New York: “Is the white team the Yankees?” His annoyed father should have answered: “Not yet, son.” The son also asked a great question about the players that got my imagination going: “Do they live here?” How cool would it be if they did?

Incidentally, and much to my surprise, it’s not hard to get a table in the restaurant in the upper deck of right field before the game…I walked in a half hour before the first pitch,

asked for a table by the window, and was back on the concourse before the National Anthem, and in my seat by the first pitch thanks to a speedy, reliable, and helpful waitress. Not that I would ever want to watch a game from the restaurant, but of the three ballpark restaurants I’ve been to, this one is vastly preferable to Coors Field or Jacobs Field. It’s simply a matter of orientation. A two person table by the window out here in right field enables both people to watch the game while only turning 90 degrees to the field. The same table at Coors or Jacobs, since it’s in foul territory and down the line, would require one of the people at the table to face away from the action to eat, and to make a 180 degree turn, away from the food and his/her companions, to watch the game. Unacceptable. (Incidentally, “open 363 days a year”? I’ve never seen an establishment advertise that way.)

The game itself went off without a hitch. A nice promotion lets a kid hit a home run in their wiffleball field and set off the home run fireworks. That’s got to be a HUGE charge for a kid. Only one little glitch…the scoreboard told me that Kevin Mench had a batting average of .360 and an on-base percentage of .346. I’m not really a seamhead, but I know full well that’s impossible. They didn’t fix it for future at-bats, either, leading me to believe they could use a proofreader for their scoreboard graphics.

Special mention has to go to the gentle, 60-ish usher who tossed the drunken college-aged louts who were in the front row next to me simply by saying “Sir, could you come with me?” When the usher returned, I asked him how he pulled that off. “He decided he’d rather go when I pointed out how many beers he’d had.” Ballsy! Don’t mess with the AARP usher!

On the whole, what a wonderful couple of days. Texas history. Baseball history. Local color. Kind people. I don’t know that my travels will lead me back to Dallas…Dallas is one of those cities that business takes you to, and not much else…it’s not exactly a tourist destination. But if I’m there, you can rest assured I’ll catch another Rangers game. This ballpark, in my view, is simply up there with the best. They understand exactly what a ballpark is all about.

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

A couple of sloppy games. Francisco Cordero got a save and Brad Fullmer hit a huge pinch-hit double against the Angels.

Jermaine Dye and Damian Miller went deep for the A’s, who roughed up Mickey Callaway for 6 runs in 1 1/3 innings. Barry Zito got an underwhelming win when the Rangers’ comeback fell short.

(Originally written April 2004. Most recently revised April 2008.)

montreal expos, national league, no longer in use

Hiram Bithorn Stadium

July 1, 2009 Paul Comment

Hiram Bithorn Stadium, San Juan, PR

Number of games: 2
First game: April 14, 2003 (Expos 5, Mets 3)
Last game: April 16, 2003 (Braves 3, Expos 2)

Hiram Bithorn Stadium is no longer used for the major leagues as of the 2005 season.

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

All right–I’m officially hard-core. What started as a way to spend the summer of 1993 had, by 2003, expanded to serious dimensions with my trip to Puerto Rico and Estadion Hiram Bithorn. Why? Well, because I wanted some serious street cred among the (larger than you might think) going-to-all-the-baseball-parks crowd. Yeah, there are people who might have been to more than the 30 major league stadiums that my trip to Hiram Bithorn gave me. But, because there were only 22 Expos games to be played at Bithorn in 2003, I figured that, even among ballpark travelers, not too many people would be able to say they’d been to Puerto Rico for a Major League game. I think I crossed some sort of line here. Quoth one friend: “I can’t believe you’re flying all the way to Puerto Rico to see a baseball game.” My response: “No, no!

I’m flying to Puerto Rico to see TWO baseball games!” The result, however, was very, very fun–one of my best-ever ballpark experiences.

The ballpark itself wasn’t at all special. It’s nice that it’s small: they expanded capacity to 19,000 for the Expos games. More seats are good seats and there’s more opportunity for fan/player interaction. But there was enough else wrong or missing that I can’t say Bithorn is a good ballpark. Their replay scoreboard was so small and distant that it was very difficult to read, which made it in some ways worse than having no replay scoreboard at all. They didn’t read lineups before the game. There were two pretty serious blunders in presentation as well. First, the PA announcer, at a critical moment of the game, announced “Numero doce, Orlando Cabrera!” when Wilfredo Cordero was at the plate. Second, and a particularly bizarre error, was a mistimed playing of music. As soon as Jeff Liefer made contact on a fly-out to center, they began playing the music for the next batter. So while the ball was in play, while Tsuyoshi Shinjo was in the very process of settling under the ball, we heard the opening drumbeats and

first couple of riffs of Carlos Santana’s “Smooth.” On top of that, and worst of all–why a carpet? Why not grass? So my impressions of the stadium aren’t terribly good. This is, of course, very much beside the point, as the positives of seeing a ballgame in Puerto Rico far outweigh the minor negatives of a below-average ballpark.

First of all, the fans were tremendous. They were louder and more enthusiastic than any similarly-sized crowd that I can recall. To be sure, not all of their cheering was for Los Expos. They cheered for more or less any Latin player, and especially for any Puerto Rican player, regardless of the team he was playing for. A critical at-bat by Brave Javy Lopez or Met Roberto Alomar would be greeted with

equal enthusiasm as one by Expo Jose Vidro. Indeed, so many Puerto Ricans had connections with New York City that there was a sizeable contingent of Met fans present. They’d start the “Let’s! Go! Mets” chant, but would be overpowered by the others, who would make high pitched “ooo” sounds, like children imitating ghosts. Much to my surprise, there were even a number of Braves fans present for the Montreal/Atlanta game as well, as noted by that infernal tomahawk chop. Does Ted Turner’s power spread over the Caribbean Sea? At any rate, they, too, were “ooo”ed at until they couldn’t be heard.

Appropriately enough for my first ballgame outside the fifty states, there was a decidedly international feel to the ballgame.

For starters, there were three national anthems to get through before we could play ball: Canada, Puerto Rico, and the USA. The same guy, Angel Rosario, was responsible for singing “O Canada” and “The Star-Spangled Banner.” He had a very powerful tenor voice, but screwed up the lyrics in each. At first, I thought he just blundered, but the second game, he made the exact same errors that he did the first. That’s when it occurred to me–it’s got to be difficult to find anyone who knows the words to “O Canada” in Puerto Rico, and probably about as hard to find a “Star-Spangled Banner” singer. I also got the sense that Angel didn’t speak English…it sounded like he was getting through the anthems phonetically.

Far be it from me to criticize anyone for not speaking English, of course. I’m a stereotypical monolingual American. Of all the languages I could have taken in high school and college, I chose Russian, and I regret that now. Why not Spanish, the language I’m most likely to encounter? Oh well…I suppose it’s not too late. But in Puerto Rico, it didn’t matter, as just about every native I encountered had at least a little English. Often not more than a little–but usually a little.

And that’s part of what made this such a wonderful ballpark experience. When I remember these games, I’ll remember Juan and Efrain, the gentlemen I sat next to. I sat next to Juan at the first game–the Mets game. Juan had impeccable English–the result of his Army experience. “I learned English at Fort Benning, Georgia,” he told me. I struck up a conversation by focusing

on the three retired numbers on the wall–21 for Roberto Clemente, 30 for Orlando Cepeda, and 22 for Gomez. Didn’t know who Gomez was, so I asked him. Turns out he’s Ruben Gomez. His lifetime stats aren’t too impressive, but his passion for the game seems to have been: Juan informed me that Gomez would pitch all summer and winter, summers in the majors, winters in the Puerto Rican league. And any way you can be mentioned with Cepeda and Clemente is impressive enough to me. Juan also let me know that Hiram Bithorn Stadium is named for the first Puerto Rican to play in the majors. (Indeed, there is a sculpture of him in front of the ballpark.) I did a little more research on him…Bithorn was a pitcher for the Cubs and White Sox. He debuted during WWII, five years before Jackie Robinson, when teams were very much in need of players. Still, although there were a handful of Latino players on rosters, the Cubs were not eager to sign their first Latino player. According to one account I’ve seen, Bithorn, because of his light skin and not-instantly-recognizable-as-Latino name, could pass more easily as white, which helped convince the Cubs to sign him. In a way, that’s a very sad story. That’s why I’m glad he led the league with 7 shutouts in 1943.

But next thing you know, and much to my surprise, I learned Juan and I share our favorite player in baseball. Mine is Edgar Martinez, designated hitter, Seattle Mariners. His is Edgar Martinez, third baseman, San Juan Senators. Here I am, 5,000 miles from home, and I’m having a conversation about Edgar’s penchant for hitting doubles that bounce on the foul lines. That blew me away. We even got a chance to talk a little politics when two war protestors ran on the field and unfurled a banner that read “No a la guerra” and featured drawings of a gun and an oil well. I was surprised at how negative the fan reaction was to them–for some reason I would have thought that Puerto Ricans, who don’t get a voting member in Congress, might not be so keen on that Congress sending their sons and daughters into harm’s way. I was wrong, as Juan let me know. “Now is not the time to protest. We’re already at war.” (Indeed, by the time these guys ran onto the field in April of 2003, Baghdad had already fallen.)

Protestors are removed from the field--one forcibly.

As much fun as I had with Juan, I had even more fun with Senor Efrain Rodriguez, with whom I enjoyed the Braves game two nights later. And what do you know? It all started with my scorebook. I’ve always liked the way that my scorebook gets people to talk to me, but I never, ever expected it to cross international cultural barriers, as it did on this night. Senor Rodriguez (because he’s 41 years my elder, I’m a little uneasy calling him Efrain) sees me get out my scorebook, and he asks me: “Do you do this every game?” His English is slow and labored enough that I can tell it’s an effort to think through each sentence. But I explain to him that yes, I do, and that I’m trying to make it to all of the baseball stadiums. We fall into watching the game, and next thing you know, there’s an Atlanta double play. Furcal to DeRosa to Franco. I’m jotting it in my book when Efrain leans over. “Six-four-three.” Amazing! The power of the scorebook! The next play is a grounder to third, so I lean over to Efrain: “Cinco-tres.” And we’re talking, as best as we are able, about baseball. I ask Efrain why he’s rooting for the Braves. He tells me. “Andruw Jones. He is the best…eh…” He struggles to find a word. I try to help: “Athlete? Athletic?” Efrain responds: “Yes, but…eh…Defensive. He is the best defensive player I’ve ever seen…”

Somewhere in the midst of this sentence it occurs to me: this very well could be my elderly friend’s first major league game! All those years of enjoying Puerto Rican ball, cheering for major league islanders from afar, and now, finally, a major league game in person! I have the whole overly-romanticized picture laid out, but Efrain sets me straight before the end of the sentence:

“…and I saw Willie Mays.”

“At the Polo Grounds?”

“Yes. Remember, I’m 73!”

And that’s how we spent the evening–trying to have conversations about baseball. Succeeding. Saying: “He walked him because he wants a double play.” Saying: “No–I think he doesn’t want Sheffield to homer again.” Even saying: “That was a good throw.” Typical, momentary baseball stuff. And it was wonderful. Two guys, two languages, two countries, and two generations, and all the differences go away with the magic words: “Six-four-three.” I tried to get his wife to take our picture, but alas, the result was this extremely unfortunate photo:

Yup, that’s him with his arm around me…the guy whose face is behind his wife’s lens-obstructing fingers! What a bummer.

Anyway, I’ll never forget the end of the night. He went to leave after the eighth inning (I must really like this guy, since I can forgive a horrendous action like that…but traffic around San Juan really was God-awful), and shook my hand. He said “Well, brother, glad to know you.” I’m not sure I’ve ever felt better at a ballpark than that made me feel. Brother. What more can you ask? Is there anywhere else where brotherhood is attained that quickly and easily? It sounds sappy, kind of Disney-like, but the facts seem to bear it out: baseball overcame any differences we might have had. And I think it led me to understand a little bit better why I spend all of this time, effort, and money to go to all of these distant ballparks. I love the opportunity for moments like this one. I was surprised, amazed, and affirmed by the way my scorebook and baseball curiosity could strike up an international bond.

I want more of these games. I want to go global with my ballparks. I want to buy new scorebooks–one for each nation’s league–and score games, talk baseball, and shake hands with fans the world over. I want to win the lottery, quit my job, and hit the Venezuelan League, comparing notes with Carlos from Caracas on Andres Galarraga, a player we’ll both love. After a crisp DP around the horn, I want Takehisa from Tokyo to look at me and say: “Go-shi-san.” I want to hear Michael from Melbourne tell me about the early years of Craig Shipley, Graeme Lloyd, and Chris Snelling, all of whom I’ve seen. Just give me some money and give me some time, and I’ll have stories from all around the world.

Indeed, as I write these words in the mild Puerto Rican night after watching a one-run ballgame with my new baseball brother, I know I won’t ever stop these trips. I hope I am blessed with health and luck enough to be there for the opening of the first new park of the 2040s. Maybe by then I won’t be able to go global anymore, but I’ll still be there, still be scoring. I’ll be telling some kid next to me: “He’s the best defensive shortstop I’ve ever seen…and I’ve seen Ozzie Smith.” And you can rest assured I’ll be thinking of kind, welcoming baseball fans like Juan and Senor Efrain Rodriguez when I say it. Muchos gracias, mis hermanos.

***Update April 2006: I love the internet so much sometimes. I got a nice email from Efrain Rodriguez’s son, also named Efrain. He said the following:

“Well, here is the deal. My name is Efrain Rodriguez and I live in Atlanta. My dad lives in PR and goes by the same name. He also attended many games in that series and was 73 at the time. I can not make the face on the posted photo but I am pretty sure you sat next to my dad. Weird.

“A couple of weeks ago I flew to PR to watch the World Baseball Classic with him at the Bithorn. Took a photo of him celebrating a PR score with his flag. He no longer uses glasses and is 3 years older but looks similar as in 2003. Is this the same person you sat next to? If so, this is a very small world.”

Photo by Efrain Rodriguez, Jr. Used by permission.

Indeed it is, sir. And indeed he is. Thanks for the picture.

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

Javier Vazquez makes his first start in front of his countrymen. He’s clearly stoked–strikes out the side in the first inning. But he fades out a bit and doesn’t factor into the decision.

Vladimir Guerrero, Tony Clark, and Gary Sheffield homer.

John Smoltz picks up a save.

(Written April 2003. Updated April 2006.)

california, national league, no longer in use, san diego padres

Qualcomm Stadium

July 1, 2009 Paul Comment

From the “Ballparks of Baseball” website. Used by permission.

Qualcomm Stadium, San Diego, CA

Number of games: 2
First game: July 31, 2000 (Padres 4, Phillies 1)
Last game: August 1, 2000 (Padres 10, Phillies 9, 10 innings)

Qualcomm Stadium is no longer in use for baseball as of the 2004 season.

I never knew why the Padres were called the Padres until I got to San Diego and visited the Mission there (recommended) a few hours before my first game at Qualcomm. Duh! The ballpark is in the Mission District! So it’s not that they believed that priests were somehow intimidating (although I’ve known a few who are), it’s more a local historical nickname, which I think are the best kind.

Qualcomm–this name is an abomination. It is especially offensive in light of the switch from Jack Murphy Stadium, named from the sportswriter who lobbied so hard to bring pro sports to San Diego…and yes, I know it’s “Qualcomm Stadium at Jack Murphy Field,” but that seems to be a weak and lefthanded tribute to Murphy, which actually makes it worse.

The stadium, however, was a pleasant surprise. Given that it’s a multipurpose stadium of the era of Busch, Riverfront, Three Rivers and the Vet, I was expecting it to be bland and boring. While it faces some of the problems of multipurpose stadiums (namely the expanses of empty upper-deck seats), it wasn’t nearly as charmless as all of those. I like the grass, I like the warm dry air, I like the huge out-of-town scoreboard in right field, and I like the immediacy and doggedness with which they report pitch speed and type of pitch on the left field wall. I especially like the good-looking laid-back fans who show a lot of skin because it’s so warm in Southern California–it was a fine place to kick off the 2000 Erotic Love And Baseball Stadium West Coast Swing (which was, alas, completely devoid of erotic love). In short, I guess I like San Diego and its ballpark.

Only one guy talked to me during the games, teasing me about my Mariners hat. He said, after a highlight video between innings: “Dude! [Okay, maybe he didn’t say dude.] There weren’t any Mariners in those great plays.” I said “Stan Javier was in there. He’s the guy who made that juggling catch at the outfield wall. If you’re going to make fun of me, that’s fine, but you’re going to have to get your facts right.” His response. “Okay. Game on!” I waited for him to challenge me again, but he obviously knew he was in over his head. He never spoke to me again.

Before game one, I committed an absolute atrocity. I was lingering in right field, trying my luck in getting a batting practice ball. The right field pavilion is a good 20-25 feet above the ground, so players cannot hand kids balls (the best technique in getting kids a ball…adults too often muscle kids aside to get thrown balls). Anyway, I’m there waiting when Randy Wolf arcs a ball our way. I settle under it, reach up with my 6’3″ body and freakishly long arms, and I’ll be damned, I caught a real-live major league baseball! I felt good about myself for about three-tenths of a second until I looked behind me and saw the 12-year-old I was standing in front of.

Here’s where my mind started to go haywire. I instantly felt a strong wave of Catholic guilt for stepping in front of him…and this on the day I visited the Mission!…and in my mind, I heard: “you should give the kid the ball…you were far taller and in front of him.” As I was thinking this, a group of bitchy junior high girls standing in front of me, between me and Randy Wolf, girls who don’t even have gloves, said “He was throwing us the ball! Give us the ball! He was throwing us the ball!” Something about the combination of these two factors–the mind saying “give the kid the ball” and the girls saying “give us the ball” led to the worst possible outcome. I gave the girls the ball. I should have either kept the ball (it’s not like I bumped the kid aside or reached over him, I was in front of him all along, and there’s no way Randy had an intended receiver so far away) or else given it to the short kid I inadvertently blocked out. I did neither. And the stupid girls didn’t even thank me. I should have ripped the damn thing back from them. Won’t make that mistake again. But yes…I caught a ball.

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

The Phillies and Padres were both bad teams in 2000, but I saw two good games…

I saw Woody Williams battle Bruce Chen in quite a pitchers’ duel…Woody had a 3-hit shutout until Pat Burrell homered with two out in the 8th.

The 10-9 game was amazing. The Pads took a 9-1 lead through 6 innings…then blew it before winning in the 10th. I don’t have a Padre record book handy (indeed, or at all), but I wonder if that’s the biggest lead they’ve ever blown…or does it count as a blown lead if you win anyway?

John Mabry homered in his first at-bat for the Padres after being traded from Seattle the night before.

Trevor Hoffman took the mound with a 9-7 lead for the 9th…it really is cool when they play “Hell’s Bells” as he comes in…got two outs, then gave up back-to-back homers to Scott Rolen and Burrell to blow the save. The crowd couldn’t believe it. Neither could I.

(Written August 2001. Revised July 2005.)

demolished, national league, new york, new york mets, no longer in use

Shea Stadium

June 30, 2009 Paul 1 Comment

Carl Semencic, from http://www.li.net/~semencic/beetles.htm. Used by permission.

Shea Stadium, Queens, NY

Number of games: 1
First and last game: July 24, 1999 (Mets 2, Cubs 1)

Shea Stadium was destroyed in 2009.

I finished off the 1999 Erotic Love And Baseball Stadium Tour of Boston and New York by taking the #7 train to Flushing Meadow; this, the summer before John Rocker made an ass out of himself and made the #7 the most talked-about subway route in the world. For the record, on the way to and from Shea Stadium I saw none of Rocker’s “queers with AIDS” or “welfare mothers with six kids.” (At least not to my knowledge. I did not take the time to interview my fellow passengers: “Has your HIV become symptomatic?” “How many people do you have to support on your welfare check?”) I also saw no “kids with purple hair”: at least not that I could see underneath their Mets caps. I did hear a few different languages spoken, however, as Rocker found so offensive. So John batted .250 in his assessment of the #7 train, which doesn’t exactly going to get him into the Subway Description Hall of Fame. It did, however, make him look like a complete idiot.

In fact, I had a little bit of a bumpy experience aboard the #7 the middle of Queens. There was construction on my track, so they made everybody get out of the train and switch over to another train. I had to improvise in Queens! But the woman from the Transit Authority was very kind and helpful (in that unemotional New York way) in saying that yes, the train that was going to Main Street/Flushing was also going to Shea Stadium. I even heard her start saying “this way to Shea Stadium” over her bullhorn after I left her. That was my good deed for the folks going to the game–getting the Transit woman to say “Shea Stadium” for them.

If you’re going to attend a baseball game in New York, especially at Shea, be certain to dramatically overeat prior to your arrival at the ballpark. “I’ll just pick up lunch at the ballpark” is a bad idea. The concession stands are overpriced even by New York standards, and the food is quite typical. There are cheap delis and pizzerias near wherever you’re staying. There are corner markets that can sell you food that I bet you can easily sneak in. Do that–don’t eat at the park. At Shea, it won’t be long before loan offices open next to the concession stands so that you can talk to someone about whether you can afford a slice of pizza and a Coke.

The stadium itself is in the middle of the pack of stadiums, I’d say…charming, but not really special. The fans weren’t so choked with anger as their counterparts in the Bronx. I sat next to a family who were enjoying the game and even permitting their kids to root for Sammy Sosa when he was at bat, provided they rooted for the Mets the rest of the time. It was kids’ day, so I got to watch the Mets play wiffle ball with their kids. Its amazing how early you can tell a kid is going to be an athlete, as so many of these kids clearly take after their fathers.

All in all, it was a nice afternoon at a good-looking and, thanks to the #7, easily-accessible ballpark. There’s nothing wrong with this ballpark. Nothing special about it either, except for everything that’s already special about an afternoon watching baseball–and in the end, that’s enough.

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

Sammy Sosa homers. I saw him take the little hop.

Edgardo Alfonzo and Robin Ventura homer. All the runs come on solo homers.

Steve Trachsel pitches very well, but takes the loss to drop to 3-14. Ouch.

american league, demolished, new york, new york yankees, no longer in use

[Old] Yankee Stadium

June 30, 2009 Paul Comment

Photo courtesy of NYCTourist.com. Used by permission.

[Old] Yankee Stadium, Bronx, NY

Number of games: 1
First and last game: July 22, 1999 (Yankees 5, Devil Rays 4)

Old Yankee Stadium was knocked down in 2009 and 2010.

Dad–relax! Yes, I took the subway, but I was with a friend, and I went to a day game. I was never in any kind of physical danger. Well, maybe once, but we’ll get to that later.

The stadium itself isn’t at all beautiful or special in architecture, but I think people’s love of Yankee Stadium (including mine) comes not from what is there but from what has happened there. To me, there’s exactly one thing that ties me to Mantle and Maris and Guidry and, somehow, even to Ruth…Bob Sheppard. The man has this wonderful and timeless voice, and I don’t understand why more people who share his job don’t emulate him. Those long, long pauses between each word can make everything sound so beautiful, majestic, important, historic, even if you know he’s just saying the name of some Tampa Bay Devil Ray you’ve never heard of before and will never hear of again, a guy about to strike out in the second inning of a completely routine game on a chilly, rainy July afternoon, a game between a first-place team and a last-place team. “The center fielder……….number fifty…….Terrell……….Lowery.” And all I can think is…my GOD…it’s Terrell Lowery! How critically important a moment this is! Bob Sheppard makes this happen. Not only does he talk slowly by pausing between each word, he pronounces the name just slowly enough so that he–and everyone listening–can absolutely savor every syllable, every phoneme. This is a man who loves words and loves names to the point where Sports Illustrated once published his all-time favorite and least favorite baseball names to pronounce. (The best: Salome Barojas. He loves the Hispanic names. The worst: Mickey Klutts.)

Other PA announcers don’t have the same style, and would probably be fired if they did. I think this is a terrible shame. Think of the difference between the way “The shortstop…number three…Alex Rodriguez” is pronounced if Alex is on the home team or on the visiting team. I find this difference to be ridiculous and borderline offensive. Is it the PA announcer’s job to tell me when to cheer? I can tolerate organ playing, music, even a little of the infernal rhythmic clapping…but are fans such morons that the PA announcer has to tell us, through vocal inflection, which are the good guys and which are the bad? I’m certainly not. (Incidentally, I feel the same way about scoreboards which say “Noise Now” or “On Your Feet” or other instructional tips for fans. I will make noise when I am moved to make noise…not because The Man is telling me to.)

Bob Sheppard can’t do what he does for too much longer–he has been doing it day in and day out for close to 50 years–and I’ll miss him when he’s gone, because it will mean the cheerleader PA announcer will have won out over his wonderful voice and classy technique, same for home and visitor.

Yankee fans, frankly, scare the hell out of me. This game is in 1999, mind you, so the Yankees are in first place and in a stretch of World Series victories. They never trail Tampa Bay in the game I watch, although it’s a close game. And they are absolutely ruthless to their home team. Andy Pettitte gets it for giving up a couple of runs and a homer, Bernie Williams gets it for a groundout with a runner in scoring position (even though Bernie had homered earlier), others get it for other small sins…the negative energy in the place was amazing.

Oh–about that possible near-death experience…it had been a drizzly afternoon, and my high-school buddy and I were a little chilly and were occasionally getting specked by individual drops of water. Is the rain starting up again? Are we under a wet stadium light? After a few innings, I finally catch it…there’s a ten-or-eleven year old kid up there, about eight rows above us, spraying random people with a water gun. I know how to handle this…I’ve taught sixth grade, so I know what to do with boys who misbehave. I give him my stern teacher glare and say “Knock it off!” Game over, I’m sure. But just as soon as the words are out of my mouth, the instant it’s too late to take them back, I notice that his dad is next to him, egging him on. What the hell’s the deal with that? A dad encouraging his son to spray strangers at a ballgame? Amazing. Good old New York. So as soon as I give the kid a glare, I’m worried that the dad is going to come after me, and there’s gonna be a huge fight, and I’ve never been in a fight, and this dad probably is in one every weekend, and the New Yorkers will side with him, and I’ll be in some hospital in the Bronx, and I won’t make it to my Saturday game at Shea…Well, it didn’t happen. The kid stopped his water gun, at least with me. Score one for the teacher glare.

So, to review–the historic nature of the grass that Gehrig and Ruth and the rest of them ran on is palpable and impressive, and is aided by Bob Sheppard’s voice…I hope he is not replaced with a cheerleader. The teams are usually so good that they’re worth the trip. In short, like New York itself, Yankee Stadium is a wonderful place to visit, and I look forward to visiting again (maybe for a night game…eeek!) but it scares me a little with its negative karma, and I’m glad it’s not my home stadium.

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN HERE:

Bernie Williams and Fred McGriff homer.

Bryan Rekar, who I saw make his first major league start (a win) in Colorado in 1995, gets the loss.

Wade Boggs pinch-hits in what I believe to be his last appearance in Yankee Stadium. He grounds to second.

(Written August 2001. Revised July 2009.)

american league, demolished, indoor ballparks, no longer in use, seattle mariners, washington

Kingdome

June 30, 2009 Paul Comment

kingdome291191

From King County website, www.metrokc.gov/stadium.

Kingdome, Seattle, WA

Number of games: 28
First game: March 31, 1996 (Mariners 3, White Sox 2, 12 innings)
Last game: May 30, 1999 (Devil Rays 15, Mariners 7)

The Kingdome was imploded in March of 2000.

The place was a dump, and in spite of the fact I went to so many games there, and that one might think this might breed some affection, I will never miss it. The day they blew the damn thing up, I remember they interviewed some guy in his 30s wearing a Seahawks jersey. He was close to tears, and they asked him for his opinions about the loss of the Kingdome, and he said it just made him sad, thinking of “watching Jim Zorn take snaps there, watching Dave Kreig take snaps there, watching Griffey, Buhner, Randy…” Wow. This is a man who did not cry at his own wedding (although I’d lay money that he’s never had and never will have said wedding). I tend to be a weepy-sensitive-poet sort, and I tend to be an our-place-in-history lover of sports, but I refuse to mix the two. I mean, every time I went into that place on a gorgeous summer night in the Pacific Northwest, no matter who I was with or how excited I was to see the game, going indoors made me think, just for a split second: “I’m wasting my life.” I don’t think that when I enter an outdoor stadium. Additionally, even as indoor stadiums go, this was disgusting…grey everywhere. In short, the ballpark itself is not worth another word here.

My first game there remains the only Opening Night I’ve ever attended. It was two weeks after I’d moved to Seattle. I had just moved into a scary rooming-house–didn’t yet have any kind of temp work, didn’t yet have a chance to make friends beyond my brother’s friends. Not the best life situation, but I was still optimistic against all odds, though, which is a perfect state of mind for opening night. It was quite an opener, too: a sold-out Kingdome the first game after the amazing ’95 playoffs.

A good balance of family and friends were always on hand to go to the Kingdome with me…I went on my own just twice, once to see David Wells get shelled but still win (final score: 16-10…ugh), and once near the end of the Kingdome’s existence, when I sat right behind Griffey in center field, to watch my last game there, where Jose Canseco and just about everybody else homered off of just about every Mariner reliever. Went with my parents whenever they were in town…Mom’s not a huge fan, but likes “to be with my boys.” Went with my brother and his friends. Did several games every year with David, an exceedingly kind and bookish actor/director and New Yorker who liked to watch the Yankees (but is not a Yankee fan). Celebrated my 29th birthday with about a dozen friends watching Griffey hit a game-winning grand-slam so dramatic and perfect that friend Darcy thought it looked suspicious–she thought the whole game might have been rigged.

DeAnn was a terrible blind date I went to a game with…I hated her name (which wasn’t really DeAnn), hated her lack of intelligence, hated her not-so-hot morals, and still went out with her for as long as I could because I was new in town. Michelle was a major winner who thought it cute when I talked about the infield fly rule. I’ve heard she got married to the guy she dated right after me. I’ve also heard she then got very, very sick…I certainly hope that’s not true, and that she’s out there somewhere and doing well.

***October 2004: I wrote the above, about Michelle, in July of 2001, literally a few days before I got a letter from her reestablishing contact after 4 years apart. She was not married and not dead. In fact, we resumed contact, became friends, started dating again…and I will marry her in July of 2005. Yippee! I am proud to report that she is still a “major winner” and a total babe.

Maria let me take her to a game during her week visiting me in spite of her lack of love of sports. It still comes up every now and then, and I still explain to her that a love of sports and a love of stories are the same thing. “I understand that,” she says–skeptically, I think.

A standout Kingdome baseball date was Kerry. For one thing, Kerry flew all the way from Boston to go to a pair of games with me. She counted down to her visit in criminally cute emails: “In only five weeks you’ll be teaching me how to score.” “Score” puns aside, that ain’t too shabby…what more could a baseball nerd want than to teach a brilliant woman how to mark a scorecard? At one of our games, Kerry began a fixation on then-rookie Mike Sweeney, simply because she liked the sound of the name “Kerry Sweeney.” When she pointed her binoculars at his butt, she liked him even more. So what happens? Sweeney clearly feels the love, and hits his first major-league home run. Kerry’s passion for Sweeney has not waned, and in the five years since, under her good karmic graces, he’s become an all-star. (Mike, if you read this, drop me an email…you clearly owe Kerry at least an autographed baseball.) We laughed a lot, leaning in, very close to each other, joking quietly, especially at the expense of the stupid children next to us who kept repeating everything I yelled, causing me to shout stupider and stupider things to see exactly what I could get them to say. These were wonderful dates. Three years later, I would return the favor of her visit, and she would take me to two games at her home stadium, Fenway Park.

On the whole–some good baseball, a fair share of bad baseball, lots and lots of memories, all good. I live 10 miles from the Kingdome, and I could feel the earth shake when they blew it up. Had a lot of fun there. Glad the place is gone.

BASEBALL STUFF I’VE SEEN THERE:

Favorite player: Randy Johnson. I was a fan since his Montreal days, as I liked the idea of a gangly guy throwing the ball at great velocity and with unpredictable results. I first got to see him in the opening night game, 1996. He was long gone when the new rookie Alex Rodriguez, hitting ninth, drove in the winning run in the bottom of the 12th with his only hit in a 1-for-6 night. About a year and a half later, I saw my favorite game of Randy’s, where he gutted out a 5-4 win over Kansas City when he didn’t seem to have his stuff–still, everyone chanted his name, begging Lou Piniella not to take him out. He struck out 16 that night.

I’ll be talking about seeing Hall-of-Famers like Johnson and Rodriguez and Ken Griffey Jr. years down the line, I guess, saying I saw them play. I saw Griffey hit 3 homers and score 5 runs, driving in 6, on a 4-for-4 night against the Yankees. On the other hand, I twice saw him fail to take a step towards either left or right field on plays where his neighboring outfielder either misjudged a fly or missed making a tough catch against the wall. Only when the ball hit the carpet did Griffey consider running to back up his teammate. Inexcusable, just standing there like that. I’ve had people tell me that a major-league outfielder can’t be expected to run to back up every fly ball of the whole year. My response: yes he can.

All of these pale in comparison to The Greatest Play In Baseball History, which took place at the Kingdome in my presence on April 8, 1997. I was way down the left-field line with my partner-in-crime Rob (with whom I have enjoyed 3 games in two stadiums, plus one spring training) when the Mariners’ bullpen was getting shelled again. This time it was Josias Manzanillo. Now, Josias was sprinting in from the bullpen full-speed before any of us had ever heard of John Rocker. So he comes sprinting in and works himself into trouble: men on second and third, one out. Manny Ramirez is up. Ramirez absolutely crushes a scary screaming line drive up the middle, 100+ miles an hour right off of Manzanillo. Manzanillo falls down with the impact, gets up, and throws the ball home to force Jim Thome out at the plate…then goes back down. Quite an impact…It was only the next day that we learned that Mr. Manzanillo was not wearing a cup. I don’t want to make light of his injury, which was serious–it ultimately cost him a testicle. Look it up in Baseball Weekly from early that season: “Mariner reliever Josias Manzanillo (testicles) is on the DL…” Still, considering how hard a shot he took, and the fact that he wasn’t wearing a cup, it is indeed amazing that he got up and made the play! But wait, there’s more…once it became clear to the Mariners’ infield that Josias wasn’t mortally wounded (the seriousness of the injury wasn’t known for some time), his teammates started teasing him…”Hey, let’s see you sprint off the field now!” The best part of the play: he did.

(Written August 2001. Revised July 2009.)

Lawrence-Dumont Stadium, Wichita, KANSAS

Number of states: 3 States to go: 47 Number of games: 1 First and last game: April 10, 2004 (Arkansas Travelers 10, Wichita Wranglers 0)

Robert F. Kennedy Stadium, Washington DC

First game: August 16, 2006 (Nationals 9, Braves 6) Last game: August 17, 2006 (Braves 5, Nationals 0)

Turner Field, Atlanta, GA

Number of games: 2 First game: April 12, 2005 (Nationals 4, Braves 3) Most recent game: April 13, 2005 (Nationals 11, Braves 4)

Dolphins Stadium, Miami, FL

Number of games: 1 First game: April 9, 2005 (Nationals 3, Marlins 2, 10 innings)

The Ballpark in Arlington, Arlington TX

Number of games: 2 First game: April 12, 2004 (Rangers 7, Angels 6) Most recent game: April 13, 2004 (A’s 10, Rangers 9)

Hiram Bithorn Stadium, San Juan, PR

Number of games: 2 First game: April 14, 2003 (Expos 5, Mets 3) Last game: April 16, 2003 (Braves 3, Expos 2)

Qualcomm Stadium, San Diego, CA

Number of games: 2 First game: July 31, 2000 (Padres 4, Phillies 1) Last game: August 1, 2000 (Padres 10, Phillies 9, 10 innings)

Shea Stadium, Queens, NY

Number of games: 1 First and last game: July 24, 1999 (Mets 2, Cubs 1)

[Old] Yankee Stadium, Bronx, NY

Number of games: 1 First and last game: July 22, 1999 (Yankees 5, Devil Rays 4)

Kingdome, Seattle, WA

Number of games: 28 First game: March 31, 1996 (Mariners 3, White Sox 2, 12 innings) Last game: May 30, 1999 (Devil Rays 15, Mariners 7)

Number of states: 3
States to go: 47
Number of games: 1
First and last game: April 10, 2004 (Arkansas Travelers 10, Wichita Wranglers 0)

First game: August 16, 2006 (Nationals 9, Braves 6)
Last game: August 17, 2006 (Braves 5, Nationals 0)

Number of games: 2
First game: April 12, 2005 (Nationals 4, Braves 3)
Most recent game: April 13, 2005 (Nationals 11, Braves 4)

Number of games: 1
First game: April 9, 2005 (Nationals 3, Marlins 2, 10 innings)

Number of games: 2
First game: April 12, 2004 (Rangers 7, Angels 6)
Most recent game: April 13, 2004 (A’s 10, Rangers 9)

Number of games: 2
First game: April 14, 2003 (Expos 5, Mets 3)
Last game: April 16, 2003 (Braves 3, Expos 2)

Number of games: 2
First game: July 31, 2000 (Padres 4, Phillies 1)
Last game: August 1, 2000 (Padres 10, Phillies 9, 10 innings)

Number of games: 1
First and last game: July 24, 1999 (Mets 2, Cubs 1)

Number of games: 1
First and last game: July 22, 1999 (Yankees 5, Devil Rays 4)

Number of games: 28
First game: March 31, 1996 (Mariners 3, White Sox 2, 12 innings)
Last game: May 30, 1999 (Devil Rays 15, Mariners 7)