I see great things in baseball. It’s our game–the American game. It will take our people out-of-doors, fill them with oxygen… Tend to relieve us from being a nervous, dyspeptic set. ~Walt Whitman
I love that quote. It perfectly explains why – and how – I love baseball.
No self-respecting baseball fan would consider me a fan. I don’t go to games or watch baseball on TV. I don’t keep track during the season, rarely know the standings, and I don’t even always watch the World Series. (A British friend recently pointed out to me how funny the term “World Series” is considering it is played in the U.S. by U.S. teams. He didn’t say “funny” actually, but that’s a whole other post.) My point is this. I’m not a major league baseball fan.
But I LOVE minor league baseball.
On Memorial Day, we took my mom to see the San Jose Giants play, a belated Mother’s Day outing. (My mom is one of those self-respecting baseball fans who is probably wondering how I’m going to pull off a post about the game. She’s doing the living equivalent of turning in her grave right now. Assuming she’s still reading.)
Major league baseball is, admittedly, the game played at its highest level, a stunning display of athleticism and sheer poetry. With a 162-game season that lasts nearly half a year and ends in something called the World Series, with games that stretch themselves out over nine innings and sometimes more, for Americans, there is something undeniably epic about baseball.
But major league baseball is big business too, so along with the beauty of the game itself, you get the commercialism, the over-sized egos, the scandals on and off the field, the drugs, the outrageous ticket prices, the terrible and not-quite-affordable seats.
And here is where minor league baseball comes in…
On Memorial Day, the sun was shining. It was warm, but not too hot. We sat on benches (with backs) along the first base line, close enough to see the faces of the players. These are the cheap seats. A San Jose police officer played taps in honor of America’s veterans. A young girl belted the national anthem (only slightly off-key). A little birthday boy shouted out the magic words over the loud-speaker. “Plaaaay Ball!” he said, and the game was on.
During that first inning, the beer batter arrived. Every home game, one player from the opposing team is designated the beer batter. If he strikes out, beers are half price for the remainder of the inning. When the beer batter steps up to the plate, the speakers blare “Roll Out the Barrel,” and the crowd goes wild.
During the second inning, four kids “Danced for Dinner.” The crowd cheered for the winning dancers (a couple of adorable break dancers who won dinner at a local restaurant). In the third inning, everyone got on their feet to do the YMCA dance. Throughout the game, foul balls sailed out of the park to the piped-in sound of whistles and breaking glass.
During the fourth inning, two men from the stands played Black Jack Challenge with the mascot, and in the fifth inning, two guys played Bungee Ring Toss, hooked at the waist, each of them trying to drop rings on poles set at opposite ends of the third base line.
The beer batter came and went several times (never once striking out, but still fun to watch). In the sixth inning, giant wooden horses (and a zebra!) raced, their heads just visible over the center field wall. Red won, and if you had a red dot on your program, so did you. In the seventh inning, we stretched and sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”
Did I mention there was baseball? Because there was. Baseball played by guys who don’t get paid the big bucks, guys that stick around to sign bats and gloves after the game, guys who, in the eighth inning throw baseballs in an attempt to smash the headlights on a truck kept at the stadium for that purpose.
We were behind 5-1 at the bottom of the ninth. On the big screen they played a montage of movies in which heroes told teams, soldiers, countries that they’d fight to the end of this lost cause. “Never surrender, never give up!” And we rallied. It was exciting. The crowd clapped and stomped and chanted. “Let’s go Giants!”
We didn’t win. It was too little too late. But it was also magic in the way that baseball can be. I sat with my family and a few hundred other people in the “out-of-doors.” We filled with oxygen (and beer and peanuts) and we were, for a few sweet hours, “relieved from being a nervous, dyspeptic set.”
Well, you convinced me! I have never been to a baseball game whether major league or minor. But I did watch a Yankee game on television with some friends this year, though not really the type to sit and watch sports.
But all the things that happened at your game sounded like great fun!
Oxygen, beer, peanuts, and camaraderie is perfect way to spend a moment of life. :)
This is your best post — ever.
Yes! Great fun can be had at minor league games too. We have the Treshers (Phillies AAA) and it’s cheap to go, lots of fun, and my buddy is the mascot.
The Rays are still the #1 team in the majors, but there’s a black cloud in the form of “we need a new stadium” which I don’t want to get into at the moment. The current stadium is 20 years old…a DOME! Always 72 degrees and never a rain out.
Gimme some $10 peanuts and a few $8 beers….
Marisa, It is such fun. Silly and still baseball-beautiful, if slightly more flawed than the majors. You’re absolutely right about the perfect way to spend a moment.
Karen, You’re sucker for Walt Whitman, aren’t you? ;-)
Rob, I forgot to mention how much cheaper beer and peanuts are at minor league games. (Especially when the beer batter strikes out!)
Judy, I’m a sucker for Walt Whitman and good, heartfelt writing. You actually reveal a lot about yourself in this post.
This sounds like a terrific way to spend an afternoon, J. Thanks for sharing.
It triggered a memory that led me to Wikipedia, only to find that my memory was wrong! When I was ten and starting fifth grade, I remembered winning a quarter from a classmate betting on the Minnesota Twins to win the World Series. Guess what? They didn’t according to Wikipedia. I must have bet on a specific game because they did win and the boy never paid me the quarter. Or my memory is totally false and I didn’t pay him! ;-P
Ah, baseball and Whitman … two of my favorite things in life.
Growing up an only child, I learned to love baseball at a very young age. I remember many wonderful trips to watch the Kansas City Royals, in the days when players stayed with teams for years, often their entire careers. We cheered for Frank White, George Brett, Willie Wilson, Hal MacRae, Dan Quisenberry, and Paul Splittorff. I didn’t care whether we sat in the stands behind home plate or way out in right field with the other general admission crazies. All that mattered was the game. To me, Kauffman stadium was a palace. On the hottest of days, I’d look out at the fountains of water cascading behind the right field fence and dream of jumping in. I’d relish my ballpark hotdog (mustard only, of course) and cheer for the players I’d learned to know and love. I still remember waiting in line for hours to see George Brett play his final game.
Throughout junior high and high school, summers were synonymous with baseball. My girlfriends and I would spend our evenings out at the ball field cheering on our boyfriends, friend-friends, and even brothers. I met my first love on a hot summer night at the ball field. I still remember watching him play short stop (my favorite position then and now) and thinking how unbelievably cute he looked in those white pants and ball cap and how I knew I’d just die right there on the spot if I didn’t somehow meet him. Needless to say, I didn’t die. Instead, I learned to keep score from his mom, discovered my best friend in his sister, and adored his twin brothers as if they were my own. Baseball gifted me a second family, and I was lost in its magic forever.
Back then, I could relay the standings and quote statistics with the best of them. After all, I lived and breathed baseball all summer and fall. When considering a profession, I realized teaching would provide me summers off, which would help me realize my dream of seeing a game in every major league ball club stadium during one long summer. (This dream remains on my “bucket list” to this day, though I did not, in fact, become a teacher.) When Field of Dreams hit the theaters, I went week after week, even sneaking a tape recorder in to record some of my favorite scenes. Bull Durham was another movie miracle, particularly as it married baseball and Whitman, two of my most cherished passions in life. (Both films remain among my favorites to this day, and I can trade quotes and quips at will.)
Over the years, the strikes, egos, commercialism, and constant player shuffling of major league baseball have tarnished much of its charm for me, as it seems to have done for you, Judy. But I, as you, still see the magic of the game when I watch it played by kids, college players, and even minor leaguers. At those times, I find myself transported back to the days when baseball teams were like families. Players played together for years, learning each others strengths and weaknesses, and working to bring out the best in each other, purely for the love of the game. Fans could purchase a t-shirt or hat without worrying if their favorite player would be back on the field wearing the same team jersey after the off-season. And young girls could glance out at the ball field and discover love, laughter, and lifelong friendships.
So, yes, take me out to the ball game, and let me lose myself in its magic.
I’ve been to a game like that in Ottawa, Ontario on my daughter’s grade 8 class trip. There was no car to break glass & no beer batter but there were the kids trying get the balls & the players watching out for those kids. It was fun.
ps Last night at the grad I sat beside a man checking his watch due to a game he didn’t want to miss. I don’t follow sports so I said, “who’s playing?” My family friend with me & this man both laughed. Apparently, it is a final game. Silly me. :) Hope everyone enjoyed it.
Dani, I could do a whole post on my faulty memories! Yours made me laugh.
Amy, Wow! Your comment gave me chills, bunches of times! Of course, I LOVE Bull Durham, as it is a celebration of (among other things) minor league ball. I wasn’t sure I could pull of this post but I just focused. And breathed through my eyelids. ;-)
Sue (alias Jack!), That’s a great image… kids out trying to catch the foul balls! They might be doing that for the Giants too, but the sound effects crack me up.
Many of my fondest memories were going to Major and Minor league games. First with my father and later with my sons. Thanks for the reminder that it is time to catch another grand time at the ol’ ball game.
Never was a baseball fan myself, let alone attend a game, minor or major. But this sounds like it was one heck of a time. I guess there’s more to this sport than I thought. Looks like I should check out a baseball game some time this summer. Thanks for the share, J!
I like baseball, too! Both the Majors and Minors! The Majors I watch on TV, the Minors I can actually attend! Probably my favorite part is getting ice cream in the little baseball helmets, lol. So fun! Baseball is summer in action. :)
Great post!
I love baseball. I love the energy from the crowd, the feel of a warn-in glove, the sound the ball makes when it comes in contact of the bat, the smell of freshly cut turf. All of it. Grew up enjoying it as a kid, and still love it as a grown-up. And I actually worked for a major league AND minor league team. Didn’t pay diddly, but I wouldn’t trade the experience for anything in the world. They were both awesome, in their own ways.
I love this post J! I loved minor league ball when I was younger, would go to games and have much the same experience you had (minus the beer batter – frakking great idea btw), and some of the other traditions at your park, but I did love the accessibility of the game – you could see everyone – the players, the folks in the stands. MLB is not accessible in this way it is more a game of $ and statistics – the stats I love, but a totally different game. Watching minor league ball is a community experience, one I think you captured very very well. I love baseball, but I think everyone needs to go to a game like the one you described, at least once a season – to remind us what it used to be, to be connected again to the game we love. Thanks J! xo
Renee, You are very welcome!
Eman, Ha! I think when an outfield play works perfectly, there’s really nothing like it in sports. Poetry in motion for sure. But it’s at the minor league games, with all the shenanigans and homespun sort of silliness that I really FEEL baseball. You should check out a minor league game. (Or rent Bull Durham!)
Laura, “Summer in action.” That’s great! And thank you!
Amy, Really? What a cool thing to say you did. I’d want to be bat boy, I think.
Caroline, Well said. Same price as a movie and you get to be outside.
I really like this post — it made me feel happy and nostalgic and…well, happy.
Here’s my baseball memories in a nutshell. My grandfather lived within walking distance to the local field. He sat in the same spot every game and never missed a game. During the summers, I would walk down there with him and watch the games. It was awesome because everyone knew him and would come up to him and talk — I felt so proud.
There is a plaque on the bleachers with his name on it still — he passed away about 9 years ago at 102!
Thank you for sharing your day.
Becky, You’re welcome! Thank you for sharing your memory. It’s lovely.
Wow Becky now that is cool… do you go sit on it?
Judy.. like you your mom is totally cool.
My baseball memory… I’m one of 8 we had our own team…life was baseball all summer..it was about the game… the fun…and everyone enjoying and getting a turn.
thanks for the taking us to the game