"GREEN CATHEDRALS" was the aptly-named publication put out
some years back by the Society for American Baseball Research
(SABR). It was a loving homage, in verse and in picture, to many of the
great old ballyards of yesteryear, when the viewing of a baseball game, at
least for some, was akin to a religious experience; the ballpark serving as
a grass-laden outdoor house of worship. Today, thanks to the retro
movement in stadium construction--a wonderful blend of old-time
architectural design accentuated with the amenities of modern
technology--the contemporary fan, much like his gray-flannel forefathers,
may, as part of his daily summer ritual, once again step on sacred ground
when attending services at the altar of our National Pastime.
Of course, nostalgia or not, if there's a buck to be made, you can count
the Lords of Baseball in, or haven't you seen what they're charging for
bottled water lately? (At those prices, you'd think it was 2,000-year-old
holy water.) Another scheme that pulls in serious revenue is cross-country
stadium tours, whereby fans sign up for package deals of varying lengths
to see America's great ballparks, sort of like buying from a scalper en
masse, only using a credit card instead of cash. (Here's hoping your limit
has been extended recently; you'll need the extra cushion for the souvenirs
alone.) Fortunately, or unfortunately (it's hard to decide which), I no
longer have the time or money (or, for that matter, the inclination) for such
gouging pleasures.
What I do have, however, is a boatload of memories--vague though some
of them may be--from my various youthful jaunts to different ballparks
around the country. Looking back, I can't help but wonder just exactly
when the sweet bird of youth traded in its wings and wanderlust for an
easy chair and a TV remote. But enough of that. It's time to play ball--for,
as the line from the movie "Field of Dreams" ordains, they built it, and I
did come.
Wrigley Field, Chicago, Ill.: It's only right that the nation's best city should
have the country's best ballpark. Wrigley's only glitch was the installation
of lights in the late 1980s, thus ending over a century of National League
day baseball in Chicago. My first visit to this shrine of stadium splendor
was in July, 1986. It was brutally hot and the wind was blowing out; so I
was counting on seeing one of those classic Wrigley slugfests. I headed
straight for a spot among the Bleacher Bums in right; took off my shirt to
work on my tan (luckily for onlookers, that was 80 pounds ago); and
watched my Giants lose to the Cubbies, 1-0. Subsequent visits--and
modesty--have found me fully clothed and seated in the grandstand's main
concourse, but the ambiance has been no less appealing. This Northside
ballyard, which only holds 38,000-plus patrons, is indeed properly
nicknamed, "The Friendly Confines." It's no wonder former Cubs
Hall-of-Famer Ernie Banks couldn't resist saying, "Let's play two!" every
time he took the field.
Comiskey Park, Chicago, Ill.: Incredibly, despite the preservation of
historic buildings movement that has gripped this country the last 20 years
or so, Comiskey Park was demolished a decade ago, despite its status at
the time as the oldest major league park in existence. Located on the
seedy Southside of town, Comiskey had all the charms and feel of a
ballpark built in the early 20th century. Although I only witnessed a couple
of White Sox games there, not a season goes by when I don't mourn its
loss.
Fenway Park, Boston, Mass.: Until I finally visited Wrigley, there was no
doubt in my mind that Fenway had to be the greatest park ever built. The
Fens' Bleacher Creatures, like Chitown's Bums, are legendary--and loud!
Of course, there are no bleachers in left, for there looms the famous
Green Monster, towering above Beantown's hallowed diamond. This
season, Bosox management--to rave reviews--has added seats atop the
37-foot-high Monster. Another tourist attraction is born.
I was 16 the first time I saw a game there. Spindly southpaw Roger
Moret tossed a one-hitter at the Chisox, Dick Allen's infield single to short
being the only blemish. While I've been blessed to have covered the
World Series (1986) and All-Star Game (1999) at Fenway, it is during its
everyday existence that this park's true character becomes evident. Yes,
the seats aren't nearly wide enough; there are blind spots aplenty; the lines
to the bathroom defy description; and at times it seems as if you're
wedged into an overcrowded sardine can, but you always feel as if you're
right on top of the action. This overwhelming sense of closeness to the
players is quite surreal.
Milwaukee County Stadium, Milwaukee, Wis.: Major League home to
both the Braves (1953-65) and Brewers (1970-2001), as well as host to
three World Series (1957, 1958, and 1982) before being replaced by
Miller Park, this wood, brick, and cement haven was, to use a hockey
term, a great old barn. The structural details, at least in my mind's eye, are
a bit fuzzy, but the "feel" of the place remains vivid--that of a 1950s film
noir movie.
Candlestick Park, San Francisco, Calif.: "The Stick," stuck out on
Candlestick Point, held an eternal fascination for me as a kid. Besides it
being home to my favorite team, it played host to my favorite kind of
weather: cold and windy. The story goes that when then-Giants owner
Horace Stoneham was searching for a stadium site after moving his club
from New York to join the Dodgers on the West Coast, the Frisco city
fathers took him for a morning visit to the scenic--and serene--Point,
convincing him he'd found the perfect spot for his still-to-be-built ballpark.
Little did Stoneham know that come afternoon, the area becomes a brisk
and chilly wind tunnel, a miscalculation for which players and fans would
pay for the next 30 years. The sight of bundled-up patrons, shivering
players, and hot dog wrappers swirling across the infield and outfield
grass became the enduring images of life at Candlestick Park. Giants'
pitcher Stu Miller once was called for a balk during an All-Star Game
there, as he was blown off the mound while in the middle of his windup.
One year, the team even put together a marketing campaign in which any
fan who stayed until the end of the game received a "Croix de
Candlestick" pin, emblazoned with the phrase, "Veni-Vidi-Vixi" ("I came.
I saw. I survived."). Above those words was a snow-capped SF logo.
My 1981 and 1985 trips to Candlestick, however, produced pleasantly
cool evenings, and I wondered what all the "freezing" fuss was about. The
Stick has since been replaced by Pac Bell Park, considered by many to
be the crown jewel of the newly constructed retro stadiums. I haven't
gotten there yet, but I have been to games in Washington, D.C.,
Pittsburgh, St. Louis, and Baltimore. More about those venues, and
others, in the next issue.
Wayne M. Barrett is Publisher and Editor-in-Chief of USA Today.
COPYRIGHT 2003 Society for the Advancement of Educationg
Green Cathedrals revisited - Sports Scene
USA Today (magazine), July, 2003
by Wayne M. Barrett
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