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USA Today (magazine), July, 2003
by Wayne M. Barrett
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.
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