One of the banes of modern baseball--and of all present-day sports, for
that matter--is the insistence by those in charge of the venue where a game
is taking place to do everything possible to distract the fail from what is
happening on the field. This is especially true of the spate of new ballparks
that have sprung up all across the major league map.
While marvels of architectural accomplishment, what with the perfect
melding of old-time ballyard coziness and modern-day structural design,
these present-day green cathedrals nevertheless have a common flaw.
True, they boast picture-perfect sightlines; large, comfortable seats; and an
overwhelming sense that you are right on top of the action. Yet, it seems
as if watching a baseball game is the last thing they want you to do. Just
look at the ... uh ... amenities in the current breed of jazzed up stadiums:
personal internet access; the ability to play video games at one's seat;
individual headphones; carnival-like attractions (or should I say
distractions) inside the concourse; television sets tuned to everything but
the game one is attending; blaring rock music; ear-splitting commercials
overwhelming patrons from giant, multi-story-high screens. The list goes
on and on.
The older ballparks, too, at least what's left of them, have gone the same
route when renovating. Luckily, most of my stadium roadtrips were
completed long enough ago that many of these "modern" touches did not
spoil the inherent joy that comes with simply watching a ballgame for its
own sake. Last issue, we recounted visits to Chicago's Wrigley Field and
Comiskey Park, Boston's Fenway Park, Milwaukee's County Stadium,
and San Francisco's Candlestick Park. This issue, however, will take us to:
Busch Memorial Stadium, St. Louis, Mo.: I covered my first major league
game here--Opening Day, 1980. The defending world champion
Pittsburgh Pirates were in town, and I was a nervous wreck interviewing
such stars as Willie Stargell, Dave Parker, and Bill Madlock. Busch is one
of the round, cookie-cutter stadiums that were built during the 1960s and
'70s in Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, New York, San Francisco,
Montreal, et al. The St. Louis edition is kind of cool, though, in that the
field is sunk below street level. A college buddy worked as an usher there,
and, on more than one occasion, "snuck" me into games. One day, as we
were leaving via the tunnels and walkways in the bowels of the stadium, he
directed me through a door that I thought led to the street. Instead, I found
myself on the warning track next to the right field foul pole. I froze, and the
groundskeepers performing their post-game chores on the infield spotted
me. They began yelling and moving toward me. I tried to escape, but my
friend held the door shut, just long enough to make me sweat before I
finally bolted the place and ran all the way to the car parked several
blocks away.
Veteran's Stadium, Philadelphia, Pa.: I've always had a soft spot for the
Phillies, despite their venomous fans. It could be because the franchise
formed the same year (1883) as my favorite team (Giants), or perhaps it's
because I understand the anger of those from the
City-Of-Not-So-Brotherly Love. It can't be easy rooting for a club that
has captured merely one world's championship in 100 years. (Heck, the
Giants haven't won the World Series during my lifetime.) Although it
technically belongs to that dreaded and dreary group of oversized
concrete behemoths cited earlier, I love the Vet. As to why, I really can't
say for sure. I only know there's this sort of vibe, karma if you will, that
makes me feel at ease there, at one with the game. Moreover, it always
will hold a special place in my heart because that's where I saw my first
in-person World Series game, the 1983 Game 5 clincher for the Baltimore
Orioles. As a sidenote, that may have been the last World Series day
game in history.
RFK Stadium, Washington, D.C.: A family vacation happened to find us in
D.C. in April, 1966, so my father decided to take in the Washington
Senators" season opener. Pres. Lyndon Johnson was scheduled to throw
out the first pitch, but instead of LBJ, we had to settle for Vice Pres.
Hubert Humphrey. I remember it was the first time I ever sat in the
bleachers, I also recall the Seas' Frank Howard hitting a home run as well
as my dad raking every opportunity to point out the Secret Service men,
who seemed to be everywhere.
Robert F. Kennedy Stadium still surfaces in the news from time to time as
the prospective temporary home of another baseball club. Don't count on
it. Washington already has lost two franchises, as the original Senators
moved to Minnesota to become the Twins and the expansion Senators
moved to Texas to become the Rangers. Still, the politicians are fond of
complaining about how a game that is billed as the National Pastime
should have a team in the nation's capital. Of course, even crooked
politicians couldn't afford what owners charge for baseball tickets today.
Oh, that's right, what was I thinking? When did a politician, honest or
otherwise, ever pay for a ticket to anything?
Olympic Stadium, Montreal, Quebec, Canada: I'm taking poetic license to
include this monstrosity in a ballpark column since I never actually saw a
baseball game here. However, considering the Expos are essentially
bankrupt and have been operated (and funded) by Major League Baseball
the last two seasons, the chance to opine about this financial failure may
not come again. I've made two trips to the Big O. My first, in August,
1977, occurred with the Expos out of town, so I ventured forth to see a
Montreal Alouettes Canadian Football League game instead. I recall being
startled by the looming image of the stadium in the gathering dusk. If a
gigantic flying saucer from outer space ever were to land on Earth, this is
what it would look like. Once inside, I was sure to note the painted
stripes--serving as extended foul poles--all the way to the top of the
stadium down the left and right field lines. They were placed there after
New York Mets slugger Dave Kingman hit his famous "foul" home run--a
spot way out in left where the blast bounced off file concrete facing in Fair
territory, but was ruled foul by the umpires.
My second encounter with Olympic Stadium, 12 years later, was a strange
experience I shared with my then-girlfriend (now wife) as she
accompanied me north of the border when I was covering the 1989
Stanley Cup finals. An off-day from hockey found us sightseeing at, among
other places, the Olympic Village, the construction of which had nearly
bankrupted the city 13 years earlier. It was one of the weirdest, eeriest
sensations of my life. Although a beautiful, warm, sun-filled spring day, the
area was a ghost town. We walked all around the former Olympic site
totally alone. We looked at each other. Is it possible we're the only ones
here,? we wondered. In retrospect, now I know how the Expos feel. No
wonder they're broke.
Wayne M. Barrett is Publisher and Editor-in-Chief of USA Today.
COPYRIGHT 2003 Society for the Advancement of Educationg
Green Cathedrals II - Sports Scene
USA Today (Magazine), Sept, 2003
by Wayne M. Barrett
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