Take me out to the ball game

For years I've been a fringe baseball fan.  I love going to the Bees games and taking in all of the sights, smells and sounds of a summer evening game.  The crack of a bat, the chatter of the crowd, the popcorn, peanuts,  the drunken stupor of the guy next to you.  I love all of it.  I love the tradition of the 7th inning stretch and signing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game."  I really enjoy walking into a ball park and feeling like you are stepping into tradition and history.  It's not something you get with football or basketball on any level.  But baseball oozes such feelings on almost every level.  I don't mean the hyper competitive little league where parents are yelling at the umps or even heckling the other 10 year old kids, which is a major problem in all sports.  I really mean the old ball fields that feel like you could watch your dad holding his dad's hand walking into park pointing at the sights and explaining the game to his boy.  Baseball has that feeling, for good and bad, of always looking into it's history.  Even the new parks, with all the entertainment options and new architecture, feel nostalgic.  Mostly anyway, I haven't been to the Disney park that house the Los Angeles of Anaheim of California in the southern part of the state below Hollywood but not quite to Chino Angels, but I hear even with all the extra stuff they have, it's a great field. 

I recently flew over Chicago and it made me smile to see all this foriegn land where large buildings were seemingly sticking up out of the earth like the crystals in Superman's Fortress of Solitude, and dotting the landscape were the beautiful diamond shapes that told me there were children here who were laughing  and having a good time with their teammates who would become life long friends. 

Baseball means history changing events.  This week a movie is hitting the theaters about a few men who changed the history of sports and hopefully the history of mankind.  42 is the story of Jackie Robinson and Brooklyn Dodgers.  For those of you with no historical sense of greatness, it was April 15th 1947 and Jackie Robinson was the first man to break the color barrier in all professional sports.  This was more than 20 years before the Titans in Virginia.  If you get nothing out of this Baseball love fest of mine, get this: Jackie Robinson is a national hero and you should see this movie for it's historical significance alone.  Or at least read as much as you can on it. 
 
I say fringe though because as a Mariners fan it's hard to watch sometimes. What I mean is that I walked into a sports apparel store wearing a Mariners cap and a Seahawks shirt and a random man there asked if I was married and after my positive response, he said "Your wife must really love you." I said "Thanks, but why do you say that?" "Because she knows you are loyal." The Mariners have dashed my hopes more often than Michael Jordan. Not as bad mind you, but more often.


In fact, I don't like the structure of the league very much at all. Don't get me wrong, I love the dynamic between the NL and AL with the DH. But what I really don't like is the lack of disparity among the league. Honestly, how bad is Kansas City? And did you know that the Pittsburgh Pirates are in fact a Major League team? (sorry David, I had to mention it). Miami and Tampa Bay both have Major League teams, though the people there don't yet realize it. This league is not set up as a league to succeed. It's succeeds despite that fact. It is truly set up for the rich to get richer and the poor to suffer longer. The Yankees, the Red Sox, the Dodgers now, are set up to buy their way into the World Series and more often than not, it works. In a perfect world, the league would work together to make sure that the playing field was level. I love the theory of Money Ball and how it works to not ever over pay for a statistic, but also not fall in love with a "5 tool" guy who has never won. All in all, I love the game but not really the league.


Now I've been going to Jazz games my whole life and I love them.  I've sat everywhere from the 7th row all the up to the last row and loved every second of all of it.  I love the modern feeling of the arena.  I also have been going to college football games for as long as I can remember and I've been to quite a few stadiums and even some old ones.  They are great fun places to be and watch football, but none of them offer that same feeling of ease and nostalgia that Spring Mobile ball park gives.  It's not the park either, it's baseball.  Why do you think three quarters of all the good sports movies are about baseball?  It's because of the feelings that it spurs in all of us with a heart. 

Recently I had the opportunity to go and watch the Mariners play the White Sox in Chicago.  I took the hour long train ride from my hotel to U.S. Cellular field.  I walked in by myself, an outsider in an unknown land.  I had even forgotten my hat at home and because of my Scandinavian heritage, I had to buy the hat of the enemy (not my first White Sox hat though).  The clouds were grey and ominous.  I sat in my seat as to not draw attention to myself and curled up to keep myself warm.  The first pitch was thrown by a 9 year old girl who was representing the girl scouts and she tossed that sucker dead on over the plate into the catchers mitt.  The crowd really cheered for first time.  The wind settled down a bit and the White Sox took the field to the first rays of sun I'd seen all day.  My shoulders relaxed, my senses opened up to the baseball atmosphere that surrounded me.  An old man was sitting next to me and we started to chat while we watched the game.  He grew up on the north side of Chicago.  Three up, three down for the Mariners.  He was an usher for the Blackhawks and Cubs while earning his doctorate.  He had worked at all the major sporting arena's in Chicago.  This man was a treasure trove of information.  Felix Hernandez started blowing batters away as I quietly cheered to myself.  I asked him about Wrigley field and he told me it felt like home to him and he hoped the don't lose the nostalgia when they remodel.  Felix retired the side in order. We talked of baseball fields across the country and his love of the great game.  Top of the 2nd, Raul Ibanez is on second when Jeff Keppinger reaches on a fielding error (worst stat in all of sports)  Mariner's up 1-0.  The guys behind us who are season ticket holders begin talking to us about the man's incredible history and start picking his brain just as I was.  Bottom of the forth the Sox finally get a hit off King Felix.  He talks about the legacy of a place like Wrigley Field or Fenway Park and how places like these should be held in great honor.  Also of how architects shouldn't be allowed to touch a baseball field unless they know baseball.  He references my now known teams foul pole debacle.  When Safeco Field was built, the architect put the poles in foul territory, in contrast to the rest of the world where they are actually in fair territory.  Bottom of the fifth, White Sox Hector Gimenez sac fly to center allows Conor Gillaspie to score.  1-1.  A breeze blows in and it becomes a little chilly again.  We start talking of all the cold weather games we'd been involved with.  Me talking about Utah vs BYU, Boise State at BYU etc. and the guys behind us talk about a Blackhawks game they went to at Soldier Field.  The old man decides to let us feel special for only a moment before telling us of a Notre Dame game he ushered for where the bleachers had iced over the night before and they couldn't chip it off fast enough because of the snow still falling.  It still sold out and the Irish won.  Bottom of the sixth Alex Rios hits a two run shot shot out of left field.  White Sox 3-1.  The older gentleman decides to leave us at this point to find some nachos in a baseball cap.  Literally $12 of food over flowing from a plastic White Sox helmet.  Awesome.  The other guys and I continue to talk sports, and Chicago.  They are both in the 200 club.  Which means they've been to over 200 White Sox games.  They tell of places to go and see in Chicago.  I have to go see the bean.  During the 7th inning stretch all the fans, and I do mean all the fans stand and sing at the top of their lungs.  "Root, root root for the WHITE SOX!!"  By the way, shame on you Bees fans.  I know you are one of the best selling tickets in the AAA, but small traditions like this get more mocked than anything sometime.  Bottom of the 7th, sac fly allows Conor Gillaspie to score again.  White Sox 4-1.  I have to go check out the bar on the 96th floor of the Hancock building.  It over looks the whole city and gives a view of the most amazing sunset you'll ever see. They had decided they'd seen enough of the 17th row on the 3rd base line.  We moved down to three empty seats on the sixth row, right behind the dugout.  Top of the 8th with a man on and no outs, Michael Saunders homers over the left field wall.  4-3 White Sox.  We start talking Bulls and how I laughed while watching the Nets and Bulls two nights prior because with Boozer screaming "AND ONE!!" and Deron scowling at everyone and shooting threes whenever he wants to, I felt like I was watching a Jazz scrimmage form 4 years ago.  Top of the 9th, two outs and a man on first, White Sox still leading by 1 the crowd gets up on their feet and starts cheering on their young closer Addison Reed.  He blows by the batter with his first two pitches making it an 0-2 count.  The third pitch goes a wee awry and the count gets up to 1-2.  The next pitch was fouled back into the crowd.  Still 1-2.  96 MPH fastball right down the gullet leaves the Mariners waving goodbye.  I say goodbye to my new comrades, they console my loss while cheering their win.  I walk up the stairs and leave the park.  As I do so, the clouds start coming back out and cover the sun and the wind picks up a little bit more.  By the time my train ride was over, the rain had begun to pour down.  Nothing could ruin this perfect day for me.