The Ball Parks: A love affair with baseball Part 1
I asked some friends of mine, all baseball fans, to write about their love affair with the game and the ballparks they frequent. Here is Part 1.
Fenway Park, Boston, Massachusetts by Martin Lacdao
I like Fenway Park because the Red Sox play there. Seriously, I love the Red Sox and, if they played in a little league field, I'd still love that field. But, even if the Sox never played there, Fenway Park is special. Aside from Wrigley Field, it's just about the only ballpark that's still in its original shape. It belongs in another era. You can see it in the narrow wooden seats, the manual scoreboard and in the architecture with exposed bricks and green pillars that sometimes block your view. It's a small ballpark and you're never too far from the action. I also like the quirkiness of its layout. It was built to fit into an oddly shaped city block so the outfield walls and dimensions are off. They don't follow the usual curve that you see in other ballparks. Where else can you have a Green Monster left field wall at around 37 feet, a triangle in center field or a right field wall that continues way past the foul pole? Fenway is pretty. It's not faux-retro. It's just old -- but very well kept. If you enter the seating bowl before the game on a nice sunny day, the first thing that hits you is that it looks so green. There's the green of the grass then that darker green of the walls. You have to see it to truly appreciate it. Fenway Park is located right in the city of Boston. It's part of a neighborhood and there are people who actually live and go to school in the surrounding buildings. I see into Fenway Park from where I work. On game days, I literally just walk to it. It blends into the neighborhood and, if you're on Brookline Avenue and are not paying attention, you could walk right by the park. I was at the Sox-Brewers game last Saturday and an out of town visitor, upon entering the gate, kissed a pillar. I've never seen that sort of reverence for a park. On my own first visit to the park, I looked around and the look of the place reminded me of a ballpark closer to home -- Rizal Memorial Baseball Stadium.
Martin Lacdao was an editor for the Guidon while in Ateneo. He currently teaches at Boston University.
The first time I stepped onto AT&T Park was on a warm September day in 2000. Back then, it was called Pac Bell Park and it had just opened 5 months before. It was the state-of-the-art, brand new downtown San Francisco ballpark and it was easily the pride of San Francisco. It had this throwback, old school ballpark feel with the brick walls and the coolest sights, including the giant Coke bottle over the left field bleachers. Beyond the right field wall was McCovey cove and seeing homeruns blasted into the water is such a sight to see!
That game in September 2000 was not really that memorable except for the fact that our very own President Erap was seated on the box seats! No wonder there was a motorcade right before the game. I had no idea he would be there!
It took me four years before I could ever come back to Pac Bell Park as I spent that time playing for the Ateneo baseball team in the UAAP. When I returned in April of 2004, it had already been renamed to SBC Park. The Giants at the time were perennial contenders, mainly due to the Barry Bonds resurgence. Seats were filled as the San Francisco fans were spoiled with two years of postseason runs including a World Series appearance in 2002.
While nothing was really special about 2004 except that Barry continued to tear up National League pitching, the most special and most memorable experience I had came in 2007 when I had a chance to see HISTORY right before my eyes. At the time, the ballpark had been renamed into what it is today: AT&T Park.
In 2007, Barry was closing in on the all-time homerun record of 755 held by Hammerin’ Hank Aaron. I remember really spending money on tickets with friends on a daily basis, hoping to be able to watch history right before our eyes. In July 27, 2007 against the Florida Marlins, Bonds blasted #754 as the Giants won, 12-10. Anticipation built up as Bonds tied the record in San Diego on August 4th with #755. Then finally, on August 7th, against the Washington Nationals, HISTORY WAS MADE.
I can remember those agonizing moments in the 5th inning as the count went up to 3-2 before Barry launched #756 into the right-centerfield stands. The moment he hit it, I was screaming “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! YEAH!!!” and pandemonium ensued all over AT&T Park! (I actually have a 10-minute video of the entire thing). Until today, whenever I would look at the video, it would give me goose bumps, knowing that I had the opportunity to see history right before my eyes. It was a dream come true.
That made the summer of 2007 a special one to remember. On a lighter note, one funny experience I had at AT&T Park was during one game, I accidentally broke one of the seats at the ballpark. The seat I sat onto suddenly fell and minutes later, I had the seat on my hands. Too bad I didn’t get to bring it home.
If you’re a real baseball fan, AT&T Park is one heck of a ballpark to experience. Don’t forget the garlic fries!
Jonathan Sibal played for the Ateneo Baseball Team in the UAAP and currently works for Philippine Airlines in San Francisco, CA.
Wrigley Field, Chicago, Illinois by Jorenz Tañada
When I think of Wrigley Field, my thoughts invariably go back to that quasi-magical 2003 season. I was in Chicago for the year, doing my master’s at Northwestern, and even though I had grown up a Yankees fan like most dedicated Pinoy baseball followers, (Sorry Mart!), my daily commute through the corner of Michigan and Chicago Avenues meant it was not difficult to get caught up in the Cubs fever that had seized Chicagoland by storm. (Southside[1] exempted of course, but I digress.)
The season was bruited about to be the Cubs year, the year the dreaded “Curse of the Billy Goat”[2] was finally going to be consigned to the dustbins of history. Truth be told, it sure looked that way all the way up to the 8th inning of Game 6 of the NLCS. But then five outs away from their first World Series appearance since 1945, Steve Bartman[3] happened, and with that all other hopes of redemption…at least for that year.
The unprecedented heartbreak throughout the city, (again Southside exempted), was palpable and it was definitely easy for a fair-weathered fan to dispense with allegiances. But something about loyalty and tradition, not to mention losing and heartbreak, resonated with this lifelong Ateneo hoops fan, himself newly removed from the proverbial “dark ages”. I was hooked, and I was officially a Cubs fan.
Now for Cubs fans, Wrigley Field is their Loyola Center. It may be old, even dilapidated according to some, but it still remains one of the most revered meccas in all of baseball. How old? Well, having been built in 1914 it is actually the second oldest active MLB stadium, younger only than the Red Sox’ Fenway. Along with its considerable age are some quaint touches from the bygone eras of baseball -- the hand turned scoreboards for example; an anachronism in this day and age of bells-and-whistles jumbotrons with all manner of statistics seemingly reflected. Of course, no description of Wrigley is ever complete without a word about the red brick and ivy lining the playing field. Right before autumn, the ivy can get so thick that balls are often lost in the foliage, presenting a unique quandary to the protagonists, not to mention the umpires. That aside, the ivy is simply beautiful when lush. A fact not lost on true fans of “America’s Pastime”.
Movie fans will also note that Wrigley has taken some romantic turns as well, having been featured in About Last Night,[4] as well as pop-culture classics Ferris Bueller’s Day-Off and The Blues Brothers, among others. It may well be argued therefore that Wrigley Field, its ivied walls, its signature red marquee sign and its hand-turned scoreboard, has itself already attained the status of cultural icon.
I would tend to agree. Even if I was but a transplanted Chicagoan for that one-year and change, and even if I never got to see the exploits of certified Cubs legends such as Ron Santo, Greg Maddux and Ryne Sanberg, I am very much content in having witnessed the era of Sammy Sosa, Mark Prior and Kerry Wood. Yes, the Cubs may not make it to the World Series again this year, and yes, their luck still leaves much to be desired, (as I write this, the Cubs had just given up six runs to the Yankees in their last two innings of inter-league play), but we can only keep believing that the curse is bound to end someday. I mean, hey(!), if the Red Sox, “Curse of the Bambino” and all, could win it all and twice at that, why not the Cubs? And why not on storied Wrigley Field?
[1] Chicago’s gritty, predominantly working class south side, is home to the AL’s Chicago White Sox, a perennially brooding, but actually more successful, baseball franchise – having won it all as recently as 2005. Incidentally, the Whitesox are President Obama’s favorite baseball team.
[2] There is an urban legend in Chicago over how Billy Goat Tavern owner, Billy Sianis, “cursed” the Cubs organization into never winning a World Series again, after he was asked to leave Wrigley Field along with his goat during the 1945 World Series, being that the pet and its odor, didn’t exactly sit well with the other fans.
[3] The unfortunate Bartman is supposedly a lifelong Cubs fan who tried to retrieve a pop foul that was, in the mind of then-Cubs left fielder Moises Alou, a “sure out”. On my way to and from school the next day, all you could hear was vitriol from everyone on the CTA bus 151, the bus driver included!
[4] Must-watch flick if you’re a Demi Moore fan. Trust me.
Jorenz Tañada went to Ateneo, UP, and Northwestern University. He currently practices law and balances a love for college hoops and football.
Yankee Stadium, The Bronx, New York by Rick Olivares
You know that sense of anticipation felt by Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle when they were to meet at the Empire State Building? Well, that’s how I felt when I first went to Yankee Stadium.
The two sports I grew up loving were baseball and football. The latter because it’s the first one you play in Ateneo. The former because of my grandfather who introduced me to the game. We played catch and batting next to the rail yard. He used to play old 8-track tapes of broadcasts by the late Mel Allen. He got that from his old US Air Force buddies from Clark Air Base. Never mind if they were recorded from decades back, I listened to them as if it were live. I tried to retrieve them in the years following my grandfather’s death but the tapes had oxidized leaving me only with memories. He later introduced me to a neighborhood league and I played until I was bronzed by the sun and dirty from all the sliding in the dirt. He bought for me those bubblegum cards and gave me his Time and Life magazines with Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle on the cover. I learned everything I needed to know about the Yankees from an almanac and old magazines.
So you can imagine the sense of anticipation I felt when I was on the D Train en route to the Bronx. It’s like you’ve known someone all your life, you know everything about that person but you haven’t met him or her in person?
I went with my best friend Sam. He was a funny guy. How can an Egyptian guy love baseball? Isn’t football and basketball popular in the land of the Pharaohs? Seriously. But like me, he became a fan by watching games on television. And so here we were, two of the tempest-tossed, excited and rambunctious like kids. We purchased our tickets at the Yankee Store in 42nd Street and I wore a Paul O’Niell jersey while he wore a Bernie Williams.
As the subway began to ascend from the labyrinth below New York, you could feel the energy building and the adrenaline shooting up your spine. Some fans began screaming in anticipation. Sam hit nudged me in the ribs as he joined in. I joined in not knowing why the hell I was screaming at the top of my voice. Then daylight.
161st Street and River Avenue.
I had to make sure I didn’t stumble like the older version of Matt Damon’s character in Saving Private Ryan as he found the tombstone of a fallen comrade in Normandy.
The first thing outside the stadium that you see are the many shops that line up the roads that sell Yankees merchandise. There are lots of street vendors hawking kebabs, souvenir programs, scarves, jerseys, pictures, mugs, bobble heads, you name it and it’s there. I must have forked out forty bucks outside. “C’mon,” said Sam as he reeled me in. “Let’s go in before we go broke. I do not want to walk all the way back to Manhattan.”
We were too late for the tour (we went back the following day for that) but that didn’t matter. The Yankees were playing the Texas Rangers that still had Alex Rodriguez. It’s a long ways up to the upper tier box where our seats were but it didn’t matter. As soon as we entered the seating area and could see the expanse of the stadium before us, I couldn’t hold back the tears. I thought of my grandfather who introduced me to the game and the Yankees. Even as I write this I feel that pain of losing my grandfather who I dearly loved.
Sam asked aloud, “You crying, man?” One patron overheard him and asked what’s up. I said it’s my first time in Yankee Stadium. He shook my hand and announced it for all who could hear. “We got ourselves a first timer here at Yankee Stadium! (cheers). Whaddaya say we give him a welcome.” (Bronx cheer).
I got handshakes, backslaps, and a free beer. It seemed odd, but I joined along the singing of “YMCA” and “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.” I cheered “Charge!” with every bugle call. Sam sat to my right and the seat to my left was empty. But it was as if my grandfather had made the trip to the Bronx with me. It was like receiving communion in baseball’s hallowed cathedral.
Bernie Williams hit a home run (so did A-Rod). Andy Pettitte got the win. And I went home with one of my most treasured memories.
The magical feeling continued well into the following day as I joined a tour of the old Yankee Stadium. It cost me $20 but it didn’t matter. To see the dugout, Monument Park, the both of the late Bob Sheppard, I finally put a memory to go alongside those old magazines of mine. Even today, when I remember seeing the late Thurman Munson’s empty locker, I get the goose bumps.
Good days. Good memories. And I still miss my grandfather.
Dodger Stadium, Los Angeles, CA by Noj Baltao (extreme right in picture)
Growing up, I was somewhat deprived of the game of baseball. Most of what was shown on television and on cable was basketball, golf or the occasional cricket. Once in a while, baseball was one but I barely caught it. One morning, while watching a game, the crowd chanted "Let's go Dodgers! Let's go Dodgers" that seemed so powerful even if muffled on television. And who was on the mound – Hideo Nomo. An Asian! One I can identify with and root for.
He was mixing up his pitches with 90 MPH fastballs and 80-85 MPH Forkballs that befuddled batters. I thought to myself -- I want to play baseball!
In my youthful days, believe it or not, the only place where I could buy equipment was National Bookstore of all places! And it was also very funny since the mitts that they had were the worst quality and catered to RIGHTIES only! At first I caught balls with my left hand, put the ball in my right, chicken wing the mitt, then throw with my left hand. It was weird but still kinda fun.
I realized that was too inefficient, and I had to improvise! I wore a right-handed mitt on my right hand so my throwing hand – my left – remained free to scoop and throw the ball.
Eventually, I bought a mitt for lefties and that made a world of difference. I was able to crack a couple of national team lineups that went to play in different places in the world. Ill say that my greatest feat was when I represented the Asia-Pacific region in the Big League World Series with the Tanauan Baseball team. It was a monumental event since that was the first time any Filipino has set foot on the highest stage for ages 18 and under in baseball.
Years passed and I experienced heartbreak in the UAAP and winning a homerun derby so I hung up the old #6. I was no longer a boy but a man. But that was not the end of my baseball adventure.
I finally set foot in Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles, California. When I first set foot onto the majestic stadium, it was such an incredible feeling to be there at last. I could envision events and memorable plays I only saw on television.
Dodger Stadium means so many things aside from a historic team and one that has won multiple World Series. You can say there’s something for everyone from the overflowing beer or the all you can eat sections. There’s legendary sportscaster Vin Scully, players like the color-barrier breaking Jackie Robinson, and the great Fernando Valenzuela. The history is so rich. The team has been such an inspiration for me growing up. And Dodger Stadium was like a homecoming. In some weird twisted way, dreams DO come true, when you are WEARING ROYAL BLUE!
Nowadays when people talk about the Dodgers, first thing comes to mind is the beating of the Giants fan that sent him to the ICU or even the messy divorce of the McCourts. It's a sad reality because this place has given so much hope to youngsters in the world. "Including me of course!" But I believe that the Dodgers organization is more than that. LA and the organization has done its part to make sure it is safe there, and to never let a tragedy like this happen again. And they have been helping Byran Stow with the financial and psychological problems of the family. It wasn't the Dodger's fault, it was a crazy person's fault. So people, FAN responsibly!
Noj Baltao now lives and works in Irvine, CA. He still roots passionately for his Dodgers.
Great article, Rick!
ReplyDeleteThanks. Well, they're more like oral histories/stories. Thanks to you and everyone who chipped in. It's a piece that I totally love.
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