This afternoon I watched an early spring Phillies game on my parents' TV. My share of the family's season tickets have not led me to the stadium itself within the first 12 games of our much anticipated 2010 season. My last visit to Citizens Bank Park was in early November of 2009 for the final victory of that post-season. I didn't blog that game in the following days out of fear of jinxing game 6 (or game 7, should we be so lucky). I didn't blog all winter as the loss of that sixth game against the Yankees kept my optimism for 2010 more on this familiar side of cautious.
But, as I wait another two weeks before riding my bike down to Pattison Avenue, I thought I'd reflect on that final win in November, even though the inning by inning details are fuzzy.
For the 2009 World Series against the Yankees, which I'd never thought I'd see, my family shared three pairs of tickets we purchased through our increasingly friendly MLB connection. I arranged to go to the latest possible game, talking my own big game about the luck I bring the team (see: NL Champs 1993, World Series 2008 and NLCS 2009 Game 4) As the crowd warmed up for the TV cameras, I remember my cheers were particularly emotional. I wanted the win on this night as much as I wanted another championship.
Cliff Lee, the real good luck charm who gets paid to be an effective one, was on the mound. The Yankees had A.J. Burnett on their then signature post-season short rest. We were used to amazing things from Lee. Shut out, complete game, defensive magic types of amazing things. What we got that night worked, but was by no means the sure thing we'd come to see since acquiring the ace a few months earlier.
Chase Utley tied history that night, hitting two home runs and tying Mr. October himself with 5 home runs in a single World Series. (Now addicted to the radio coverage rich in factoids, Aaron had a radio with him that night. Upon repeating the insights he would share with me to the surrounding fans, I came off as quite knowledgeable.)
The Phillies offense was looking good, and Charlie Manuel was looking his usual faithful self as he let Lee pitch into the 8th, giving up three runs for which his team had created a nice cushion. Seeing an 8-2 lead going into that inning was certainly too good to be true, but basically what we'd come to expect from Lee and this Philadelphia team we had called champions all year.
But quickly it was a closer ball game than we wanted this late in the night, our 6 run lead is now just 4. Lee left for Chan Ho Park to clean up his mess, which he does and cuts our lead by another run. (And now, how cruel that Chop is wearing pinstripes in 2010?) When we couldn't add more insurance in the bottom of the 8th, things were looking grim and the few Yankees fans around us were piping back up.
The Brad Lidge we'd counted on in 2008 had let us down over and over and over again this year and thankfully we were saved the stress and potential disaster of seeing him at this game. Ryan Madson came to the mound, and almost contagiously he added another run to the wrong side of the scoreboard thanks to Derek Jeter. Now, we were down to one out, 2 runs, and Johnny Damon managed to get on base.
At this moment, I know what the Yankees and their checkbooks are capable of. Through this feeling of dread, being raised as a Phillies fan that knows not to expect too much, I still tell myself that I didn't come here to see the Phillies lose the World Series. Should that be our fate, please let it not happen at our stadium, with our rally towels waiving, not while I'm wearing a maroon tracksuit with a homemade light blue P on the back. I took these tickets for a reason: to get the Phillies to game 6.
Madson strikes out Mark Teixeira. Madson does his job of reassuring this stadium and this city.
This elation lasts nearly 48 hours until the end of game 6, which I watched quietly with friends in a living room. That sense of defeat, the desire to avoid anyone who wasn't rooting for my team, I got to experience practically alone. In our stadium, we deserved our victory.
Now months have passed. The hopes we hung on Lee have settled onto Roy Halladay's shoulders. We assume last season's problems have been settled by trades, practice, surgery, rest. We are all re-energized, the team and the fans. We've had just enough loss to keep us from transforming into the cocky city we pit brag that we're not. We're still the team with the most losses in baseball, with the historic collapses we can't forget, with only two world championships in our 110+ year existence. I expect this changed team to bring me win after win as I bike south this spring, summer and fall. And when they fail, fail me, I'll remember the fall evenings that they won, won for me.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
2009 NLCS Game 4
While we started this blog to chronicle our road trip, Aaron and I realized we still have stuff to say about baseball and beer. Some occasions demand documentation, and my experience last night at the Phillies game is one of those. I'm now regretting that blogs weren't invented in 1993 at my very first playoff experience and that I didn't write about the 1 1/3 games I attended last season. But baseball shouldn't be about regret, it should be about living in the moment. The Phillies have proven that to me.
I scored tickets in Section 133 to the 4th game of this year's National League Championship Series. (My beloved Phillies have unbelievably secured a spot in the playoffs for 3 years now, proving that all I needed to do was leave New York and the Phillies could start dominating.) Given the price of these playoff tickets, it was not fiscally responsible for both Aaron and I to go. In his usual selfless manner he told me I should go. Not only because I wanted to, but because I've been to at least one post-season game every year the Phillies have made it this far since 1993. I have to keep the streak alive!
So the extra ticket went to my brother Seth who values spending money on singular experiences. We were proudly raised as Phillies fans by Paul, our dad. I love telling the story that Paul's dad brought home the family's first TV to watch the Phillies in the 1950 World Series against the Yankees. Paul taught me how to keep score and trained Seth to read the strike zone. Paul's also full of lessons and metaphors. The ones that stick with me most are often about baseball.
Seth and I enjoyed a quick tailgate with some friends and Philly Brewing Company beer and then went into the stadium just after the National Anthem. The seats were great and I had brought some necessary Philly treats - a hoagie, Herrs chips and some Eagles-themed Tastykakes. Seth said "these Tastycakes only taste good in the stadium."
We felt positive about the night in the first inning as Ryan Howard knocked a two-run home run
into right field. We commented that Blanton was pitching a perfect game through 2. That perfect game fell apart in the 4th, as the Dodger's tied us. They took the lead in the 5th and widened it to a 2 run game in the 6th. Seth reminded me that we had to know Blanton would give up 4 runs. He always does. But we just weren't answering back with our own offense. (Couldn't we have saved some runs from last night's 11-0 blowout?)
We did have plenty of creative heckles for Manny Ramirez and his illegal substance suspension earlier this season. We had plenty of anger over bad calls at the plate and on a clean tag Utley made at second that was called safe.
We also had a stand-up triple by Victorino, who ignored the crowd who believed he could only make it to second base, then the RBI that knocked him in, making it a one run game in the bottom of the 6th.
We then had our typical late inning stress. Our pitchers letting guys on base, but not letting them
score. Our team just not connecting. The night feeling longer in the cold, our legs tired from all the standing and sitting and standing, our arms sore from waving rally towels. There were moments in the 7th and 8th innings where I felt the stress silence everyone. We feared cheering.
In the 9th inning, Brad Lidge reminded us of last season, as he got the two outs we needed, leaving us with a 1 run deficit going into the bottom of the 9th. Clearly, we've dealt with worse. By we I mean the fans and the players.
Matt Stairs comes to the plate for Pedro Feliz. Stairs is capable of making this a tie game, but he'll need a strike for that. Instead, he gets 4 balls. Carlos Ruiz, our mom's season favorite and everyone's post-season hero, comes to bat. This could be his moment! Instead, he's hit in the elbow and takes first. We know he is the winning run, but Greg Dobbs doesn't do anything about it. Instead, Jimmy Rollins comes to the plate with two outs. As the strikes show up on the scoreboard, Seth says to me "This will be really depressing if they lose." Echoing the encouragement that Paul can summon when he needs to, I respond "Don't say that until it's over." Seth conjures some optimism to point at a hole in right field.
And in that moment, the ball is there. Jimmy hit it there and Ruiz is running fast enough to
make it home with no problem. I can't tell if I actually saw past 29 rows of fans to see him cross home for the win. Either way, I know we are all high-fiving and hugging, our friends, strangers. We treat every win like it's the big one. We don't take for granted that this is one more step towards what could be a rematch of the 1950 World Series that Paul watched with his father as a toddler.
And in this moment, one of Paul's recent revelations about baseball is even more appropriate. Let me see if I can paraphrase him correctly. He told me that the great thing about baseball is that everyone gets the same amount of chances. If you have a lead, you can't run the clock down or play keep-away. You have to pitch to every batter. In this way, baseball is the most fair and equitable sport we have. And shouldn't life be like that?
Well I feel like it's our turn to experience what it feels like to be winners. Sure, we've just won a title, but we deserve for it to not be a fluke. The only way we'll know is if we play every out like it could be the one that wins the game. And the only team that does that is my team. My family's team.
I scored tickets in Section 133 to the 4th game of this year's National League Championship Series. (My beloved Phillies have unbelievably secured a spot in the playoffs for 3 years now, proving that all I needed to do was leave New York and the Phillies could start dominating.) Given the price of these playoff tickets, it was not fiscally responsible for both Aaron and I to go. In his usual selfless manner he told me I should go. Not only because I wanted to, but because I've been to at least one post-season game every year the Phillies have made it this far since 1993. I have to keep the streak alive!
So the extra ticket went to my brother Seth who values spending money on singular experiences. We were proudly raised as Phillies fans by Paul, our dad. I love telling the story that Paul's dad brought home the family's first TV to watch the Phillies in the 1950 World Series against the Yankees. Paul taught me how to keep score and trained Seth to read the strike zone. Paul's also full of lessons and metaphors. The ones that stick with me most are often about baseball.
Seth and I enjoyed a quick tailgate with some friends and Philly Brewing Company beer and then went into the stadium just after the National Anthem. The seats were great and I had brought some necessary Philly treats - a hoagie, Herrs chips and some Eagles-themed Tastykakes. Seth said "these Tastycakes only taste good in the stadium."
We felt positive about the night in the first inning as Ryan Howard knocked a two-run home run
into right field. We commented that Blanton was pitching a perfect game through 2. That perfect game fell apart in the 4th, as the Dodger's tied us. They took the lead in the 5th and widened it to a 2 run game in the 6th. Seth reminded me that we had to know Blanton would give up 4 runs. He always does. But we just weren't answering back with our own offense. (Couldn't we have saved some runs from last night's 11-0 blowout?)We did have plenty of creative heckles for Manny Ramirez and his illegal substance suspension earlier this season. We had plenty of anger over bad calls at the plate and on a clean tag Utley made at second that was called safe.
We also had a stand-up triple by Victorino, who ignored the crowd who believed he could only make it to second base, then the RBI that knocked him in, making it a one run game in the bottom of the 6th.
We then had our typical late inning stress. Our pitchers letting guys on base, but not letting them
score. Our team just not connecting. The night feeling longer in the cold, our legs tired from all the standing and sitting and standing, our arms sore from waving rally towels. There were moments in the 7th and 8th innings where I felt the stress silence everyone. We feared cheering.In the 9th inning, Brad Lidge reminded us of last season, as he got the two outs we needed, leaving us with a 1 run deficit going into the bottom of the 9th. Clearly, we've dealt with worse. By we I mean the fans and the players.
Matt Stairs comes to the plate for Pedro Feliz. Stairs is capable of making this a tie game, but he'll need a strike for that. Instead, he gets 4 balls. Carlos Ruiz, our mom's season favorite and everyone's post-season hero, comes to bat. This could be his moment! Instead, he's hit in the elbow and takes first. We know he is the winning run, but Greg Dobbs doesn't do anything about it. Instead, Jimmy Rollins comes to the plate with two outs. As the strikes show up on the scoreboard, Seth says to me "This will be really depressing if they lose." Echoing the encouragement that Paul can summon when he needs to, I respond "Don't say that until it's over." Seth conjures some optimism to point at a hole in right field.
And in that moment, the ball is there. Jimmy hit it there and Ruiz is running fast enough to
make it home with no problem. I can't tell if I actually saw past 29 rows of fans to see him cross home for the win. Either way, I know we are all high-fiving and hugging, our friends, strangers. We treat every win like it's the big one. We don't take for granted that this is one more step towards what could be a rematch of the 1950 World Series that Paul watched with his father as a toddler.And in this moment, one of Paul's recent revelations about baseball is even more appropriate. Let me see if I can paraphrase him correctly. He told me that the great thing about baseball is that everyone gets the same amount of chances. If you have a lead, you can't run the clock down or play keep-away. You have to pitch to every batter. In this way, baseball is the most fair and equitable sport we have. And shouldn't life be like that?
Well I feel like it's our turn to experience what it feels like to be winners. Sure, we've just won a title, but we deserve for it to not be a fluke. The only way we'll know is if we play every out like it could be the one that wins the game. And the only team that does that is my team. My family's team.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Drinker in the Rye
In Kalamazoo the Froodley Doo of Loy Norrix High climb Trufulla trees with large purple leaves that reach to the sky. Only two of the nouns in the previous sentence are fictitious. Wikipedia suggests that "Kalamazoo" is of Native American origin and that "Loy Norrix" was a former superintendent. I have my doubts.
Around lunch time, the mundanely named Bell's brewery found us nursing six beers of a sampler. It's a good thing they served food, otherwise we would not have made it to Detroit that day. I can't recall precisely, but I believe the menu went something like this:
Wedding Ale
Kal-Haven Ale
Golden Rye
Rye Pale Ale
Rye Stout
Rye Barleywine
Sensing a theme? That's actually 5 out of 6 Rye-based brews: according to sources the Kal-Haven is an "experimental rye... wild yeast." Yum.
I was very pleased to find a full sampler that was available exclusively at the brewpub. Though I wasn't really in the mood for more beer, I quickly warmed up to the delightfully crisp sweetness of the Wedding Ale. The Kal-Haven's wild yeast was not overpoweringly strong. The balance was such that I didn't realize it had any rye at all. The Rye Barleywine, another huge beer, notable for the ease of its quaffability and the lack of heavy alcohol ester, would have kept me from driving had I not split the six ounces with Leigh.
After Bell's we visited Leigh's mom's childhood house and her dubiously named High School. I did not see any Truffula trees.
Around lunch time, the mundanely named Bell's brewery found us nursing six beers of a sampler. It's a good thing they served food, otherwise we would not have made it to Detroit that day. I can't recall precisely, but I believe the menu went something like this:
Wedding Ale
Kal-Haven Ale
Golden Rye
Rye Pale Ale
Rye Stout
Rye Barleywine
Sensing a theme? That's actually 5 out of 6 Rye-based brews: according to sources the Kal-Haven is an "experimental rye... wild yeast." Yum.
I was very pleased to find a full sampler that was available exclusively at the brewpub. Though I wasn't really in the mood for more beer, I quickly warmed up to the delightfully crisp sweetness of the Wedding Ale. The Kal-Haven's wild yeast was not overpoweringly strong. The balance was such that I didn't realize it had any rye at all. The Rye Barleywine, another huge beer, notable for the ease of its quaffability and the lack of heavy alcohol ester, would have kept me from driving had I not split the six ounces with Leigh.
After Bell's we visited Leigh's mom's childhood house and her dubiously named High School. I did not see any Truffula trees.
As promised: deep dish and Goose Island #2
Our second day in Chicago found us meandering before the White Sox game. After taking in the Sears, the Bean, the lake, and the El, we decided 2 hours was plenty of time to backtrack to the Near North and hit up Goose Island's primary location. Though I dragged Leigh kicking and screaming, we did not regret our excursion. After hitting up a touristy deep dish restaurant downtown, we hopped on the El and in 20 minutes exited towards the shopping facility that apparently contained Goose Island's brewpub. The outside was not much for looks, but the inside was a surprising mix of old school brick and steel, and new school loft and modernism. The beer: it was grand. More than grand: imperial. Not agreeing on our choices, we decided to each order our own sampler. We tried only the biggest and most exquisite of Goose Island's drafts: Imperial Coffee Stout, Night Stalker imperial stout, English Malt Porter, Black Saison, Pere Jacques, Fleur, La Deuxieme, and Bare Tree Weiss Wine - a guest beer from Two Brothers.
All were deliciuos, but two stood out.
The Black Saison's full bodied dark malt added a nice earthiness, which mellowed out the sweet candi sugar and the strong belgian yeast very nicely. This is a Saison which could be enjoyed just as well in the winter months.
I have had Weiss Wine before, but this was definitely the most well balanced: not too sweet, not to hoppy, not to floral or estery. It drinks almost like a session beer; at 11.5%, this beer was downright dangerous.
Remember the Wrigleyville White from the Cubs game? It is worth mentioning that the Uptown Goose Island location served a suspiciously similar-sounding beer with the exact same specs and description called Willow St. White.
Game #6: New York Mets at Pittsburgh Pirates
(I've avoided writing this final post, because that means the trip is over. The exploration of new stadiums is complete, for now. We are back to reality and responsibility. )
But let's pretend, for the moment, that it's a Thursday afternoon. Rain has threatened, and canceled, baseball contests in various states for a day. As we encounter the traffic of Pittsburgh, the sky clears. The rain and cold turns into sun and humidity. We struggle to find a parking space, or an affordable lot. And when we do, we cross one of the Steel City's many steel bridges to arrive at PNC Park.
As a native Pennsylvanian, one may assume that I have been to Pittsburgh at some point. In fact, this is my first time here. As a native Philadelphian, one may assume that I despise the Mets. That would be a correct assumption. In this way, being in Pittsburgh this afternoon is like being in Philadelphia on any day of the year. We are here together to boo the Mets.
Aaron and I wear our Phillies gear as our best way to show the Mets how much we care about them losing. Pirates fans toss us a dirty look or two, but as I quickly realize, they are the Keystone State's polite city. They are Philly's organized distant relative who has managed to get each of their professional sports teams to wear the same color. And they have managed to get many of these teams into championship contests. And more often than Philly, they win.
On this day, the yellow-and-black clad fans are riled up for their Stanley Cup match. They are still blinded by the glow of their Super Bowl rings. The Pirates echo this energy with an amazing 4 runs in the bottom of the 1st inning.
The Mets make this a contest and score 3 in the following half-inning. A surprisingly large handful of transplanted New Yorkers are keeping the volume up and the Mets beach towel waving in left field.
Not so fast. The Pirates manage another run in the 2nd and 4 more in the 4th. We haven't seen offense like this during our whole trip. Also new to this park are fan text messages between innings broadcasted on screens around the field. We haven't seen Yuengling in 2 weeks, so we know we are getting close to home.
The biggest clue that we are on the wrong side of the state comes around the bottom of the 7th. The Pirates are up 11-5, so the Mets fans start getting mouthy. Maybe heckling alone will knock a few out of the park? At a Phillies game, as we saw earlier in the season, this often ends with late inning ejections. When the ushers finally realize their jersey's have derogatory terms embroidered on them instead of names and the cheers are really foul-mouthed jeers.
Here in Pittsburgh, however, the Mets fans' citations of the city's shortcomings are answered directly by a Pirates/Steelers/Penguin fan. And then the most amazing thing of the game happens. A fan in blue puts his arm around the fan in yellow. This is camaraderie over competition. This is a game, and only a game.
The Mets fans continue to yell into left field into the 9th, as their team sneaks in a pointless run. By now, they've gotten Morgan, the Pirates' left fielder, to pay attention. With his team up by 5 runs, he can take the time to turn around to talk back a bit. With two outs, we worry he may be too distracted to catch the fly ball coming his way. Instead, he looks away from his opponent's fans to catch the last out. He turns back to the Mets fans, pointing his gloved hand and winning baseball straight at them, a smile on his face. He runs to his home dugout as the fireworks go off in the daylight.
And just that effortlessly it feels, we've seen six games in eight days. And after five hours of driving, we are home. To the land of real rivalries and the reigning World Series Champions.
But let's pretend, for the moment, that it's a Thursday afternoon. Rain has threatened, and canceled, baseball contests in various states for a day. As we encounter the traffic of Pittsburgh, the sky clears. The rain and cold turns into sun and humidity. We struggle to find a parking space, or an affordable lot. And when we do, we cross one of the Steel City's many steel bridges to arrive at PNC Park.
As a native Pennsylvanian, one may assume that I have been to Pittsburgh at some point. In fact, this is my first time here. As a native Philadelphian, one may assume that I despise the Mets. That would be a correct assumption. In this way, being in Pittsburgh this afternoon is like being in Philadelphia on any day of the year. We are here together to boo the Mets.
Aaron and I wear our Phillies gear as our best way to show the Mets how much we care about them losing. Pirates fans toss us a dirty look or two, but as I quickly realize, they are the Keystone State's polite city. They are Philly's organized distant relative who has managed to get each of their professional sports teams to wear the same color. And they have managed to get many of these teams into championship contests. And more often than Philly, they win.
On this day, the yellow-and-black clad fans are riled up for their Stanley Cup match. They are still blinded by the glow of their Super Bowl rings. The Pirates echo this energy with an amazing 4 runs in the bottom of the 1st inning.
The Mets make this a contest and score 3 in the following half-inning. A surprisingly large handful of transplanted New Yorkers are keeping the volume up and the Mets beach towel waving in left field.
Not so fast. The Pirates manage another run in the 2nd and 4 more in the 4th. We haven't seen offense like this during our whole trip. Also new to this park are fan text messages between innings broadcasted on screens around the field. We haven't seen Yuengling in 2 weeks, so we know we are getting close to home.
The biggest clue that we are on the wrong side of the state comes around the bottom of the 7th. The Pirates are up 11-5, so the Mets fans start getting mouthy. Maybe heckling alone will knock a few out of the park? At a Phillies game, as we saw earlier in the season, this often ends with late inning ejections. When the ushers finally realize their jersey's have derogatory terms embroidered on them instead of names and the cheers are really foul-mouthed jeers.
Here in Pittsburgh, however, the Mets fans' citations of the city's shortcomings are answered directly by a Pirates/Steelers/Penguin fan. And then the most amazing thing of the game happens. A fan in blue puts his arm around the fan in yellow. This is camaraderie over competition. This is a game, and only a game.
The Mets fans continue to yell into left field into the 9th, as their team sneaks in a pointless run. By now, they've gotten Morgan, the Pirates' left fielder, to pay attention. With his team up by 5 runs, he can take the time to turn around to talk back a bit. With two outs, we worry he may be too distracted to catch the fly ball coming his way. Instead, he looks away from his opponent's fans to catch the last out. He turns back to the Mets fans, pointing his gloved hand and winning baseball straight at them, a smile on his face. He runs to his home dugout as the fireworks go off in the daylight.
And just that effortlessly it feels, we've seen six games in eight days. And after five hours of driving, we are home. To the land of real rivalries and the reigning World Series Champions.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
Game #5 - Boston Red Sox at Detroit Tigers
On Tuesday, we spent a quick but packed day in Michigan, first visiting my mom's hometown of Kalamazoo, then to pick up Aaron's high school friend and her husband in Ann Arbor, and then off to Detroit for some baseball. Aaron's friends are Red Sox fans, after spending a few years in Boston, but had the respect to leave their hats at home. Somehow, Red Sox fans have been everywhere on this trip, even when they aren't playing. We knew we were in for some away team rooting as we approached Comerica Park.
From the few blocks of Detroit we saw, the city lived up to my expectations. If something can live down to expectations, the city did that too. Abandoned warehouses and theaters with flashing lights surrounded the baseball and football stadiums. Comerica is guarded by Tigers. Not live ones, but lots of sculptures that are just as frightening. Usually a team with an animal mascot embraces the cutesy, stuffed version of said animal over the realistic, growling version. But Michiganders are taking their wildlife seriously.
Enter the Squirrel.
Early on in the game, a brown squirrel found its way into the outfield. I can only assume that a squirrel in Detroit has never seen as much grass as this one did at this moment. He relished in running, thought not quickly, from right field to left and back again. He would wait attentively as pitches were thrown, facing home plate and flopping his tail. The entire stadium became enraptured with Squirrel. Cheering for him more than their home team.
Even though this game was close. At least while the squirrel was on the field. The first inning, both teams score a run. The Red Sox score two more in the third inning, but the fans have other things on their minds, including:
-The Red Wings in game 3 of the Stanley Cup finals against the Pittsburgh Penguins. A fan in front of us has headphones on. A fan behind us refreshes her blackberry. The fan next to us watches a TV in a nearby skybox. The jumbotron advertises the score every once in a while.
-Activities around the stadium, such as a carousel (more tigers!), the "how fast can you pitch" game (so loud!), the Dunkin Donuts coffee race (Go Coffee!)
-The collapse of the automobile industry. In the outfield, signs advertise Chrysler, General Motors and Ford. In between innings, a fountain blasts water behind them, highlighted by colored lights. Given that GM declared bankruptcy the day before, one would think they'd cut down on the fanfare. We can see the sign for Ford Field, where the Lions play, just behind left field. One can hope by football season, this will still be relevant.
-More with the Squirrel. He is fed by the Tiger's first base coach. He is ultimately chased by 4 grounds crew members around outfield, to many cheers from the stands, and he jumps onto the center field wall, just in front of the ivy. He makes a triumphant return in the bottom of the 5th. He hangs out in the outfield until the inning break. This time, 7 grounds crew members appear. He is eventually chased into the Red Sox dugout. The stadium is the most lively when the Squirrel is on the field. Not when the Tigers are.
The Tigers must be thinking of at least some of this as they bobble ground balls, walk in runs, strand baserunners.
The Red Sox score two more to make it a 5-1 game in the top of the 6th, though by this point many of the fans, in their Red Wings gear, have started to leave the stadium. The majority certainly aren't there as the Tigers keep hope alive in the bottom of the 9th to load the bases. Predictably, they leave each runner there, never to cross home. It's the fans that are home - watching hockey, looking for a job, or telling the story of the Squirrel.
From the few blocks of Detroit we saw, the city lived up to my expectations. If something can live down to expectations, the city did that too. Abandoned warehouses and theaters with flashing lights surrounded the baseball and football stadiums. Comerica is guarded by Tigers. Not live ones, but lots of sculptures that are just as frightening. Usually a team with an animal mascot embraces the cutesy, stuffed version of said animal over the realistic, growling version. But Michiganders are taking their wildlife seriously.
Enter the Squirrel.
Early on in the game, a brown squirrel found its way into the outfield. I can only assume that a squirrel in Detroit has never seen as much grass as this one did at this moment. He relished in running, thought not quickly, from right field to left and back again. He would wait attentively as pitches were thrown, facing home plate and flopping his tail. The entire stadium became enraptured with Squirrel. Cheering for him more than their home team.
Even though this game was close. At least while the squirrel was on the field. The first inning, both teams score a run. The Red Sox score two more in the third inning, but the fans have other things on their minds, including:
-The Red Wings in game 3 of the Stanley Cup finals against the Pittsburgh Penguins. A fan in front of us has headphones on. A fan behind us refreshes her blackberry. The fan next to us watches a TV in a nearby skybox. The jumbotron advertises the score every once in a while.
-Activities around the stadium, such as a carousel (more tigers!), the "how fast can you pitch" game (so loud!), the Dunkin Donuts coffee race (Go Coffee!)
-The collapse of the automobile industry. In the outfield, signs advertise Chrysler, General Motors and Ford. In between innings, a fountain blasts water behind them, highlighted by colored lights. Given that GM declared bankruptcy the day before, one would think they'd cut down on the fanfare. We can see the sign for Ford Field, where the Lions play, just behind left field. One can hope by football season, this will still be relevant.
-More with the Squirrel. He is fed by the Tiger's first base coach. He is ultimately chased by 4 grounds crew members around outfield, to many cheers from the stands, and he jumps onto the center field wall, just in front of the ivy. He makes a triumphant return in the bottom of the 5th. He hangs out in the outfield until the inning break. This time, 7 grounds crew members appear. He is eventually chased into the Red Sox dugout. The stadium is the most lively when the Squirrel is on the field. Not when the Tigers are.
The Tigers must be thinking of at least some of this as they bobble ground balls, walk in runs, strand baserunners.
The Red Sox score two more to make it a 5-1 game in the top of the 6th, though by this point many of the fans, in their Red Wings gear, have started to leave the stadium. The majority certainly aren't there as the Tigers keep hope alive in the bottom of the 9th to load the bases. Predictably, they leave each runner there, never to cross home. It's the fans that are home - watching hockey, looking for a job, or telling the story of the Squirrel.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Game #4 - Oakland A's at Chicago White Sox
As the jumbotron at U.S. Cellular Field let us know, there are traditions, and there are White Sox traditions. The architects behind this new field, the Sox marketing staff, and the fans on the South Side for this Monday night game wanted to make those traditions clear to us.
Unlike Wrigley and all its surrounding festivities, U.S. Cellular has been firmly planted in the middle of nowhere. Sure, the Red Line on the El stops right there, but I didn't see any restaurants, bars. Really, just the highway and some warehouses served for ambiance. In fact, the stadium literally has its back turned on the city. The opportunity to have Chicago's skyline behind the outfield is missed. Maybe this is because of the wind, but it's a shame.
The concrete hallways to get to our seats are lined with a seemingly endless timeline. The White Sox have been a team since forever, and have been winning a good chunk of that time. Ceiling high graphics won't let us forget.
Walking into the half-empty stadium, I wondered - why is this team second rate in the second city? Once they started playing, my wonder turned into downright confusion. This team can PLAY.
Just like almost every other game on our road trip, this outing started with runs scored in the 1st inning. The A's handily hit a home run to left field, with the White Sox outfielder not even flinching or feigning he could catch it. The Sox answer with a run in the bottom of the 1st. The next few innings pass quickly and without scoring. The defense is spot on for both teams.
In the bottom of the 5th, the Sox tie it up with a solo home run. The inexplicably prominent pinwheel/hard candy looking decorations light up. Fireworks blast off in the outfield, over the warehouses. Too bad this celebration can't happen with the Sears Tower for a backdrop.
As the 8th inning arrives, we are nervous about the potential of extra innings. The weather is more like October than the first day of June. The temperature is approaching 45 degrees. Clouds threaten to bring back the rain from the afternoon. As good as this game is, I want it to end in 9 innings. Somehow.
The answer comes with Jim Thome. He fulfills all that is right with baseball. He pulls his socks up. He used to play for the Phillies. He's quietly making his way into the history books. The various screens and jumbotrons in the park are overloading us with stats. Thome is one home run above Mike Schmidt's record and just another home run shy of 250.
So when Thome gets up and knocks the ball to that sweet spot in left field, we see history. We also see the Sox take the lead 5-2. There is hope of getting out before the rain.
But just like October baseball, meaningful baseball, usually unfolds, the teams keep it interesting. The closer for the White Sox who has an amazing 1.00 ERA at home allows a hit in the top of the 9th as the rain starts to fall. We get nervous. But this guy does what he came to do. He closes the game without another run. At the last swing and a miss, we run through the concrete walls of the stadium, down the ramps with screaming fans, treating this win as big as it felt.
Unlike Wrigley and all its surrounding festivities, U.S. Cellular has been firmly planted in the middle of nowhere. Sure, the Red Line on the El stops right there, but I didn't see any restaurants, bars. Really, just the highway and some warehouses served for ambiance. In fact, the stadium literally has its back turned on the city. The opportunity to have Chicago's skyline behind the outfield is missed. Maybe this is because of the wind, but it's a shame.
The concrete hallways to get to our seats are lined with a seemingly endless timeline. The White Sox have been a team since forever, and have been winning a good chunk of that time. Ceiling high graphics won't let us forget.
Walking into the half-empty stadium, I wondered - why is this team second rate in the second city? Once they started playing, my wonder turned into downright confusion. This team can PLAY.
Just like almost every other game on our road trip, this outing started with runs scored in the 1st inning. The A's handily hit a home run to left field, with the White Sox outfielder not even flinching or feigning he could catch it. The Sox answer with a run in the bottom of the 1st. The next few innings pass quickly and without scoring. The defense is spot on for both teams.
In the bottom of the 5th, the Sox tie it up with a solo home run. The inexplicably prominent pinwheel/hard candy looking decorations light up. Fireworks blast off in the outfield, over the warehouses. Too bad this celebration can't happen with the Sears Tower for a backdrop.
As the 8th inning arrives, we are nervous about the potential of extra innings. The weather is more like October than the first day of June. The temperature is approaching 45 degrees. Clouds threaten to bring back the rain from the afternoon. As good as this game is, I want it to end in 9 innings. Somehow.
The answer comes with Jim Thome. He fulfills all that is right with baseball. He pulls his socks up. He used to play for the Phillies. He's quietly making his way into the history books. The various screens and jumbotrons in the park are overloading us with stats. Thome is one home run above Mike Schmidt's record and just another home run shy of 250.
So when Thome gets up and knocks the ball to that sweet spot in left field, we see history. We also see the Sox take the lead 5-2. There is hope of getting out before the rain.
But just like October baseball, meaningful baseball, usually unfolds, the teams keep it interesting. The closer for the White Sox who has an amazing 1.00 ERA at home allows a hit in the top of the 9th as the rain starts to fall. We get nervous. But this guy does what he came to do. He closes the game without another run. At the last swing and a miss, we run through the concrete walls of the stadium, down the ramps with screaming fans, treating this win as big as it felt.
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