You know, sitting outside is not one of my favorite things. Well, not unless it's a clear summer day and there are cool drinks involved- and maybe a nice breeze. Oh, and some of those really poofy white clouds, the ones that just seem to tumble across the sky as they hurry by to brighten somebody's vacation. But when you add a sunny afternoon to a well-mowed stretch of grass and a couple of baseball teams- well, that comes out to a beeyootiful day at the ballpark.
I really like going to baseball games- minor league, major league, whichever. The game's always entertaining, but it's the people watching that always gets me. Kids wearing new t-shirts with their dad's favorite player, moms dragging gigantic tote bags behind them, carrying most of the fridge up the endless steps to the cheap seats. Just your average sports fans trying to save a couple of bucks bringing in juice boxes, instead of buying drinks from the concession stand. Of course, now they have to let security search their bags for anthrax and Diet Coke, but anything to cooperate with Pepsi, I mean, the authorities.
The drunk guys are especially entertaining, with their heartfelt, high-volume jeers of the nearest outfielder (along with his pants, his wife, and their dog). It's hard to get drunk on $6 beers, so they arrive drunk and fade into mumbling pretty quick these days. My own evil hobby at ballparks is watching for awful summer fashions, which has been really easy the past few years. What the women of this country are wearing for halter tops is truly alarming, I can tell you.
But I think I like the old baseball fans the best. You know-the ones with the little pencils to keep their scorecards, who would love to tell you about the time they met Lou Boudreau at the train station, or how their uncle tried out for the Red Legs. Maybe their tattoos are kind of faded, compared to the rest of the fans, but they know all about the great American pastime. Their wrinkled tattoos are from Okinawa or Pearl, usually, not the kind of fake tribal markings kids get now at the campus tattoo shop. The old guys could tell you all about how the country's generally going to hell, if you gave them half a chance. But if you asked about their time in the military, they would never do it at the ballpark- that's just not the place for serious talk, other than about pinch-hitting strategies. When the national anthem starts, they're the first on their feet and they show the young kids that yes, you're still supposed to take off your hat and face the flag.
I've been going to a lot of games the last couple of years, just people watching and seeing how baseball has changed along with the rest of the world. My purse gets sniffed by an electronic thing for explosives now by a guard wearing latex gloves, which took some getting used to. If you haven't been to a major league game in years since 9/11, maybe you don't know that the 7th inning stretch is now the "God Bless America" stretch instead, by official Major League policy. Yeah, they still play "Take Me Out to the Ballpark" and maybe even "YMCA", but now everybody is supposed to stand up and have a patriotic moment with God in the 7th inning now.
For the first couple of years after 9/11, there was a also a "Proud to Be an American" break in the 5th inning while they raked the baselines, but that's pretty much faded away- and I will thank god for that. For a long time, it was like sitting at a vaguely militaristic tent revival, complete with country singing and nuclear threats. You never knew if you were supposed to stand up, sit down or do the hokey-pokey during the service, I mean, the song. All I knew was that those of us who stayed seated during this extravaganza always got dirty looks, and occasionally got either told to stand up or accused of being un-American. The old-timey blacklist sentiments of HUAC were still alive and well in the bleachers of America's ballparks.
We went to a ball game on July 4th this year. That was the day the Indians blew out the Yankees at Jacobs Field 19-1, the most lopsided Tribe victory since 1950 (heh). That was also the day that a recorded message from George Bush was played at every major league ballpark in the country, along with a patriotic video medley. His highness got some polite applause and some uncomfortable shifty looks- as a couple of thousand people tried to pretend that it wasn't happening. Nobody was really willing to make a scene on the 4th by booing the SOB, particularly considering the local guys standing in uniform down by home plate.
At the start of the game, there was a color guard on the field for a ceremony to honor a Marine group that's home from Iraq- I think it was the unit from Lima Company that lost so many guys. Two of the Marines were getting decorated for bravery and got to throw out the first pitch. One guy hurled high heat at the catcher to enthusiastic applause, the other guy bounced it in, got a polite hand, then got grief from his buddies after they got off the field.
When the Marines finally got to their seats, a discontented rumble went through the ballpark- they all were sent up to the upper deck- the $7 cheap seats. After several dozen ushers were grumbled at and cell phone calls started coming in to the stadium switchboard from the stands, the Marines were reseated in the middle deck, to the general satisfaction of the crowd. As the Marines walked around the stadium during the rest of the afternoon, they got a lot of attaboys and offers of a beer or a prayer. I saw a couple of old guys, the ones who keep scorecards, stop and ask to shake their hands. I had to eavesdrop- the old guys were telling them to be careful and come home, never mind what the brass tells them- just come home.
I went to another game yesterday- the Indians were using home plate to rest their bats and the Twins are really hot right now. I did see a guy wearing a "Strickland for Governor" t-shirt on the train, which was pretty cool for us democratic Ohio baseball fans. Once again, during the 7th inning, I stayed firmly planted in my seat during the "God Bless America" stretch in my own private protest. Yesterday, nobody gave me any grief about it- for a change. The old guys that I was sure would give me dirty looks stayed seated too, to my surprise. By far, the most talked about event in Section 514 yesterday was the hot make-out session down in Row F.
You know, baseball doesn't really change all that much. Sure, it's been a long couple of years- going to the ballpark and watching all the packaged patriotism dance across the scoreboard, but it seems to me that public recognition of the war is finally starting to fade. While that's probably pretty good for baseball, it's not so good for those guys from Lima Company. Their unit will be going back to Iraq in a couple of months, along with dozens of other reserve groups- what will the folks at the park be doing then? Who's going to tell them when to get up and sing a patriotic song once baseball season is over? I wonder how the NBA handles "God Bless America"- is professional basketball truly prepared to take over the jingoism this fall?
Regards to the old guys and to Lima Company.
A baseball fan