September was ballpark month for old Herbiberous, as I spent the first half of the month making a hedonistic pilgrimage to some of the baseball stadiums I have fantasized about experiencing since I was a pint-sized, box score-obsessed kid.
Unfortunately, I made the trip one year too late, as both the old Yankee Stadium and Shea Stadium shut their doors for the last time. I did, however, get the opportunity to visit CitiField and the new Yankee Stadium.
Here is the recap of my impressions from the parks:
Sept. 2 - Wrigley Field in North Chicago
Bleacher Bum for a day... I'll be back, Wrigley Field. You just wait.
Wrigley Field was without a doubt the park I was most excited to visit. Stuck inside on cool spring days, I remember watching afternoon games with envy while at university or on days off from work and being envious of the fans in the bleachers, soaking up sun, slurping up suds, taking in a ballgame on a beautiful, sunny Chicago day.
So when it came time to buy tickets, I made sure I was in the bleachers, to take my spot as an official "Bleacher Bum."
The one drawback from that spot though was I was prohibited, with my ticket in the cheap seats, from wandering around the rest of the park.
I took the train -- or the L, as it's called in Chicago -- and arrived about an hour early for the day game, on a nice 23C Chicago afternoon. I strolled down Waveland Ave. -- famous since its days of being the landing pad for Sammy Sosa bombs -- and Sheffield Ave. and marveled at the amount of pubs and bars crowded along the streets lining, and leading up to, the field.
The field itself was as impressive as it was historic, and I pinched myself, seeing the ivy outfield walls in person.
The bleachers were packed with blue shirts -- Cubbies fans taking a day off work and indulging in a little moderate -- to heavy -- drinking. The Bleacher Bums lived up to their reputation, pestering the opposition with a relentless barrage of insults -- most of them levied at Astros left-fielder, and former-Cub, Carlos Lee.
"Where's the love?" Cub fans show their appreciation for Carlos Lee. As my friend for the day said more poignantly, many times: "SUUUUCK IT, LEEEEE!" For his part, Lee handled it pretty well, hamming it up early in the game, shaking his head and gesturing right back.
The game itself was low-scoring, probably due to the fact that so many regulars -- and players I was looking forward to seeing -- like Alfonso Soriano, Aramis Ramirez, Giovanni Soto to name a few, took the day off. Milton Bradley, however, was still in the line-up, and any time he made even the slightest blunder, the Cubs fans gave it to him -- BIGTIME.
I sat between two giant groups: one set of housewives from across Illinois and Wisconsin on a 'girls' day out', and a bunch of tech and business guys. The ladies were really friendly, and I -- along with a couple girls I met at the game -- followed them to a pub afterward for beers and some really, REALLY, awkward dancing.
Ted Lilly gets his props as he does a warm-up lap.
The Cubs were way back in the NL Central at the time, but had been making a little push and some of the people I spoke to genuinely thought if the club could get rolling, they could put a little pressure on the division-leading Cardinals. I met an old man who had been a Cubs fan since childhood, and he spoke earnestly about life as a tortured fan of the club. I bumped into him every time I left my seat for a beer. As we spoke, a father and son played catch down below, on Waveland Ave.
Ted Lilly pitched a fine game, Derrek Lee hit a two-run bomb, Andres Blanco was sick with the mitt, and I stood up and stretched my bladder to the famous Take Me Out to the Ballgame, sung by a former-Cub, during the Seventh Inning stretch.
When Carlos Marmol closed out the Cubs win, the party kicked off, with some kitschy 'Cubs win' song that must have been written by a local band struggling to find success at whatever cost. All these really drunk white people -- and most of the people at the game were white -- in the bleachers got up and started dancing and singing the words.
Cubs WIN! Let the party begin...
And yeah, following the game, I set off on a mammoth, impromptu pub crawl (Cub crawl?) with a couple girls from Illinois. It was a giant party for blocks and blocks and blocks, all of which were crowded, crowded, crowded with bars and merry Cubs fans.
"Is it always like this when they win?" I asked.
"Yeah. And most of the time when they lose," one of the girls responded.
It was at the first pub where I first witnessed what Americans call dancing -- basically doggie-style sex with clothes on. There were makeout sessions everywhere. It was still like 5:30 p.m. The housewives dragged me onto the dance floor. I swear I did not American dance with them.
We left the pub when my bag was confiscated by a doorman (I had one of the girl's bottles of vodka in there) and went on to another and another, where I beat a restaurant owner in a game of 'Bags,' humiliating him in front of his clientele. (I swear that's my game!) I made fun of the girls' Chris Farley-style accents (they pronounced the word coupon "coo-peaen") and got drunk and lost everyone when we went downtown to watch fireworks at the pier and I wound up wandering around Chicago, from classy jazz club to dueling piano bar to donair joint to Billy Goat Tavern -- an infamous pub below the Chicago Tribune building where all the long-time reporters' bylines are on the wall -- and then back to my hostel at 4 a.m.
All in all, hell of a day to spend in Chicago!
Sept. 4 - U.S Cellular Field in South Side of Chicago
Can't believe Jrqua was at the game and I didn't know it.
I showed up to watch two different coloured socks do battle at U.S. Cellular Field. Now usually if you pit a red sock versus a white sock, like say in a washing machine, the red socks will usually taint the white sock and have more influence, turning the colourless sock a shade of pink.
Well, on the diamond, at least for one night, the white sock overcame and demolished the red sock.
I took the train to U.S. Cellular without a ticket and purchased one for a pretty good price out by the left field foul pole, since the Sox were way back. (Note: I was traveling on a budget, and was not able to splurge for beauty seats.)
The first thing I noticed in arriving at the park was the lack of fanfare around the stadium. Compared to Wrigley, U.S. Cellular was downright deserted.
I showed up really early for the game and took in batting practice, watching Ken Rosenthal -- baseball commentator and columnist who also apparently is a midget -- chat up players like Dustin Pederoia and chuckling as David Ortiz kidded around with everybody.
I found out later that a good friend I haven't seen in ages was actually at the game with her boyfriend on the other side of the field. I'm sure the night would have been a show if we'd met up.
Anyways, on that particular night, the Chicago Blackhawks hosted the festivities. With the whole Patrick Kane ordeal this summer, I was praying for him to show up so I could taunt him mercilessly and maybe throw some quarters at him (you know, help him out since he must be hard up for cash if he's beating up cabbies) but of course those PR people kept him away.
I wish I had some batteries to hurl, especially at Byfuglien. Still not over the Canucks' loss last year. Not by a long shot.
As the Hawks took the field, I couldn't help but notice the lack of wives or girlfriends or family and then I realized that these guys are all still so young. (Scary, man. They are going to be good. I'm just so glad their GM fucked up by signing Hossa and Campbell to such long-term deals that they won't be able to afford all their other young stars.) Brent Sopel was the only one with a family. Anyways, the Hawks came out, along with their season ticket holders and, I think it was Brent Seabrook -- or was it Sopel? -- that threw out the first pitch. I have to give it to them though, the Hawks did a classy job, even though they are quickly becoming the Canucks' newest rival.
The game got out of hand quickly. A lot of offense and Freddy Garcia -- aka the Rock -- kept the Sox at bay, mostly. Obama's team went up early and never looked back.
Most of the talk I heard was about the Red Sox, with a large presence of the team's supporters at the game. Also, the game was just a week or so after Jim Thome was traded and people were still talking about it angrily. He was very popular. The new fan favorite seemed to be Gordon Beckham. And everyone was still buzzing about Mark Buerhle's perfect game.
With little drama, and surrounded by a sparse crowd, I decided to leave my seat and walk around the park and see the game from different points. U.S. Cellular was really wide open and security left you alone for the most part.
Grand veranda by this old fella. Too bad they didn't have a Black Sox statue area.
At the end of the game, I ventured 15 rows behind the visitor's dugout and caught the ninth inning. Following the game, the Blackhawks put on a fireworks show.
Was gearing up to watch a Big Papi at bat, but he was taken out.
Now I was expecting some hokey, two-minute show, but it wound up lasting about a half-hour, timed with music and was probably the best fireworks show I've ever seen (really not saying much, having grown up in Yellowknife. No offense, SnowKing.)
Here I am. Rock you like a Hurricane
After the game, I got lost outside the field in the dark. I was told by a couple White Sox fans not to hang around too long because it could get rough around that area. Found the train and went back to the hostel.
Made it back and had another late night.
Sept. 7 - New Yankee Stadium in the Bronx
New Yankee Stadium: home of the ingloriously glorious bastards
On my first full day in New York, I took the D train to Yankee Stadium for another beautiful afternoon game, pitting the reviled New York Yankees against the Tampa Bay Rays.
Much of the hullaballoo surrounding this game concerned Derek "the fist-pumping phony" Jeter and his approaching the "Iron Horse" Lou Gehrig's all-time Yankee hits record. At the time, I believe Jeter was three or four short, and this being the first game of a double-header, the papers and the buzz outside and around the stadium was that by the end of the night, Jeter -- my most hated of professional baseball players (yes, even worse than Adolf Hitler, who spent a few seasons with the St. Louis Cardinals after his failed putsch) -- would sit atop the Yankee record books.
Now I won't get into a tiffy about how much importance people were putting into the record -- Gehrig's hits were far more weighty and important, with more extra-base hits than Jeter, with his trademark opposite field singles -- but it did add some significance to the games, with the Yankees at that point pretty much locked into a post-season birth... and the Rays nearly out of it.
The added excitement no doubt also influenced ticket prices, as I found myself shelling out $50 for bleacher seats. Didn't help that I sat next to the couple who sold the ticket to the scalper I bought it from and said they only got $20 for it. I spoke to another guy later, who got booted from the seat beside me by a Sesame Street character, who told he'd paid about $45 for his. That made me feel better. (From here on in, I went through stubhub.com.)
The unhistoric shrine
The ballpark itself was immense, like a shrine or something. There were exclusive areas all over the place, with tours needed to view Monument Park and other areas that day, I think.
I took a stroll around the park and snapped a couple pictures, and was really taken aback by the amount of history the club had. The concession area is adorned with snapshots of Yankees lore, and as you walk through, you get a little display of each championship team. I was more than a little disappointed that I would never get a chance to see a game from Old Yankee Stadium, where I watched the franchise I despise the most in sport, rack up World Series after World Series in the late 1990s, as winter took the colour from the days up in shivery old Yellowknife, with crazy moments like the Leritz home run, the Boone home run, the Jeffrey Maier catch against the Orioles, the Red Sox comeback, the David Cone and David Wells perfect games and so many other moments.
I found it odd that while the club had so much history, the park tried to look steeped in tradition and winning, even though it was scarcely six months old. Let it happen, New Yankee Stadium. You have no legend yet.
The Yankees fans and promotional people speak this almost Roman colosseum style vernacular, using the words 'honour, tradition and pride' ad nauseum. During the breaks in innings, the announcer would say things like 'the only word synonymous with such pride and history... Yankees." It was a little much, but definitely added to the gravitas of the stadium and the game experience.
It would probably cost me a couple g-notes to watch the game from where I snapped this
The food and beer were the most expensive of any of the parks that I visited, but that was to be expected I guess, considering the amount that is spent on the on-field product - $208 million for 2009 (or nearly the entire Gross Domestic Product of Micronesia, according to the World Bank.)
$110 million worth of infield
Now let's breakdown what the Yankees infield during the game was making in 2009.
P - C.C. Sabathia - $15,285,714
C - Jorge Posada - $13,100,000
1B - Mark Texeira - $20,625,00
2B - Robinson Cano - $6,000,000
SS - Derek Jeter - $21,600,000
3B - Alex Rodriguez - $33,000,000
That's what? $110 million. Then, when Mariano Rivera came in to close the game out, you can tack on another $15 million. Damn Yankees.
And if you think about their work day, A-Rod would be making about $200,000 a game. So while I sat there drinking $9 beer after $9 beer, leafing through my $7 program, A-Rod was pocketing more money those three hours than I will for the next few years. Damn Yankees.
The game was great though. I was expecting a little more of a hostile environment, considering the stadium's location in the Bronx and all, but it never got too heated. Maybe it was due to the day game. The only time anyone got worked up was when Pena got beaned on the hand, went down and then got up and spoke to the trainers for a few minutes. Yankee fans got RESTLESS. Pena finished the at bat. Turns out, the at bat finished his season. He'd broken his hand. Oh, and a couple Red Sox fans nearly got lynched leaving the ballpark.
The game did have one notable drag: I had to sit next to a really annoying Yankees fan, who chewed really loudly, and sounded like Bert, of Bert and Ernie fame. He kind of looked like him too, although he was wearing a backward cap. He was seated with all these friends of his, in their mid-to-late 30s, who would talk about these mindless, trivial baseball things, like how cute Jeter was... blah blah blah. Basically, they spoke about the kinds of things that would make any real baseball fan want to vomit his cracker jacks. The guy would get and give back rubs and laugh like Richie Gazzo in Donnie Brasco and would tune in and out of the game, yelling and clapping really loud when he was into it, and proceeding to get drunker and drunker and he was kind of an ass to whoever wasn't a crony of his. Just a general jack-ass.
Also of interest, there are hotdog stands and then there are kosher hotdog stands. I didn't think it was possible to slaughter a cow's testicle and sphincter in a way that conforms to Jewish dietary rites. Who knew?
So much going on here. What is Joe Torre doing in that hat? He looks like an over-the-hill cowboy who hasn't slept in months. And then there's Guiliani, greedily posing with the trophy like a spoiled brat, to show off to his electorate, acting like he had something to do with winning it.
The neatest part of the game was, being out in right field, I got to be close to the opening ritual the Yankees have at the ballpark. One guy stands up in the bleachers during the first inning and yells out a players name, followed by clapping, which everyone in the area, then stadium, follows until the player acknowledges the bleacher.
"DER-EK JE-TER" CLAP! CLAP! CLAPCLAPCLAP!
"A-ROD" CLAPCLAPCLAP!
So they go from player to player and some turn and tip their cap, or raise their glove, barely looking away from the play. All except Nick Swisher, who turned around on his heels, and saluted the crowd, bringing the biggest cheer of all.
I had just finished devouring Michael Lewis' Moneyball -- a must-read for any ball fan or anyone who got a kick out of Freakonomics, or anything Malcolm Gladwell has written about economics and incentives -- and it featured glowing praise of Swisher for not only being an on-base machine, but also a great guy in the dressing room. I could see it in that moment right there.
All in all, great experience, beautiful day, great game. Saw Longoria hit a smash. Well not really a smash, but a ball that barely bested the right field wall. Matt Garza pitched a pretty good game for the away side. C.C. pitched a better one for the Yanks, with something like 10 or 11 Ks. Brett Gardner made an amazing running catch in centerfield, which no one in the park thought he could get to. And I laughed hard whenever Hinske stepped up for the pinstripes. Every other Yankee is treated with adulation and applause, and whenever Hinske came to bat, it was like everyone got up to take a piss.
The breaks between innings were pretty long. Unlike other parks, where they will slip in one sponsorship message or trivia question or promotional contest while the players take the field and warm up, the Yankees would often squish in two, meaning the game dragged on a little longer than I would have liked -- but fuck it, I'm in New York, at a Yankees game, drinking beer. And it was cool to see Mariano Rivera come in to close out the game, complete with 'Enter Sandman' blaring out of the speakers. Metallica, however, did not fit in that mausoleum.
Enter Sandman
On the way out, saw Old Yankee Stadium in the shadows and wondered to myself if this new stadium would ever see a championship -- and now, shit, it could be tonight. Watched the park disappear into the Bronx Zoo from the train, looking at the rooftops near the stadium, tagged with graffiti, through fence.
Sept. 9 -- CitiField in Queens, NY
While the world suffered through a recession, Mets fans have truly been suffering through depression. Welcome to Grand Zero
So the home teams were 3-0 on my trip so far, and I thought I could start marketing myself as a good luck charm. But of course the hard luck Mets broke that soon enough for me.
Before I start, here is a smattering of Mets loathing I've found on the internet lately.
From one of my favourite sites, www.twitter.com/mookiewilson86:
"Remind me to fart on my father's arm for making me a Mets and Jets fan."
"For your average Mets' fan, a Phillies/Yankees World Series is 100% pure, uncut, black-tar Colombian AIDS"
"The Mets should just play company volleyball next year."
"The Mets are the AOL of baseball."
"I don't want to suggest that the Mets' GM Omar Minaya is incompetent, but he just tried to trade Carlos Beltran for David Wright."
and one more not related, just for the hell of it...
"I just ran the Wildcat on my penis. It wasn't sure if I was gonna jerk off, pee, or just scratch its balls."
I got my best deal of the trip at Citibank: 25 rows up on the first-base line, regularly over $80, mine for $28. But like a set of china with a chipped cup or a leather sofa with a small tear, I was getting a discount because I was paying for damaged goods. Reyes, Delgado and Santana were injured and Beltran was making his first start in ages. I did get to watch David Wright and the Marlins' Hanley Ramirez -- maybe the most underrated player in the game today.
Showed up early again, and took a quick little walk through Jackie Robinson Rotunda, a beautiful hall in the lobby of the stadium's main entrance, celebrating the heroic Robinson, who broke the colour-barrier in baseball back in 1947.
Nice rotunda and all, but why do you have it?
Now here's a perfect example of how mixed up the Mets are: they celebrate a player who never once played a game for their franchise with a beautiful display. I suppose, since the Mets are closer to Brooklyn, where Robinson started his career, and since they modeled their stadium after Brooklyn's old digs -- Ebbets Field -- that they have taken it upon themselves to keep his legacy alive, but it just doesn't make sense. Really, it should be the Los Angeles Dodgers to celebrate Robinson, as the Brooklyn Dodgers moved from Ebbets Field to L.A. just after Jackie retired. So the Mets celebrate someone who is not their own.
Planes, planes, planes
Anyways, I really liked the feel of the stadium. Very comfortable and intimate, compared to the colossal, concrete Yankee Stadium. I walked around for a good hour, getting different vantage points and speaking with a nice security guard about how old-school the park felt. I watched plane after plane take off from LaGuardia airport just outside the stadium and looked over at Flushing Meadows, where the U.S. Open Tennis Championships semi-finals or quarterfinals were going off. (A U.S. Tennis official helped us all out, as we got off the subway. "Green balls, left. White balls, right.")
Also, it was free hotdog night and the staff were giving people three or four tickets, because the game was far from sold out. Beautiful for a traveller on a stringless shoe budget, who has been eating pizza by the slice for nearly a week already. I ate until I was ready to vomit cow testicle and sphincter.
Now, I really liked the look of the stadium, but leave it to Mets fans to shit all over their squad. I sat next to three businessmen, who were at their first game in a while. A friend had given them the tickets because he wasn't able to sell them. I told them my impression of the stadium, how I liked the coziness, compared to Yankee Stadium.
The guy told me the place was falling apart. He mentioned Jerry Seinfeld's public complaints in the NY Post about his luxury box being flooded, and then said there were cracks in other areas of the concourse. He said the club would never make as much money as they did that year, with the attraction of the inaugural season in the stadium and said people's interest fanning out. The Mets, by the way, spent the second most money in the bigs last year -- more than $145 million. And they didn't make the playoffs. The guy then asked if I'd ever seen more security in my life at a ball game, and slowly my opinion started to turn.
The Marlins came out quickly, Cody Ross smashing a GIANT homerun in the first inning and took away any momentum or lingering hope from the Mets faithful.
Not much of a pitching match-up either, I mean you don't dream about Ricky Nolasco versus Pat Mitsch.
Slowly, my love of the park waned as the game went on, as I was asked to show my ticket EVERY single time I left my chair to get a beer or piss or eat a free hotdog. I finally told the guy the fourth time he stopped me if he didn't remember me, and he just asked for the ticket. The businessman was right, I have never seen so many security and park personnel at a stadium in all my days.
Pretty uneventful game, with a lot of Mets fans reserving their harshest criticism for their own team. There was a play where Dan Murphy dropped a pop-up or something and people got on him HARRRDDD! This was after he already belted a homerun, and overheard people talking about how much they liked him because he played the game the right way. The badgering was bad and a little personal and indicative of how frustrated the fan base is.
Again, I would have loved to have seen a game at Shea Stadium.
Pal, you're at a Mets game. Not a Yankees tilt in the late-1990s. Or a trailer park.
I took the train from Queens all the way back to Harlem, and listen to miserable Mets fans talk about their team.
Sept. 15 -- Fenway Stadium in Boston, Mass.
(Note: I got pretty drunk -- by myself -- at this game. I don't know why. I really don't know what it was. Could have been the uncertainty about finances, leaving for Iceland in a day or two and then not knowing where I would be after that. Could have been the fact that I was at Fenway fucking Park and just going with the flow. Could have been the cold night and trying to warm up.)
Outside Providence
Showed up for this beaut and had a beer at -- I can't remember the place off the top of my head, so I'm resorting to google.com -- Cask 'N Flanagans (maybe???). Met some French folks from Quebec, who may have convinced me sub-consciously with their stories and laid-back nature that Montreal was the place for me to set off to once my VISA account put a permanent kaibosh on further travels.
I may have had the shittiest seats in the park. Four rows from the top, in the centerfield bleachers, forty seats in -- undoubtably I was a terrible neighbour at the game, leaving to piss every inning or so, as I stretched my bladder with Bo Sox beers, stepping on forty feet or so each time. Yeah, I was that guy.
The Green Monster at dusk
Throwing the Dice (lots of Japanese fans crowded around taking picture after picture of Dice-K warming up)
Unlike nearly every other stadium I visited -- with the exception of Wrigley because I wasn't able to walk around -- Fenway was not conducive at all to letting the fan walk around and view the game from other spots. There were simply no open areas to stand and watch the action, unlike U.S. Cellular, Citibank and even Yankee Stadiums, designed with verandas for friends to stand and socialize during the game. Fenway Park had seats packed into whatever space was available. I'm not complaining though, because that's what I expected and man, what an old school, historic park. And Fenway definitely had the happiest, most captivated and observant fans of all the parks I visited.
Got to watch my boy Vladdy play again -- after seeing him smack dingers in Seattle about five years ago and gun down Ichiro from right (even though he didn't get the call) and rip the ball around the park in Anaheim six years ago. Kind of sad to see him hobble around. I hope he heals up this winter and he's not done. Would love to see him get 500HR and 3,000 hits in his career, although that's not looking very good these days.
Dice-K pitched a phenomenal game in his return, and Lackey wasn't so bad. Big Papi swatted a jack, but honestly I don't remember too, too much from the game other than this couple. I was back and forth ALOT.
I do remember that Jacoby Ellsbury received so many cheers from chicks I thought Ashton Kutcher was playing or something.
Also, I became enthralled by two fans about five rows in front of me. They were like those two kind of awkward people who haven't really been in relationships very often and are too overt with their fondness for each other. They made out HARD throughout the first five innings. Seriously, it was violent. And the guy would just hold his head out whatever chance he got -- whenever the Sox got a hit, whenever the music played -- hovering for a molester kiss. By the time I decided to pop out my camera -- and felt no self-awareness from the buckets of suds I'd pounded back -- and with the urging of my neighbours, I tried to take pictures of them playing tongue-wars. Didn't really happen though.
Here's my best try.
Is that weird?
Wandered around a bit after the game, hoping to find some people to party with, but I was in sort of roughish shape and decided to call it a night. Found the train and then went back to Allston and chatted with a transsexual from Iran on the steps of the Roach Hostel.
Summary:
Friendliest fans: Wrigley Field
Liveliest atmosphere: Wrigley Field (by a hair, over Fenway Park)
Most expensive beer: Yankee Stadium ($9 or $10 with a commemorative plastic cup of New Yankee stadium)
Most expensive program: Yankee Stadium
Most expensive team on field: Yankees
Most depressed/self-deprecating fanbase: MetsMost obsessed fanbase: Red Sox
Largest stadium: Yankee Stadium
Most opportunity to walk around and watch the game from other spots: U.S. Cellular Field
Most impersonal stadium: Yankee Stadium
Stingiest stadium: Citibank Field
Horniest fanbase: Red Sox
Best game: Central Park crazy people
