Category: Fandom

On a Saturday afternoon in 2002, I walked into Pacific Bell Park to watch a pre-game montage of Barry Bonds’ milestone home runs, culminating with #600, which Bonds reached the night before. I was 18 hours too late to witness history. And when Bonds proceeded to go 0-1 with three walks, I didn’t even get a chance to see #601.

When I ventured into Dodger Stadium a three Friday nights ago, I had a hope – but not a ton of confidence – that this time I would be luckier. Truth be told, I didn’t really believe Albert Pujols had a chance to hit two home runs on a cool(ish) night at Chavez Ravine. I figured he might get one, at which point we would have seen history, but all of us in attendance would have been left on the cusp of immortality.

In my years going to ballgames across the country, I have been lucky enough to see some pretty cool things – many of which I didn’t expect. Dennis Martinez throwing a perfect game on scalding Sunday afternoon; Big Papi hitting a walk-off dinger at Fenway; the wind playing tricks at Candlestick; a Justin Turner walk-off in the NLCS; my son catching a foul ball at Comerica Park; the longest World Series game ever played; and a wild 13-12 ten-inning World Series Game 5 in Houston. Not to mention seeing my beloved Red Sox clinching the World Series with Manny Machado bending the knee.

Many of these moments were jaw-dropping and scream-inducing. Many had me leaving the park with a perma-grin that could not be wiped off for hours if not days. But what I witnessed a few Friday nights ago was something else. It was surprising, but not totally unexpected. From 2001 to 2010, there may not have been a better, more consistent hitter on the planet than Albert Pujols. And even when that run ended, he posted six additional seasons with an OPS+ between 113 and 148.

But when the mighty fall, they fall hard. Since 2017, Pujols has been a shell of himself, and that of an average ballplayer. When the Angels released Albert in May of 2021, many thought that was the end of the line – a Hall of Fame career ending with a whimper. But the Dodgers – as they so often do – breathed new life into someone else’s castoff, and got the most out of Pujols’ aging bat. In 189 at bats over 85 games for the Dodgers, Pujols socked 11 home runs and posted a 99 OPS+. But, more importantly, in his new role as “Tio Albert,” he re-found his love of the game.

Going into 2022, signing back with the Cardinals, we all wondered if Albert Pujols could – like Billy Chapel, his fictional counterpart – “push the sun back up in the sky and give us more day of summer.” For the first half of the season, he couldn’t. Through July 2^nd, Pujols was hitting .192 with four dingers and a .325 slug. At that point, forget Alex Rodriguez, forget 700, all we were hoping for was an ending slightly better than Willie Mays following down in the Shea Stadium outfield. But then something happened – maybe it was Independence Day BBQ in St. Louis, or maybe Albert just began guzzling from a fountain of youth at the Gateway Geyser. Either way, as Ben Linbergh wrote about, from July 4^th to the end of the season, Albert hit .321, and pounded 20 home runs with a .695 slug. To bastardize Vin Scully twice in the same paragraph, when the Cardinals arrived in Los Angeles on September 23^rd, what once seemed impossible, became improbable, became possible, and then simply became.

Prior to the game, Albert and Yadier Molina were honored and gifted with custom Dodger golf bags. Albert addressed the Dodgers, thanking them for giving him a new lease on life last season (after the game he was quoted as saying: “If they didn’t give me that opportunity [last season] I don’t think I would be sitting here today or you [would] have seen history tonight”), and thanking the Dodger fans for embracing him after his ignominious departure from the team to the south.

When Albert batted in the first inning, everyone stood, and nearly everyone held a camera hoping to document history. Alas, it was not to be.

Albert didn’t disappoint when he came to the plate in the top of the third, crushing a 1-2 fastball more than 400 feet into the left field bleachers. The place exploded. The Dodgers had already clinched the NL West, so the fans didn’t care about the score. And when Pujols pointed to the sky upon touching home plate, we all collectively did the math: it’s the third inning, he potentially has three more at bats. Could he? Would he? Was that too much to ask?

In nearly 50 years, only 42,256 fans have seen a 700^th home run in person. That was the attendance in San Francisco 18 years ago when Bonds joined the Hammer and the Babe. Now an additional 50,041 sat on the edge of their seats hoping to join a pretty exclusive club of fans.

Albert didn’t keep us waiting long. In the top of the fourth, after the Dodgers swapped lefty Andrew Heaney for righty Phil Bickford, Albert blasted a cement-mixer slider high and deep into the Los Angeles night. This one did not travel nearly as far as the first, but there was something romantic about the towering nature of the drive. #699 was hit so hard and so fast, we didn’t have time to appreciate it – we just hollered and watched Pujols circle the bases. But #700 was wholly different. It was majestic; it gracefully hung in the air, allowing us to track its flight, to give us hope, to build our anticipation, and ultimately to exult in its final resting place in the glove of an ecstatic fan in the first row of the left field pavilion. If a professional athlete and his fans can ever truly share a moment, the arc of this particular home run allowed for it to happen.

I cannot say that the Dodger Stadium crowd reached the same volume level as it did in after JT’s shot in the 2017 NLCS, or Max Muncy’s in the 2018 World Series, but it was damn close. If you love the roar of the crowd, the shower of cheers (to paraphrase Vinny, once again), then you could not help but be delighted by “what we just saw” (h/t Jack Buck).

Upon crossing home plate, Pujols sprinted to the backstop to give a high ten to Adrian Beltre, a fellow Dominican and dear friend, who made sure he had a literal front row seat for history. And then he offered a bunch of high fives before fully embracing Yadi – his teammate for nine seasons, both of whom are enjoying a pretty righteous send-off.

Tim Kurkjian, the Hall of Fame baseball writer, likes to say that what he loves about baseball is that you never know what you are going to see when you go to the ballpark. Those of us fortunate enough to be at Dodger Stadium on September 23, 2022 got the chance to witness history; it was not something we ever thought we would see, and something we as baseball fans may never see again.

PLAY BALL!!

Many years ago, I was watching an NFL game from Dallas. Al Michaels had the call, and he was raving about the beauty and grandeur of AT&T Stadium, Jerry Jones’ then-new gift to the world and the world of football. Al could not stop talking about the sight lines and the massive video screen that stretches more than 50 years on each side of the field. In short, Al was smitten.

A few years later I found myself at Jerry’s World, and while I was impressed with the size and the scope of the stadium, I could not have been less impressed with the fan and the viewing experience. The security queue felt endless; the bathroom lines ran into the beer lines; the sections/aisles were not well marked; and the video screen was more distracting than anything else. And don’t even get me started about the quality or the cost of the food.

I was reminded of this journey to North Texas a few weeks back when Buster Olney was discussing his favorite baseball parks. He stated that Tropicana Field is way up his list as it has the shortest distance from the press box to the clubhouse, which makes his life easier. You see, Buster, like Al, is at the stadium to do a job, not to enjoy a game. Rather than paying good money to be entertained, these media members are looking for ease of use to ply their craft.

I have no doubt that the press box at AT&T Stadium has all of the amenities an announcer needs, including a bathroom close enough in proximity to go to and fro during a typical TV timeout. I am sure Al’s car dropped him under the stadium right next to an elevator that propelled him straight to an area where all of his needs were met. The same goes for Buster, who is used to the bowels of a ballpark, so when the rest of the place looks the same, it does not much matter.

Unfortunately for most of us, we rely on these announcers to give us a feel for the parks and the stadiums where they do their work. Most of us don’t get to visit each Major League city and do our own analysis. So, when we hear trusted voices like Al Michaels and Buster Olney tell us how great something is, or how they like this one more than that, we are inclined to believe them — even if their reasoning is flawed, or at least subjective.

Because I love baseball and because I subscribe to the “trust but verify” school of thought, I have been traveling the country to visit every ballpark. I have one active stadium left, and will need to leave the country to get there, with Rogers Centre in Toronto the last box to check. As such, I consider myself a pretty good judge of what each stadium has to offer. And, just as I wholeheartedly disagree with Al’s view of AT&T, so too do I with Buster’s feelings about The Trop (as written here).

One of the reasons I have not yet ventured to Canada to see the Blue Jays is that I read that there is a two-phase set of renovations planned to start after this season. Phase One will modernize the fan experience. Now they are speaking my language. 

One would assume, in 2022, with so many pulls on the entertainment dollar, and with ticket, parking, and concession prices consistently outpacing even the most robust inflationary period in four decades, teams would be doing everything in their power to insure that a visit to their yard is fun for the whole family — and not just the diehards. In too many cases, that assumption is incorrect. And, unfortunately, I know why. Fans don’t seem to care.

According to ESPN’s Jeff Passan, MLB estimates that about 40 percent of revenues come from tickets, concessions, and other gate-related income. As we saw during the 2020 season, when faced with the prospect of no or few fans in the seats, owners VERY quickly leaned into the need to increase attendance to supplement their bottom line.

So how can they do that? By putting a better team on the field? By making the fan experience better? A mixture of the two? Unfortunately, the answer just isn’t clear.

Oakland-Alameda Coliseum (using its most well-known name) is a dump. Since 2006, the A’s have had attendance in the bottom third of all American League teams every year but one, despite four first-place finishes and four second-place finishes. The action on the field may have been good, but the ballpark experience is not, so people didn’t come.

Let’s look at the Mariners, who provide arguably the best fan experience in the game. Since 2006, they have not ranked higher than sixth in overall attendance. Is that because in those 17 years, the team has mostly been mediocre (at best) and not once made the playoffs?

Or Pittsburgh, with its beautiful skyline and delicious pierogis. Since 2006, its high-water mark is ninth in the National League (both in 2014 and 2015), which were the two seasons they made the playoffs. They are in the bottom third in attendance nearly every other year.

The Brewers have an incredible fan experience. Their attendance has been above 2 million since 2004 (excluding 2020, of course), even though they finished sixth in the NL Central that season, and have chalked up five fourth-place finishes and five third places in that time.

Since moving into Petco Park in 2004, the Padres have had at least 2 million in attendance in every year but one. And during that time, they have finished in fifth place five times, and fourth place four. Yet, fans still come to the park because it is a hell of a good time.

What about the crown jewel of the new-old ballparks: Camden Yards? Since 2006, the Orioles have been in the bottom third of AL attendance every season except for four. They topped out in sixth place the year they won the AL East (2014). Camden was “the” place to be when it opened, holding first or second place in attendance for the first eight years of its existence. But after Baltimore finished in fourth place four out of five seasons, attendance plummeted. Without a winning team, not even the most charming place in Charm City could draw fans, as the O’s found themselves in the bottom third for eleven out of sixteen seasons (2020 excluded).

For my money (and, often, it is my money), the Dodgers have one of the worst fan experiences in the entire sport. And yet, they get TONS of fans. They have drawn at least 2.8 million every year since 1996 (not counting 2020), and this includes 3.85 million and 3.56 million in seasons in which they finished fourth.

So what is the moral of the story? People don’t come to the park just for the fan experience. And they don’t just come for the winning. With that knowledge, one wonders why the Dodgers undertook a $100 million renovation to improve the fan experience if doing so wouldn’t have any impact on their attendance figures? Why would the Blue Jays spend nearly $300 million over two years to make life better for their fans? There must be some reason.

My hope is that this is a harbinger of great things to come. It would be incredible if, in an effort to create the next generation of baseball fans, teams dedicated themselves to upgrading their facilities to make the local baseball stadium a destination, a place where kids — and their parents — want to go; a place where people of any age can be entertained, regardless of the action on the field. And, if while they’re at it, they could find it in their heart to reduce the price of a beer, that would be great too!

PLAY BALL!!

A lawyer friend called me the other day to discuss a deal. But before we got down to business, we had to deal with important matters. He wanted my thoughts on the trade deadline and the passing of Vin Scully. I offered a few bromides about the Dodgers’ failure to land Juan Soto and then jumped into my feelings about Vinny.

As a general rule, I try to find silver linings. And so I told my friend I had two thoughts about what was a very sad day for baseball fans in general, and Dodger fans/Los Angelenos in specific:

THOUGHT #1:

We are just so very fortunate to have this man’s greatest hits, his greatest moments, on audio and video that we can pull up any time we want a trip down memory lane. It is not often that we are afforded that opportunity – just ask anyone who has watched grainy Hi-8 videos of dearly departed loved ones. About a day after I shared this thought with my friend, Steve Rushin wrote the following (which, as to be expected, is brilliantly articulated):

In death, his voice doesn’t fall silent, for it lives on in endless recordings and in the eternal hereafter of YouTube. Indeed, now that Vin has joined the celestial choir—the analogies are apt for the Catholic boy with the golden pipes—his voice travels with him, as broadcast signals travel through space. Somewhere, someone in the firmament is always being wished a very pleasant good evening, courtesy of Vin Scully—St. Vinny of Wherever You May Be.

Like I said…

THOUGHT #2:

We, as baseball fans, are lucky to have had a five-and-a-half-year separation from having Vinny in our everyday lives. Had this death happened a few years ago, say, in the hours after Vin called another Dodgers-Giants game, such that he was here today and gone tomorrow, well, I don’t know how we would have reacted. I don’t know if we could have watched another Dodger game for the rest of the season. I don’t know how you have that essential part of your life – at least the lives of millions of Dodger and baseball fans who listened to Vin every night – ripped from you and not felt that loss at an emotional, visceral level. Had his death occurred this way, it is not hyperbole to say that the season may have been ruined.

Vin stepped away from the mic after the 2016 season, and that has afforded us our own mourning period. We were given the opportunity to meet and get to know Joe Davis. We have learned to watch and enjoy Dodger games without Vin – something we didn’t have to contend with for nearly 70 years.

In the many, many hours of reading, watching, and listening about Vin that I have consumed since Tuesday night, this one idea stood out to me: People born in the 1800s listened to Vin call games, and so too did people born in the 2000s. Sure, none of those nineteenth-century fans are still with us, but all of us would feel this loss that much more acutely if Vin had still been a day-to-day, night-to-night presence when it happened.

A MOMENT WITHOUT VIN:

Shortly after Vin retired in 2016, the Dodgers found themselves in an epic playoff battle with the Washington Nationals. After watching Clayton Kershaw save Game 5 for the Dodgers, giving them the NLDS title, I couldn’t have been more excited – for the Dodgers and for Kershaw. But I knew the moment was missing something. And, because I grew up in Los Angeles, and because I live here now, Vin’s voice and viewpoint are in my bloodstream; I can hear him calling a game, even when he is nowhere to be found.

So, this is what I wrote immediately after that game, and am republishing it today as it seems fitting to add to the canon:

THE CALL THAT COULD HAVE BEEN

(Originally published October 16, 2016)

*Editor’s Note: The words you will read below are what you might have heard when we came back from commercial Thursday night, starting as Clayton Kershaw finished up his warm-up pitches. As best you can, read this in Vin Scully’s voice.

“When Kershaw takes the hill, you get the sense that he is not pitching against Daniel Murphy, he is not pitching against the Nationals, nor is he pitching against the Phillies, the Cardinals, the Mets, or the millions of people who have written and spoken about Clayton’s troubles in the post-season.

No, you must imagine that Clayton is pitching against those doubts that bubble up in the head of every athlete – at one time or another – those doubts that ask, “Am I really that good?”

Anyway, enough about that.

Daniel Murphy digs in and Kershaw comes set at the belt.

Fastball, up and in.

Whoa! So much for fatigue.

That fastball had a little extra something on it. In fact, I don’t think Kershaw hit 95 even once on Tuesday afternoon but, sure enough, fatigue is no match for adrenaline.

Kershaw stares in at Ruiz, shakes his head, once, now twice. Kershaw comes set at the belt, and the one and oh pitch is a fastball in on the hands; short pop on the infield, Culberson takes a few steps back, and just like that, Daniel Murphy is retired.

You have to wonder if Dave Roberts will go out and get Kershaw, having gotten the one man he was brought in to get.

Well, I guess we have our answer.

Roberts is staying put, and you get the feeling that it would have taken Roberts, Honeycutt, and a team of coaches to pry the ball out of Kershaw’s hand at this point.

So the chess match continues.

Well, fresh out of options, Dusty Baker has gone to the last man standing.

Wilmer Difo, the rookie shortstop, is Baker’s and the Nationals’ last hope.

Wilmer, from Santiago de los Caballeros in the Dominican Republic, made his major league debut on May 19th, and here he finds himself square in the eye of the hurricane.

Difo, a switch hitter, digs in from the right side against the left-handed Kershaw.

Fastball, WAY inside. Difo had to do a little dance to avoid that 93-mile-per-hour heater. Difo must be wondering how he got himself into this situation, and wondering if he can pull a Houdini and get himself out of it.

Kershaw is ready, Harper leads from second, and Werth off of first. Gonzalez is playing behind Werth, and Seager is bird-dogging Harper, trying to keep him close.

The 1-0 delivery is a fastball fouled away. And Kershaw has squared his account.

When you look out in the infield, Seager is doing his best to keep Harper from getting too big of a lead, hoping to keep him from scoring on a single.

Of course, with two outs, the runners will be off on contact. Harper runs pretty well and knowing the way Harper plays the game, there will be no holding him at third if the opportunity to score arises.

Here comes the 1-1 pitch, Difo swings through a 91-mile-per-hour slider. I tell you, that just isn’t fair.

Difo started the season in Triple-A, and now, in the biggest moment of the year, in quite possibly the biggest moment of his life, he has to face arguably the best pitcher on the planet.

Kershaw brings his hands high above his head, and slowly brings them down and settles at the belt. He takes a look at the runners, and the runners GO.

Difo dribbles it foul up along third, and the runners have to return from whence they came.

Difo had an extremely defensive swing on that pitch, and really, who can blame him? He is doing his level best just to stay in the box at this point.

You know this is the 167th game that each of the Nationals and the Dodgers have played this season; they have split the first two games of this series, and here we are in the bottom of the ninth inning of a one-run game. Folks, it doesn’t get much closer than this.

Kershaw has rubbed up a new ball and is now ready to go.

Difo digs in while Harper and Werth take their leads. The 1-2 delivery is a BREAKING ball in the DIRT, SWUNG ON and MISSED. Ruiz keeps the ball in front of him and guns it to Gonzalez covering first to complete the strikeout.

At 12:41 in the morning, East Coast time, the Dodgers have won the division series; and maybe, just as importantly, Clayton Kershaw has slayed his demons.

I tell you, folks, just when you think you have seen it all – you get Clayton Kershaw saving a game in which Dodger CLOSER, Kenley Jansen, threw nearly three innings and 51 pitches.

And, not for nothing, but the last time Kershaw, the three-time Cy Young winner, recorded a save – it came ALL the way back in 2006, in rookie ball in the Gulf Coast League. His catcher that day…Kenley Jansen.

Well, that’ll do it from the nation’s capital where the Dodgers have defeated the Washington Nationals 4-3 to advance to the National League Championship Series.

For Charlie Steiner, Rick Monday, and the rest of our crew, this is Vin Scully wishing you a very pleasant good evening, wherever you may be.”

RIP, Mr. Scully. You were a one of one, and every time we look up into that “cotton candy sky,” please know:

PLAY BALL!!

A few months ago, my wife, who is a master at planning vacations, hit me with this idea: How about we meet up for Spring Break in Boston? Because she knows the animal, she had already checked the schedule and confirmed that the Red Sox would be in town. And, because the kids are growing and at different schools and thus have different Spring Break schedules, she also made sure that they all could join us in the Back Bay. Since the two youngest had never been to Boston, and because I never pass up an opportunity to go to Fenway Park, the answer was an easy one.

A click on the MLB site and then a call to the Red Sox ticket office locked in seven choice seats for a Sunday afternoon in April. Now, when I bought these tickets the players were locked out, but I felt relatively confident that the owners and players would resolve their differences with plenty of time to spare. And then they didn’t. And then Rob Manfred canceled the first week of the season. And then he canceled another week. While I wanted the impasse resolved and 162 games to be played, I clung to Manfred’s assertion that missed games would not be made up, and that the current schedule would hold. As such, I still had a few days of wiggle room; but the outcome was beginning to look bleak. Of course, a trip to Boston would still be incredible without the Red Sox. Of course, there was plenty of sights to see, history to learn, food to eat, without noshing on Fenway Franks. But, all things being equal, why would one ever do that? It wasn’t Red Sox or bust, but it was damn close.

As we all know, the owners and the players came to an uneasy accord. The first week of the season was lost, but all else remained on schedule, and our tickets for the Sunday before Patriots’ Day would and could be put to use. Suffice it to say, there was jubilation in our house when the lockout was lifted.

My son flew in from college a day early to take his third public tour of Fenway – he just cannot get enough. And on Sunday, we arrived at Jersey Street before the gates opened. Rather than waiting on line, I took the kids to Lansdowne Street and bought some souvenirs. We walked up Ipswich to Van Ness and then back to Jersey, where fans were now flowing through the gates. A brief (can it be brief?) stop at the team store netted nothing additional (yet), so we walked around the former Yawkey Way and took in the sights and sounds. I have been to nearly every ballpark, and nothing really compares to the scene outside Fenway (unfortunately, one needs a ticket to get onto Jersey Street, so this excitement is not open to the public).

The law school roommate of a dear friend of mine is an executive with the Red Sox, and he met us outside Gate A to take us on a behind-the-scenes tour of the park. We saw nooks and crannies not available to typical fans (who knew the Red Sox had their own garden where they grow fruits and vegetables for both their luxury suites and local homeless shelters?), as well as well-worn haunts like the Top of the Monster. We went to Ted William’s red seat and checked out the brand new bar and deck area behind the right field bleachers; and we watched Red Sox legend Tim Wakefield broadcast from the new NESN booth overlooking right field. In the Royal Rooters Club we saw “The Dave Roberts Base” (which is exactly what you think it is), as well as tons of memorabilia going back over a hundred years. I showed my kids pictures of what Fenway looked like when their Papa attended games there as a kid. We saw four World Series trophies and the Red Sox Hall of Fame plaques. We had spent the previous days touring Boston and learning American history; we spent Sunday morning touring Fenway Park and learning Red Sox history. Your mileage may vary on which is more important.

After our multiple dime tour, we met the rest of the family back on Jersey Street. My wife and stepdaughter were now the last two who had never been inside America’s Most Beloved Ballpark. So, it was my great pleasure to walk them up the grandstand and have them see the field and the Green Monster for the first time. It’s not the same as Billy Crystal’s description of first walking into Yankee Stadium, which he had only seen in black and white, but it is a close second. When your baseball life experience is essentially made up of Dodger Stadium, Fenway Park is otherworldly. You are just so close to the field; that wall is just so tall; and everything is just so green. And whether you are a Red Sox season ticket holder, or you are making your first visit to Fenway, the old building never disappoints.

The game got off to a slow start, but the offense picked up in the later innings. But the truth is, it did not matter. We bought snacks from the ubiquitous vendors, and held our breath when Kiké Hernández did his best Pudge Fisk impersonation, pulling one just foul down the line. Around the fourth inning my stepson said “this place is the best.” He and I don’t always see eye to eye, but on this we can agree.

And as we moved into the bottom of the sixth, I stopped my kids from leaving their seats, as I knew what was to come. The seventh inning stretch and then “Sweet Caroline” were capstones for the girls. The Red Sox win, “Dirty Water,” and “Tessie” were the capstones for me and the boys. We piled out of Fenway Park with full bellies and smiles on our faces. But we still had to make one more stop at the team store. For those who had never been before, they now knew how special the Fenway experience is; they now had to have a keepsake.

I have been to more than thirty MLB parks, and nearly all of the current ones. When people ask me my favorite, I always start with the notion that you have to take Wrigley Field and Fenway Park out of the conversation, as those two are cathedrals, they are cultural institutions, they are historic landmarks. I have spent a lot of time at Wrigley over the past few years, and don’t get to Fenway as often as I would like. But maybe that is for the best, as Fenway never stops being special; it never ceases to amaze, impress, and satisfy what my baseball-loving heart desires. As my friend Gabrielle Starr has written, “If you’ve been to Fenway before, you know what I mean. It’s that buzz of magic, of history, and anticipation. It’s the pulling of that thread that connects baseball’s past and present.”

I have pulled that thread, and been to Fenway Park with my dad, and with my sons. But this time I got to bring my wife and all my kids, and got to experience it through their eyes. They say you are only as happy as your most unhappy child. Well, after three hours in uncomfortable seats facing slightly the wrong direction, on a blustery Sunday in Boston, I was walking on sunshine.

PLAY BALL!!