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Almost a perfect time, every time
There isn’t much as sweet in this short, unsatisfying life as a trip to the ballpark on a soft summer night. Sitting in a nice box seat, an ice-cold beer in one hand, a sack of salty peanuts in the other, baseball on the field, the smells, the sounds… man, you can’t get much better than that. It’s not as good as sex, but it’s pretty damn good and, like your average lay, it’s really, really hard to screw it up.
I do have a few minor quibbles with the whole ballpark experience, and none of them have anything to do with the prices, the parking; the usual things people complain about. Parking at Jacobs Field is convenient to the ballpark and modestly priced as far as I know, and as for the other prices; the point of attending a ballgame isn't to not spend money. My quibbles are a little bit more specific, as well as petty. Some of them are unique to the Jake, and some are universal to all of the many, many ballparks I haven't been.
To wit:
Anti-Chief Wahoo protesters outside the ballpark.Yup, there they are, right outside Gate C. A little knot of people waving signs, decrying the Tribe’s avuncular logo (which I’ve heard is a big seller on Indian reservations- seriously). Most of these protesters are not ‘injuns’, ‘redskins’, or ‘savages’, but white liberals, which is of course not a surprise. And if one was to try and reason with these unhappy folks, tell them the name and the logo are wholly unimportant in the cosmos and that maybe people shouldn’t go around looking for shit to get offended about, they're liable to come back with the old saw: What if the Indians were called the Cleveland Negroes? What if they were called the Cleveland Jews? How would that make you feel? Huh? Huh? Well, first of all, calling a team the Jews- probably the most non-athletic ethnic group in the history of civilization- would be hilarious. I'm sold on that moniker, and Abe Foxman can go fuck himself. Second, I know no team is ever going to be named the ‘Negroes’, so there’s no point in even bringing that shit up. Protest the Tribe's 35 million-dollar payroll, or go the fuck to Chernobyl and chain yourselves to the Number Four reactor, or queue your asses up to the window and buy a ticket. It's time for the ballgame!
The guy who is in my field box. Yo. Homes. This isn’t "The Stadium", where you could sit wherever the hell you wanted because it had 75,000 seats and about a thousand that were actually sold. This is the Jake. Even on a bad day (most games) it’s usually about half-full. Plus, this is, you know, a seat. With arms and such. Find yours, and get the fuck out of mine, sir. Please.
People who are obviously not ballplayers yet wear gloves to the game. You always see people- old ladies, seven-year olds, whoever- carrying the leather, so they’ll be able to make a Web Gem on the one-in-a-thousandth chance a ball is going to come directly their way. Unless your name is Doug Flutie and you have a homing device when it comes to flying baseballs, you’re probably not going to need that Rawlings on the end of your arm. Especially if you’re sitting in the top row of the bleachers or in the mezzanine at Jacobs Field. In those places you’re 450 to 475 feet from home plate. You might as well keep the glove at home and use it as a cum-catcher, a la Casey Affleck in Good Will Hunting, for all the good it’s going to do you at the ballpark.
The guy who buys the entire menu for his family at the concession stand. Last August. It’s the middle of the first inning in game one of a three-game Central showdown between the Tribe and those free-spending Minnesota Twinkies. My man Scott Elarton- throws junk but tough, mixes pitches, never afraid to go after hitters- has just crawled out of a first-inning jam. I rush quickly to the nearest concession stand, hoping to grab a tall cold one (the first of many) before the Indians come to plate in the bottom of the inning. And I’m promptly stuck behind a guy, wife and two kids in tow, ordering everything on the goddamned menu. I’m serious. Pizza, super-nachos, Hillshire brats, hot pretzels; Dad ordered up the works. Took him ten minutes, at least, to order, and another ten for him and his family to carry their full-course meals away from the stand and back to wherever the hell they were sitting. The entire staff was enlisted to cobble together this repast. I just wanted a draft beer and to be on my way. Meantime the Indians were jumping all over Carlos Silva for five first-inning runs, capped off by Ben Broussard’s three-run shot into the Davey Tree Picnic Plaza; not that I saw any of it. Like Console TV Man from Heat, I heard it, mostly, because I was too busy looking at this guy’s back as he monopolized the labor at the concession stand. I don’t pretend to know anything about fatherhood and having two totally dependant beings screaming at you that they’re hungry; they’re hungry right now, but then again, I don’t pretend that the ballpark is some kind of restaurant either. At the very least, Pops could have dispersed his family unit to multiple concession stands around the concourse, avoiding the logjam. Or just grabbed a couple of hot dogs, a couple of Cokes, and cleared out. Keep it simple, stupid! Can’t you see there’s baseball to watch, and drinking to do?
People using cell phones at the game. This should be the entirety of a ballpark cell phone conversation- if you must bring a cell phone into the place, that is:
“Yeah, what?”
“Cecil, your mother just di-“
“Save it for after the game.” Click.
Do people generally look like ‘perpetrators’ when they’re on a cell, or is it just me? Maybe it's just guys who do. Girls look kind of natural when they're yapping into those fuckers.
The couple wearing matching jerseys. This sight- boy and girl holding hands and wearing identical jerseys- was a phenomenon at the Jake back in the salad days of the late ‘90s, when fly-by-nighters who didn’t know Cleveland had a team in 1991 made the ballpark their personal playground. On the few occasions when I could pick a lock and get in there for a game, I never failed to see this. You’re in love, you’re like, totally simpatico, and you’re proving it by wearing matching jerseys to the ballgame. That's sweet. Really, it is.
Kiss it, bitches
Sigh.
Oh, the jerseys were your idea? Like Jim Gosger says; Yeah, suuuure. Is that why you’re both wearing #13 VIZQUEL jerseys? Oh, Omar’s your favorite player? Hey, I’ll put my Omar Vizquel man-love up against yours and ten other guys that look just like you, but who are we kidding? Everybody knows it’s the ladies who really can’t get enough of him. After all, Omar’s got a good body, he seems really nice in interviews, and his accent is soooo fucking sexy! Come on, now. If you’re going to be a man-bitch, at least be one in a #25 THOME, as a tribute to the Patron Saint of Redneck Ballplayers. Or better yet, the most masculine jersey in Tribe history: #8 BELLE. Of course, if you had a choice of what jersey to wear, you wouldn’t be in this fix in the first place, would you?
Note- I painted my bedroom once, because a girlfriend insisted on it. She simply couldn’t live with the red trim I’d painted on the walls about eight months earlier. She complained about it every time she slept over- the violent color, my sloppy painting job, yadda yadda yadda, and finally she told me she couldn’t sleep another night in the room with the red trim. I dug the red trim. Wouldn't have done it up like that if I hadn't. She went to Lowe’s and picked out the new colors. I tagged along. I had always thought of painting as a messy, unpleasant chore. She thought of it as a ‘project’ of some sort. Hey, what the fuck did I know? We re-trimmed the room blue. She let me watch football while we worked- Northwestern 58, Michigan 56. Point is, I can be brought to heel rather easily- paint a wall that doesn’t need painting because a girl says so-, but matching jerseys is pretty much crossing the Rubicon, from where I see it.
People who do a Bartman. I saw a good example of this the other night during a Tribe game. A batter for the Royals lofted a foul pop down the left-field line, and Covelli “Coco” Crisp ranged over to snare it. The ball drifted out of play over the stands- not deep in the stands: first row, just enough room for Coco to get a glove over the railing and make a play. Unfortunately, some Sherminator-looking high school kid who weighed about 85 pounds, in an attempt to catch the ball, leaned his body directly into Coco’s way. Coco and the fan collided, and the ball bounced off the two. No catch, no out. Coco gave the fan a good long look before he walked back out to his position. Albert Belle might have found the pill and drilled the Sherminator in the noggin, telling him if he wanted the ball so fucking bad, there it was. I may have approved of that line of action, depending on the level of import of the game. Your guy is trying to do his job. Get your ass out of the way!
I can’t feel too much sympathy for Steve Bartman. Not that I condone the death threats, him having to live in hiding like Salmon Rushdie post-fatwa… but I understand, see. Fucking Cubs are five outs from the World Series, and he's thinking about souvenirs. Where the blue fuck was his head? Not to mention, Bartman’s was a major violation of ballpark etiquette. Every baseball fan over the age of ten ought to know that when your guy is trying to catch a ball near the stands, you get out of the way, and when the other team’s guy is trying to do the same, you fuck his shit up as much as possible within the rules. Bartman wasn’t a Cubs fan- he was a baseball fan, as in, a fan of getting a baseball. Are you there to get a ball, or are you there to watch your team win?
Assholes who do the wave. Sit the fuck down, please. You know who invented the wave? West Coast sports “fans”. You really want to be like those ADD-plagued freaks? This is the Midwest. Around here we actually watch the game (while we talk about the Browns, of course). And if you’re doing the wave with your kids, what kind of example are you setting? That you’re a moron who shows up at the ballpark to do lemming tricks? Let them do it- they’re probably too young and too stupid to know better- but for God’s sakes, sit this one out.
People who swear in front of kids and old people. Bit of a strange quibble for me. But there are lines you shouldn’t cross, and being a potty-mouth in front of someone else’s kid, or an elder, is one of them. Look, I agree wholeheartedly that Casey Blake tongues Daddy’s left fucking nut. More and more I agree with the assessment that C.C. Sabathia is a 500 pounds of bullshit in a 290-pound bag. You’re preaching to the choir, champ. But yelling these things in front of kids and old folks isn’t kosher. It’s boorish, and furthermore, it’s unnecessary. There are plenty of ways to insult Casey Blake without resorting to dropping loud f-bombs all over the place. It takes some creativity, to be sure, but it definitely can be done. If you can’t explain to Casey Blake why he’s the sorriest excuse for a ballplayer this side of Mike Fischlin, the anti-Graig Nettles in the field and the anti-Pat Tabler at the plate, and do it in a non-profane manner, you aren’t trying hard enough. If you can’t point out to C.C. that currently he’s the Gerard Warren of baseball without keeping the language G-rated, you aren’t trying hard enough. And all the moralizing aside, to me there is nothing more embarrassing than being called out by the old guy in the khaki USS INDIANAPOLIS hat for being the epitome of a crass, soulless generation… and knowing he’s dead-on in his assessment.
Speaking of C.C. Sabathia…
Uh-oh… C.C. is on the mound. For the majority of the readers who don't know or care about the Tribe: C.C. Sabathia (6-8, 5.24) bills himself- and is billed by management and some of the lickspittle elements of the local sports media- as the ‘ace’ of the Tribe’s staff. Hmm. Hey, look- Kansas City’s number nine hitter just took the ace four hundred feet to dead center. There’s the ace, laboring his way through another 40-pitch inning. There’s the ace, refusing to throw inside with his 97-mph fastball. There’s the ace, deconstructing on the mound after a borderline call or a fluke hit. C.C. is the king of the guaranteed meltdown. He will cruise through the first several batters, then something will go wrong. Error, third-strike passed ball, cheap hit on a tough pitch; you name it. The floodgates open. Crooked numbers appear on the visitors' side of the scoreboard. Fans boo. C.C. throws one arrow-straight fastball after another. Activity is spotted in the Tribe bullpen. Laconic Tribe pitching coach Carl Willis strolls out to calm down the big lefty. C.C. glowers under his cocked hat. You can set your watch to this. It's getting to be like the tides around here.
It doesn’t kill me to see C.C. roughed up on occasion. Happens to the very best of pitchers. But in getting thumped as often as he does, he commits three cardinal sins: a.) He fulfills none of the requirements of a 'staff ace'- stopping losing streaks and beating the other team’s top starter, especially, b.) He pitches far worse at home than on the road (he’s 5-2 on the road and 1-5 at the Jake this season), and c.) He is still generally described as the ‘staff ace’, which is hogwash I don’t want to hear, especially after I’ve just paid good American dollars to see this tomato can get sent to the showers in the third inning. Oh, and d.) You have to put up with legions of C.C.’s enablers every time he gets shelled. It’s either the standard “He’s only 25,” the alternate “Well, he was facing their ace”, or my personal favorite, “Other than that six-run first, he was dominant.” I’ve actually heard people say this. The meltdowns are excused, too: “It just shows that he cares.” I guess Maddux and Glavine just didn’t give a shit, using the same logic.
Bottom line if you’re a Cleveland fan: if you buy a ticket to the Jake, and C.C.’s voluptuous form is on the mound, you probably just spent money on a defeat. Of course, you might not be rooting for the Tribe in the first place. Which brings me to my last quibble…
Oh, Christ- can I get a refund?
Red Sox/Yankee fans at the game. Especially if the Tribe is playing either the Red Sox or the Yankees. If you’re wearing a blue lid with that old-style ‘B’ on it, I hope to G-d I hear a New England accent coming out from underneath it. I understand that Fenway is a tough ticket these days, and sometimes you native Sux fans have to go on the road to see your team play. Fine- we had the same deal going around here a few years ago. Local people who sell out for the Red Sox are prostitutes. That’s all there is to say about them. As for Yankee fans… they have no excuse, because they’re ALWAYS from around here. I don’t think I’ve ever met a Yankee fan that was actually from New York. Granted, I don’t get out very much. There’s no need to fuck with them, as long as you know karma’s a bitch in the end, and that all bandwagon Yank-off fans will spend eternity strapped in an uncomfortable chair, eyes held open Clockwork Orange-style, forced to watch the Bobby Meechum-Ed Whitson ‘80s Yanks on an endless loop, their screams swallowed by a void of silent laughter.
By the way, if you’re a Royals fan, and you’re taking up space at the Jake, that’s totally cool. If I see any die-hard K.C. rooters the next time I’m at the ballpark, the beer is on me. We’ll drink to being fans of a couple of major league farm clubs. If I meet any D-Rays fans, I will refuse to believe them, and tell them to stop funning about at the game.
Like I said, just a few minor quibbles. Got any of your own?
Let me get this out of the way before 70 some people tell you you suck and no one cares about the Indians. Well I fucking care!!!. I really wished you spent more time on the SUV driving, suit in tie wearing, trophy wife toting, ass holes who show up only when its chic to go to the Jake. (Ooooh a winning streak... the Tribe was third on Sportscenter, honey tell the nanny that we are going to Jacobs Field)... and i am stuck in Section 569 getting blasted by the sun and trying to navigate gravity on the steep as hell stairs. You know the other thing that pisses me off... those same fans that don't know what Pronk stands for.
Ok back to the article... I enjoyed the inttelectual humor you pulled of quite nicely. And the Pat Tabler reset let me remincse about brook jacoby and doug jones 43.2 mph fastball. The one thing you missed though are the unbelievable hot woman at these games... totally out of my league... maybe hoping that grady looks there way... but nice eyecandy.
oh and memo to a large percent of you who "didn't get it" try dictionary.com for the big words.
Trav
The Wave
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Posted: 7/28/2005 3:22:58 AM
I don't agree with half the things you write usually but I do like the point about the wave. There is nothing worse than 2 on, 2 outs in a the bottom of the 7th down by a run only to see the wave going around the upper deck knowing that unless he swings at the first pitch you won't be able to enjoy this at-bat because the lower bowl is going to get idiot-envy and want to start a competing wave and block your view.
You didn't mention NOT throwing home run balls back. Most fans don't but it seems that the idiocy of Chicago's north side ballclub has spread to other parks. Some drunk idiot will be lucky enough to catch a homerun only to throw it back on the field like a jackass. If you are that drunk idiot, stop. Look around. Give it to some kid and make his day.
BobbyD
Great Read
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Posted: 7/28/2005 4:38:34 AM
Great read as usual Jesse.
When will some idiot owner realize that A.) There is a reason no stores carry Lemon Ice. No one fucking wants that shit! B.) This is a goddamn baseball game not a food court. Beer, soda pop, hotdogs, peanuts, crackerjacks, and cotton candy. Period. All that other shit does is dilute the experience of a baseball game. C.) Enough with the fucking corporate sponsorships. We come to the game to forget about our jobs. No one wants to do the Citibank seveth inning stretch.
Pablo
The Wave
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Posted: 7/28/2005 4:39:13 AM
Fuck the wave. I love my Dodgers and especially Dodger Stadium, but there's so much shit I can talk about the people there. There's always at least two dudes, some fucking punks, who go to the bottom of the row, back to the field and yell at us to do the wave....during a fucking 9th inning rally!
Look, I know it's hard to get excited over watching Jason Repko, Jason Phillips, and JaYson Werth play but sit the fuck down.
Matty K
good
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Posted: 7/28/2005 4:40:46 AM
Nice, entertaining read.
I'm a lifelong Cards fan, and while we do have an owner now who will on occasion write a check, I totally know what it feels like to suck. I relate and respect.
Royals fans are great. Every one I meet is an ACTUAL fan. Not some douchebag that thought their uniform was cool. I absolutely fucking hate going to road games because you've got all these white boy wannabe thug fags wearing their red StL hat because they saw it in a Nelly video.
and Yankees/RedSox fans can kiss my ass. The best rivalry in baseball is Cards-Cubs. We may not like each other's teams, but I have no fucking problem sitting next to a Cubs fan in St Louis. Usually the cub fans that make that trip down to the arch have common sense. It's vice versa as well. My trips to Wrigley were enjoyable.
Joe
Nice
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Posted: 7/28/2005 8:24:25 AM
Finally a good sports article on this site. Even as a Red Sox fan I agree, can't stand the bandwagon fans that don't even know who Dwight Evans is. And protesting Chief Wahoo? Come on now that is probably the best mascot in professional sports. Give the cubs-cards thing a rest though the nice guy act is starting to get a little tired from both of you.
FlutieFlakes
Flutie was a quarterback
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Posted: 7/28/2005 8:33:50 AM
What does he have to do with having a homing device to catch baseballs? Beats the shit outta me. Flutie caught snaps from 5 yards back in shotgun...Maybe he has some skill at outfield or wide receiver we all don't know about? Do you know something going on in the Chargers' camp that we don't?
Joe
Flutie
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Posted: 7/28/2005 9:15:29 AM
Flutie has caught a foul ball at the last three games he has been to at Fenway, I think one or two were on national TV and is kind of a running joke here in Boston. FYI Flutie isn't a Charger anymore he is back on the Patriots.
Alex
Yes
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Posted: 7/28/2005 9:34:49 AM
Nice article.
Aside from being expected to give David Eckstein a standing ovation every time he doesn't fall down on the field, having my view blocked by yet another windup-monkey Cardinals fan is the worst part of every game that I go to at Busch Stadium.
Go Cards and go to hell, wave.
ME
The Hey Song
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Posted: 7/28/2005 9:54:16 AM
Can anybody tell me why this song, real name Rock and Roll part II by Gar Glitter is played at every game? Gary Glitter was convicted on Child Pornography charges in England. This means all sports venues are supporting a pedophile.
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