(Note: This article was published in the New Hampton Tribune a year or so ago and will soon be printed in a regional magazine)
Our 42-year-old son Tommie was excited as he called us on his cell phone from the streets of Boston. He had caught one of the first planes into the city after Hurricane Irene devastated parts of the Northeast after he finished up a gig in Knoxville, TN as as an employee of the E-Com Tour for the PGA.
“I can’t wait for tomorrow night’s game with the Yankees,” he said. “I scored these tickets a couple of months ago so my buddies and I are going to have great seats.”
The game between two of baseball’s most heated rivals took on extra importance as they were in a virtual tie for first place with only a couple dozen games left in the season. As expected, there was standing room only with over 37,000 wild fans screaming for victory over the hated New Yorkers. Tom witnessed a terrific game which eventually ended up in a Yankee victory.
I got to thinking about his experience a couple nights later as I attended an Orioles-Pirates baseball game on a beautiful evening, wondering how his game compared to mine.
Oh, did I mention that mine was at the little league field in Urbandale, Iowa? And the teams were the adult baseball Des Moines-based Orioles vs. the Des Moines based Pirates? The players all had day jobs at The Principal, Wells Fargo, Wellmark Blue Cross-Blue Shield, Joe’s Plumbing Supply, The Irish Pub, Greene’s Appliance, or wherever. My guess is that not one of them had a multi-million dollar/multi-year contract. They most likely had to pay out of their own pockets to rent the field, bought their own uniforms, and had to sneak out of work a tad bit early to make it on time for the 7:30 p.m. first pitch.
Unlike Tommie in Bean Town, I didn’t have to fight traffic getting to the game. I rode my bike 1/2 mile to the field. There were 36,986 fewer fans in attendance if my count of 14 (mostly wives, girlfriends, and parents, I presume)was accurate. In addition, there was a double-header of sorts going on. Another game of over-35ers was playing on an adjoining field if I got bored with the Orioles and Pirates. (For the record, I didn’t.)
Since I didn’t want to ride my bike in the dark, I pedaled home between innings and drove back over in my car. It would have been an easy walk, but I wasn’t sure about some rain clouds that never did cause any problems. Parking was a non-issue since there were only about 75 cars on the lot, driven by players and the 28 fans (taking a wild guess that the other game going on simultaneously had the same number of attendees).
The brand of baseball was surprisingly good. The players were having a blast. The umpires joked with the batter and catcher between pitches. And not one of the other 13 fans at my game nor I shouted an obscenity at or questioned the parentage of the Men in Blue.
For a couple of hours I was taken back to the town-team games of my youth in the northeast Iowa town of Lawler at Junko Park. I could hear the opposing players kid one another, while wanting to win at the same time. I saw baseball in its purest form. Every crack of the bat, error, great play, and extra base hit was fun to watch. Even though I didn’t know one player or coach on either team, I enjoyed every second of the game.
Well, in truth, every second that I watched. Sometime around the 5th inning, I decided to head on home after a perfect night watching an absolutely perfect game. After all, unlike my son Tommie, I didn’t have to pay over 100 bucks to get in, and I found out that there a still a few weeks of baseball in Urbandale remaining to watch for free.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll be able to catch the Des Moines Dodgers meeting the Des Moines Cubs. And with luck get that same seat on the bench dedicated to Frank Zimmerman about 15-feet from home plate.
Perhaps tonight I’ll dream about those town-team games of my Lawler boyhood days at Junko Park. That would be nice.
I’m glad that our son got to see a terrific game between the Yanks and BoSox. But truth be told, I wouldn’t trade places with him for a moment.
Bill Sheridan
www.sheridanwrites.com