"Amtrak is a joke and by the way, so is light rail! You were 10 hours late arriving in Chicago, Steve. I'll take the freedom of my car any day."
"I'm not saying you can't drive your car when you want, Tyler. But what I would like to see is an updated rail infrastructure that means people won't be 10 hours late."
"Why would a country that never uses rail start paying for it now?"
"Good point. Maybe when gasoline is up around $5 a gallon we'll wish we'd have answered that question differently."
"If we drilled for our own oil it wouldn't be $5 a gallon."
"True, at least while there is still oil to drill. Why not spend the money it would take for us to drill on high speed rail?"
"Because nobody likes trains!"
"I don't think anybody really likes oil wells!"
Back and forth Tyler and I went. We were sitting at the head table and the bride and groom had gone off to cut a piece of cake. With seemingly no regard for our environment the two of us, hopped up on champagne and linen vests, continued to exchange ideological haymakers.
That's when Nate, perhaps wary of the looming tumult, came up to say hello. Quickly I re-assessed my situation and remembered that I was the best man at my friend Jason's wedding and not on Meet the Press. "Nate!" I stood up, smiled warmly and gave my old friend a hug. "So buddy, oil wells or railroads?" We laughed and immediately the previous moments' spit and spat vanished. "Did anybody see that?"
A quick glance around indicated that nobody had. Folks were having a great time and I was ecstatic to be surrounded by so many people that I just don't get to see enough of these days. It was not only a celebration for Jason and Michelle, but for me, it was a reunion. Coming home to Ohio is always nice and this return was even more special than usual. Although I had anticipated a fun time, I was fulfillingly surprised by the touches of personal warmth throughout the whole event. I felt a deep connection to Jason by being named his best man and looking out into the crowd filled by the faces of so many friends - as well as my mom and two of my sisters - reminded me of how things used to be before we all moved away.
The wedding was the beginning of a perfect summertime week in Ohio. Like I said, I always enjoy coming back home and this time seemed extra special. Even though it was a quick stop on a much longer journey, I was able to spend time with all of my family members and many of my close friends.
One of those family members, my 20 year-old talent-laden sister Julia, accompanied me on the train to Cleveland to watch the Indians game. She had never been on a train or to a major league baseball game. It was also the first time in a long while that we were able to spend some serious buddy time together. Nobody I know gets me to think about the world the way Julia does. Jules is so cool and uber fascinating. I walk away from every conversation that I have with her impressed by her remarkable creativity and growth as a young adult. Someday she will make a very provocative impression on this world (if she hasn't already).
To recount that glorious week I have put together a Floridian reflection of my week in Ohio, a rewritten account of the Indians game, tales from The Maple Leaf, an introduction to Mandy and Phil, and another rewritten game account (this one from the Blue Jays game).
Post:
From the Pool
Returning upright towards the midday sun after dipping almost to the ground, the young spike-leaved palm tree I am watching looks like it is supporting an invisible orangutan jumping up and down on its slowly developing spine. Again it pulses down, down, and down towards the Bermuda grass. Then it hovers above, for a graceful moment, as if it is inspecting the little worlds that exist between the blades. Of course there is no unseen animal climbing the tree, instead it is ceaselessly bending over because of the sporadic gales generated hundreds of miles away by Hurricane Irene. I take this scene in, from a Floridian poolside chase lounge, with a wry smile, knowing that I am living through one hell of a summer. I lift my Yuengling to my mouth and simultaneously consider unforeseen things that could have gone irreparably wrong while contentedly reflecting on a couple of magical moments already experienced. I casually shoot these thoughts out at the legions of cumulonimbus, those puffy thought trampolines, patiently awaiting their seasoned return. Never does it occur to me to do anything else. After all, I am sitting poolside.On this day, 48 hours removed from an earthquake that rocked the very same Washington Union Station where I had eaten lunch only 72 hours ago, I watched the television news break into its nonstop hurricane coverage to tell me about an Amtrak derailment. The California Zephyr, a train that I had been on just 23 days earlier, had run into a stalled piece of farm equipment left on the tracks. There were 178 people aboard and thankfully none were seriously injured. This has been the second major train crash this summer and amidst rumors of terrorism plots to bomb passenger railways on the anniversary of September 11th, I’ve become concerned, naturally.
But through the veil of concern I glimpse a multidimensional life map of my summer and realize how lucky I’ve been so far. Here I avoided train crashes, there an earthquake, and the whole recent time I’ve been playing chicken with a potentially fatal behemoth of an ocean storm. I’ve weaved my way between these mines of misfortune to have quite possibly the best summer of my life. Granted, I haven’t been playing centerfield for the Anthony Wayne Blue Jays, but I’ve experienced a number of cherished and remarkable events unsurpassed by nothing except the thrill of playing little league baseball.
The first that comes to mind is my old pal Jason’s wedding. On August 6 Jason tied the knot with a wonderful, friendly, stunningly beautiful woman named Michelle and the wedding was fantastic. I say this because of the day’s intimacy. From the ceremony that was held in an old country church to the charming summertime reception overlooking the Maumee River it seemed that everything was arranged, performed, created, and designed by friends, family, or the bride and groom themselves. Doing this immediately transformed the stuffiness of expensive “luxury” and needless formality, too common amongst celebrations, into a warm and comfortable atmosphere dripping with care, consideration and love. I’m sure that being close friends with Jason for almost 20 years and having the privilege to be his best man added to my perceptions as well. I was able to see many old friends that I've missed since moving away almost ten years ago. My two lovely sisters flew in for the occasion -- Ali from Denver, Holly from New York -- as well as my mother and Dennis (step father) from Ft. Myers. And I was able to see Jason's dad for the first time in years. It was great to be all together again celebrating something as special as Jason's wedding day. We had a party just like Lionel Richie would’ve wanted: All Night Long.
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| Jason The Groom, Jenny, Hambone, Hambone's sister Liz, my sister Holly, me, my brother-in-law John, Holly's boyfriend Ryan, Phil and Mandy |
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| Smokin': Holly and her big bro |
After the wedding my family and I took advantage of the opportunity to be together by heading an hour east of Toledo to Cedar Point (the greatest amusement park in the world). We had a strong crew that consisted of my sisters Holly, Julia, and Jen; my mom and step dad Dennis; Holly’s boyfriend Ryan; and my step mom Sue. We crushed Cedar Point, surfing our wave of family mojo from ride to ride, leaving a kaleidoscopic wake of laughter and spent adrenaline behind us. Born so close to the park, most of the family grew up roller coaster lovers. This has not been the case for Julia (who I affectionately refer to as Jules). However, on this day Jules gave most of the rides a shot, including the incredibly intimidating Millennium Force. A ride so tall, steep and fast that I was once told to “bring another set with me” if I chose to ride it. Her courage to face her fears, regardless of their importance, was endearing.
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| Jules, Holly and Ryan walking towards Cedar Point |
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| Jen and Jules feed me dippin' dots (the ice cream of the future) |
It was with feelings of endearment and brotherly love that I embarked on the next part of my trip. Jules was to accompany me to Cleveland on the train and watch the Indians versus the Tigers with me. Because of the way the train and baseball schedules were laid out I was able to spend a day in Cleveland with Jules. We arrived on the scene at six in the morning and promptly took a nap at Jules’ biological grandmother‘s (my step grandmother) house after some tasty scrambled eggs and toast that really hit the spot. We awoke, ate again, and headed to the lake. Julia’s aunt (my step aunt) Mary, Uncle Todd and her children Robert, Addison and Evelyn live a five minute’s stroll from Lake Erie. The Great Lake - the most temperamental of the five - was in rare form. Because of the powerful waves, humans were discouraged from swimming at the beach. We enjoyed the extreme conditions and walked up and down snapping pictures, looking at the water-worn rocks, pocketing found sea glass, and simply admiring nature before we headed out for dinner and drinks with Mandy and Phil.
Mandy is my sister Holly’s best friend from elementary school which makes her an old friend to me as well. Jules and I visited with Mandy and her husband Phil, touring their up-and-coming neighborhood, chatting away and laughing often before making our way to the stadium to pick up our free tickets courtesy of the lovely young couple I just mentioned. We watched the Indians scorch the Tiger pitchers for 10 runs on 18 hits before strolling through downtown Cleveland and eventually catching the long bus back to our beds for the night. Spending the day with Jules left me impressed by her curiosity, envious of her youth and overwhelmed by her remarkable maturity. It was a day I will always remember.
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| Jules and her camera, Diana, ready to capture the approach of the Lake Shore Limited |
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| Lake Erie |
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| A blurry Mandy, Phil and Jules |
I am brought back to poolside by the postulations and pontifications of retired men who, mid-float, should really have nothing to complain about. But old habits die hard: “Water‘s pretty warm today. Too warm I‘d say.” “Went golfin' yesterday. Ralph shot an 88.” “Are you kidding me? He’s broke, doesn’t have a pot to piss in and I‘m supposed to pay my taxes so he can golf?” “No, no, no, he made all his money through Radio Shacks in Ecuador.” “I’ve been listening to you fellas since ten after and I still don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” “I don’t know why nobody listened to me fifteen years ago when I told everybody on the board…” Hearing the gripes I decide to zone back out and continue my reflections. I leave my week in Ohio behind and move on down the line…
People:
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| Phil, Mandy, Jules |
There aren't too many people I know that are as kind or as fun as Mandy. She immediately lights up a room upon entering and everybody is always happy to see her. She has come a long way from Five Point road and has built a nice life, with a great marriage, in a cool-ass section of a big city. So I'm incredibly happy for her and Phil. It was a thrill getting to glimpse, even just for a moment, the new life they've molded for themselves. Well done guys. Let's do it again sometime soon.
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| Funky little shack |
Games:
August 10: Progressive Field -- Cleveland, OH
Detroit 3
Cleveland 10
The Indians had started the season taking the American League Central by storm. By the time I had made my way to Cleveland they were just trying to stay in the race. Recently the Indians had been overtaken by the Detroit Tigers for the division lead. Reflected by the payrolls of each team, the rival Detroit Tigers had a more experienced team with bonafide superstars like Miguel Cabrera and Justin Verlander and it was starting to show in the standings.
But there was still hope on the banks of Lake Erie. The Indians, who haven't won a World Series since 1948, were only 3 games behind the mighty Tigers and their newly acquired pitcher, Ubaldo Jimenez, was on the mound tonight. With a victory the tribe would move to within two games of first place and set themselves up for a hotly contested pennant race down the stretch while sending a serious message to their rivals, the boys from Motown.
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| The left field entrance to Progressive Field |
Every Cleveland/Detroit game I've been to has been a ton of fun. There is something about a rust belt rivalry that I find compelling. Here you have these two blue collar cities, with legions of blue collar fans, that have been born and raised to root for their home team with an ardor that can only come with zealous territorialism. And this is no passing fad. It stretches out and unravels over generations.
An example of generational support is my good friend Jack. He is the biggest baseball fan that I know and his team is the Cleveland Indians. He learned his trade from his father, who has been taking Jack to Indians' games since he was a a little guy.
Jack and I have had a few passes through the turnstiles as well. It was with Jack that I made my first (and only) trip to the metrodome in Minnesota; hit balls into the corn at the Field of Dreams in Dyersville, Iowa; followed Ernie Banks' advice by taking in two at Chicago's Wrigley Field; played 'pass the hat' at the new Comiskey; sat in pools of sweat for nine of the hottest innings I've ever experienced at St. Louis' New Busch Stadium; ate some damn fine barbeque before watching the Royals get it handed to them by their cross state rivals at the lovely Kauffman Stadium; and got all Peoria Chiefed -- all precursors to my current voyage. Along with those experiences, we made many trips to both Detroit and Cleveland to watch his beloved Indians. Needless to say if felt like someone was missing at tonight's big game.
But I couldn't have been luckier to have a brand new baseball partner. My sister Julia had never been to a baseball game before and she accompanied me to Cleveland, on Amtrak, to watch tonight's contest. We got to our fantastic seats, thanks to the lovely Mandy Hine, and settled in for a special treat. The Indians were about to kick Detroit's ass.
The drubbing began right away. Jason Kipnis, the Indians' new second baseman taking all of Cleveland by storm ('We are all Kipnises') singled to right off of Rick Porcello. At the time Porcello didn't know it, but he was in for an evening as painful as it was brief. The beefy DH, Travis Hafner singled to center and moved Kipnis to third. This set the table for the supernatural Carlos Santana. He jingoed a ball between the Tigers' Ryan Raburn and Miguel Cabrera on the right side to score Kipnis. That was all the scoring in the first inning, but the tribe (and Jason Kipnis) were just getting warmed up.
In the bottom of the second inning Cleveand's Lonnie Chisenhall doubled to the wall. He was followed by Ezequiel Carrera who crushed another deep double. This set the stage for Kipnis who pulverized Porcello's plate-poaching-payoff-pitch into the right feld stands, giving Cleveland a 4-0 second inning lead.
After Jimenez shut the door on the Tigers for the first three innings, Detroit's bats finally woke up in the top of the fourth. The Tigers pushed across three runs and tightened the score to 4-3. However, it was in the bottom of that inning that the Indians broke it open and sent Porcello to an early shower, deep in the cold, dark, and lonely depths of Progressive Field I imagine. After two singles (including Jason Kipnis' third hit of the night so far), three doubles, a wild pitch, and a new pitcher Cleveland finished the fourth inning with a commanding 8-3 lead.
From there the rest was gravy. But it was some fine tasting gravy. I don't think there is anything quite as sweet to an Indian fan as a Detroit Tiger beatdown. The 23,000 fans in Cleveland were revelling in the ass-whipping on this perfect northern Ohio summer evening. So were Julia and I. The Indians pounded out a whopping 18 hits off of Tiger pitching and Cleveland's new star Jason Kipnis raked five of them to go five-for-five.
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| "We are all Kipnises" |
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| Jules, easily identified by her red bag, taking in some Cleveland nightlife |
Not a bad finish to a fantastic week in the Buckeye State.
Trains:
August 10-12: Lake Shore Limited and Maple Leaf -- Toledo-Cleveland-Buffalo to Toronto to New York City (27 hours, 953 miles)
This section of the trip was marked by early and inconvenient hours of departure and arrival, the companionship of three young ladies and customs inspections.
My sister Julia had never been on a train before, at least not an Amtrak train and we were due to leave Toledo at 3:20am. That is not a fun time to arrive at a train station. Nor is it a good time to experience your first train ride. A big part of riding trains is looking out the windows at landscapes you've never seen before; landscapes that can't be viewed from a car window on an interstate. So much for that, eh Jules? When you finally board the train at 4:45 it is a great opportunity only time to lay sideways on adjacent seats and futilely attempt to catch an hour or two's worth of shuteye. We made it to Cleveland quickly and then took naps.
After a lovely time in Cleveland on the southern edge of the most temperamental of the Great Lakes, I stepped onto the Lake Shore Limited for a third time. It was 5:40am. This time I was bound for Buffalo. My few hours on this section of track were rather uneventful. I can't even recall what I was doing during those few hours. My guess is a mix of reading Steinbeck's "In Dubious Battle" and watching youtube videos on my iPhone.
At half past ten I arrived in Buffalo-Depew. I had a few hours to kill before the Maple Leaf pulled in on its route from New York to Toronto. I inquired with the friendly man seated on a stool behind the wall of glass that separated Amtrak employees from the tired little passengers-that-could about places to eat nearby. I was surprised at all of the options available, because when we arrived I looked around and saw nothing resembling a restaurant. All I had to do was walk a mile, which at this point of my trip is a very nice sounding thing.
With delivery trucks speeding by and rippling my Buchanan plaid I made my way to your average looking shopping plaza. Points of interest in the plaza included a thrift store, a drugstore and a "breakfast served all day" type of joint. I made my way for the food and checked out the Thursday lunch specials. Nothing really jumped out at me so I resolved to order anything that I thought might be unique to Buffalo. Nothing. I re-resolved to order something unique to this particular restaurant. Nothing. Finally, I tripled down in an effort to find something that I'd never get in Portland and found what I was looking for: the fried bologna and onion sandwich. Mmmm, Buffalo. After lunch I strolled through the thrift shop and purchased an Edward Abbey book for a friend. Then a bubbly envelope at the drugstore to ship it in. After the excitement of the late morning I walked back to the station to wait for the Maple Leaf.
Back at the station I sat down to do some writing. I had trouble concentrating though because a girl kept glancing at me. She was attractive in that "I'm not sure who I am but I know I've got something going on somewhere" type of way. She wore a lot of black, had a piercing in her nose, and tranquilizing green eyes. There's always a time for a single man in these types of situations where he says one of two things to himself. I went with the "What the hell?" option.
She was pretty and young, 23, and named Brianna, but she told me to call her Bree. Just like me she was headed for Toronto. The Maple Leaf rolled in. I hoisted my pack, pointed at the train, smiled to Bree and said "Forward!" I didn't know that my directive would be taken so earnestly. I'm fairly certain that I've never been around a stranger that was quite as forward with me as she was. Though nothing remarkable occurred between myself and the beautiful Bree, I must admit that I enjoyed the attention and had an enjoyable four hours to Toronto. It felt like four minutes.
At a reasonable 8:20am and after two nights in a wonderful worldly city I strode onto the Maple Leaf again, now bound for the Big Apple. Unfortunately, it seemed that everybody else in Toronto had the same idea. (All the way to New York I heard conductors mumbling, "Full train. We've got a really full train.") As we all boarded I positioned myself next to the window and awaited the outcome of passenger placement.
Every solo Amtrak passenger observes the spins of the potential seat partner roulette wheel with guarded optimism. Sometimes you get lucky (an empty seat, a new friend, Bree...) and sometimes you don't. I had been on a real hot streak and leaving Canada I was confident that it'd continue through to New York. It had to. We weren't due until 9:45pm. Three irascible New Yorkers whose voices never quite found a way to drop below whine level meandered about. Three! An odd number. Shit. Another conductor made his way through, mumbling something about a full train. But he was followed by a nice face. I flashed a quick smile, a show of friendliness and moved my belongings off of my seat. Yahtzee! And phew!
She was from Israel and as quick to laugh as she was to roll her eyes at me. We talked. We read. We talked. She slept. I read. I listened to music. We talked. Aside from the moments when we weren't in our seats, this went on for 17 hours. Customs took up close to three of those hours and a motionless delay outside of Syracuse took up another three. If he's not careful a man can go crazy locked up in a box that's not moving. This is particularly true if the person sitting next to you is complaining about it the whole time. Thank you Israeli girl who told me her name as quickly as I forgot it while shaking my hand, smiling and telling me what a pleasure the trip had been except for the 6 hours when we hadn't budged. You kept me sane while surely preventing harm to others in the car from derision and sarcasm that I could not have been reasonably expected to contain under such conditions.
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| The Niagara River, just downstream from the falls |
Post:
A Change of Plans
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| In Portland minutes before departure |
The bicycle has been taken out of the picture. It is now sitting in a barn in Ohio. I'm depressed about this, but not totally. I think there are some good things that can come from finishing the trip without the bike. All the signs were pointing me to continuing the journey without it, and who am I to argue with signs? Especially ones that can be interpreted in a myriad of ways.
The last time I actually rode my Jamis Aurora was in California. I had it in a box, ready to follow me to Oakland so I could use it to tool around the bay area. When I arrived at Jack London station my bicycle didn't. In fact, when I departed 3 days later the bike still had not made the northern voyage. I was concerned. I like my bicycle. I paid a lot of money for my bicycle. Why hadn't it made it to Oakland yet?
The explanation I received was because it couldn't fit on a bus. Here's the thing: I had to take a bus from L.A. to Bakersfield in order to hop on a train that went up the San Jacquin Valley to Oakland. The bicycle had to wait for a train that left L.A. and went straight to Oakland. I'm not sure why this took so long, but it wasn't until I was in Denver that I had a verbal confirmation of where my bike was.
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| Leaving my bike in LA |
I stayed in Denver for six nights. It was on the second night that I learned my bicycle had finally made it to Oakland. On the fifth night it arrived, lights blinking I'm told, in Denver. So I could have easily been sans bicycle for the duration of my mile high stop. Fortunately for me I have nice friends in Denver. One of them is Mariel.
Mariel loaned me her bike for most of the time that I was in Colorado. Because of this I was able to get around town with ease and do most of the things that I had wanted, which included a night of trivia on the other side of town and the baseball game.
Denver also has a great system set up to rent bikes. There are these stations all over the city where bicycles are locked up, waiting for someone to pay for their use and then deposited at another station. The loan from Mariel, the ease with which I used public transportation in San Francisco and the bike rental experience fused with the trouble I had transporting my own bicycle to lead me to the decision of leaving the bike behind.
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| A bike rental station in Toronto |
Another side of this is that many friends, acquaintances, and even complete strangers have reached out to help me along my trek. I've found that it is often convenient for those offering a bed or a meal to meet me with their automobile and my bicycle use has the potential to gum up the works of generosity. I am extremely appreciative of everybody's help and don't like adding inconveinece to the list of favors.
Things changed, or maybe it was my perception of the way things were that changed, and I had to adapt. Isn't that what we do? Anyways, flexibility is a part of travel. Or at least a major portion of the prescription of travel enjoyment. Rigidity and parameters added to a diet of over-planning and tight schedules can lead to hyper acute travelosis.
From this I hope to be able to focus more on the public transportation in the cities I visit. I am composing this from a restaurant in Toronto, ON, watching cyclists casually ride alongside cars and trucks along Church St. I got to the restaurant on Toronto's kick ass subway system. If their subway sytem wasn't so good I'd probably have taken a bus, like I did in Cleveland with my sister Julia.
I'm excited to see what the other cities have to offer and who the people are that use public transportation. A person I know wrote a poem and sent it to me the other day. In her poem she talked about seeing people on the bus and making up the stories of their lives in her head. I tell you, that is a lot of fun. Beyond the obvious societal benefits of a healthy public transportation system (we can all agree on that, right?) riding buses and city trains is an entertaining exercise in imagination.
People:
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| Cyran and Joe |
Cyran, Joe,and Kyle- I met these guys in a pub in Toronto. Let me tell you how I got to the pub.
I had been on a train from Cleveland since the wee hours of the morning and was anxious to get to my hotel room. The thing was that I couldn't get into the hotel. It was the Wellesley Manor Boutique and when I arrived there was nobody there. In fact, I never saw anybody there for the three days and two nights I stayed. The management had left a phone number, but with my plan from the U.S. the number did me no good. I decided to see if I could get some help at the bar next door. That's where I met these guys.
The first thing Cyran said to me was, "We're sitting here just getting pissed. Shall you join us?" It was nice being invited to drink with them. I was worried about getting to my room for the night and being in a new, large city always produces a little anxiety. After sidling up to the bar with them my only worries were if they were messing with me or not. They were so damn friendly it threw my friendliness/sarcasm detector way off. Adding to my confusion was the thick Canadian accents. Were these guys serious? It didn't take too long until I was trying my own accent on for size. We all laughed about it. That is, when they weren't laughing at me for carrying around a big pack and being locked out of a hotel room that I'd already paid for.
Eventually I was able to borrow the bartender's phone (Cyran and Joe didn't carry cell phones) and call the number left on the front door. While I was calling Kyle sat down and joined us. He was six months removed from prison in Ireland and his presence was noted immediately. It was probably his way of proclaiming himself the "craziest Irishman you've ever seen" before forcing us all to take shots of Jameson that did the trick. Let's just say that the bar was acutely aware of Kyle, even those of us on the phone. The hotel had left a key for me in the lock box. I hung up and promised the guys I'd be back in a bit.
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| Joe, Me and Kyle |
I returned to find a different scene. Cyran and Joe had left, which made me sad. Kyle was still there, which made me a little nervous. He put his arm around me and told me to buy him a drink, for good luck. I told him to go fuck himself. He took his arm away from me, looked me in the eye and started laughing. Then he bought me a beer and another shot. Kyle and I sat and ordered some wings. In between leerings and pectoral flexes Kyle told me about Ireland, jail and his favorite spot in the world: Toronto. He loved it. "So many women buddy. So many. You wouldn't believe it buddy. Red ones, brown ones, white ones, oh buddy."
Games:
August 12: Rogers Centre -- Toronto, ON
LA Angels 5
Toronto 1
Canada! Baseball in Canada? Hockey in the United States? Flying cars?
My time north of the border got me thinking about how far we have come since the invention of baseball back in the 1860s (give or take a few years). “Here I was, sitting outside the Rogers Centre in Toronto, wondering if the roof would be closed for a Friday night game between the Los Angeles Angles and the Toronto Blue Jays.” That was the sentence I wrote down in my notebook waiting for the gates to open. I decided to deconstruct that sentence to help me understand just how far baseball, and we, have come.
“Sitting outside the Rogers Centre” tells me about how prevalent something called corporate sponsorship has become. Not only is there a huge building that can house 50,000 people to watch a sport, but there is a company willing to shell out millions of dollars in order to put their name on it. And the city of Toronto is not nearly alone. Does anybody really like the sound of U.S. Cellular Field in Chicago? How about the Tropicana Dome? Or Minute Maid Park? What is it with baseball and the juice? Where would we be without these sponsors? Maybe we wouldn’t have baseball teams in some cities or nice large stadiums to induce wayward thirty-somethings on crazy pilgrimages. However you want to look at it, it is undeniable that things have changed drastically since Abner Doubleday got credit for inventing something he didn’t.
“…in Toronto” says that major league baseball has a home in Canada. I’m glad that our northern friends have taken a liking to our national pastime. We surely have hijacked theirs. I think it is too bad that the Expos we unable to maintain a franchise. Who knows what would have happened had it not been for the strike of ’94? The Expos had one of the best teams, if not THE best team, in the league that season. Can you imagine a Montreal World Series? Maybe such an event would have stoked the imagination of the French-Canadians. Regardless, major league baseball still goes strong in Toronto and I am happy that I get a chance to take part.
“…wondering if the roof would be closed” talks about a relatively recent development in the world of baseball. Toronto’s stadium was opened in 1989 (known as Skydome at the time) and was the first to use technology to open and close the roof depending on the weather. Now there are several other stadiums (Miller Park, Chase Field, Safeco Field, Minute Maid Park, and the new Marlins Park) that have such capability. I must say that I enjoy the looks and feel of the open air stadiums more than the domes or semi-domes with enclosable roofs. But, I will also be the first to admit that watching a Diamondbacks game in the air conditioning sure beats 110 degrees and face-melting sunshine. Also, nobody likes a rainout and these new contraptions are an obvious solution.
“…Friday night game…”, someone might say, “Why is that such a big deal?” My answer would be that until 1989 at Chicago’s Wrigley Field a Friday night game would have been impossible, let alone a big deal. That was the year the Cubs first played a night game. For years they had held strong to the tradition of day games, only to eventually succumb to the omnipresent realities of sustainability. On May 24, 1935 Cincinnati’s Crosley Field was the first place to host a nighttime baseball game. Wrigley held out for 54 years. Not too bad, Cubbies. In fact, I remember watching the broadcast for what was intended to be the first night game at Wrigley. It was August 8, 1988 (8/8/88). Of course the game was rained out. The baseball gods wouldn’t have it any other way. Interestingly the Cubs continue to be penalized for their acquiescence to external pressures that are built on the foundations of greed -- no World Series championships in 103 years.
“…between the Los Angeles Angels and the Toronto Blue Jays.” is the final point of emphasis in my original sentence and does a great deal of explaining how far we have come since the beginnings of baseball. Originally there were 16 teams in the major leagues: eight in the American League and eight in the National League. In 1961 baseball finally decided to expand. Following the growing trend of westward expansion the league added the Los Angeles Angels and the Washington Senators (now the Texas Rangers). Before the decade was over MLB had increased the total number of teams to 24, adding Houston, New York (Mets), Kansas City, Seattle (now the Brewers), Montreal, and San Diego. Eight years later the Blue Jays joined along with the Mariners. Since then four more teams cities have become hosts (Phoenix, Denver, Miami, and Tampa/St. Petersburg) and the league boasts 30 ball clubs, almost double of what is was as recently as 1960.
How about where we have gotten to? A game between LA and Toronto being witnessed by 24,731 fans, including one young man who is on a quest to see all 30 of those ballparks. It was an interesting matchup because the once great Vernon Wells was making his first return back to the place where he had become a star. Since signing with the Angles Vernon hasn’t seen as much success, but for years he was the heart and soul of the Blue Jays. It was also a full moon and the roof was open.
Evidently the full moon had quite an effect on the home team. Toronto was full of mental lapses on both offense and defense. I witnessed, just within the first few innings, the Blue Jays being caught stealing, dropping a pop-up, Jose Bautista throwing thirty feet wide of home plate, Jose Molina being thrown out trying to leg out a triple, a flubbed relay to the plate, and three errors. To make matters worse The Angels’ Ervin Santana and his wicked slider were on the mound and dealing. Through 7 innings he had only thrown 65 pitches while allowing only four hits.
It wasn’t much of a contest. The Blue Jays, 14games out of first place and headed nowhere but home in October, seemed lifeless. The Angels scored one run in the second and three more in the third. After that Santana took over and LA ended up winning by a score of 5-1.
The best part of the game came in the top of the second inning when a standing ovation was given to Mr. Wells just before his first at bat. The crowd came to his feet and showed their appreciation for all of his efforts on, and off, the field. Vernon stepped outside of the box, raised his cap and waved to the applauding fans. It was a touching moment that gave me chills. Then, like the gentleman he is, Vernon put his helmet back on, stepped up to the plate, and cracked the first pitch he saw over the left field wall.
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| The Blue Jays employ the shift |
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