Triumphant Glory

This edition of The State of the Union originally appeared on August 2, 2002.

Last week, we told the story of the daring adventures of two young, devilishly handsome baseball fans (that would be me and my friend Brett, just to clarify), who had embarked upon a baseball journey, a hardball odyssey of epic proportions that took them to Detroit, Toronto and Montreal.  This week, their story continues . . .

GAME 4:  Tuesday, July 16, 2002, Queens, New York

Florida Marlins vs. New York Mets at Shea Stadium

Intent upon making it to Shea Stadium in time to catch the first pitch of Tuesday’s 12:10 game between the Mets and Marlins, we left Montreal at 4:45 am, groggy but determined.  An hour or so later, we bid adieu to Canada, pausing briefly at U.S. Immigration and cruising on into New York with nary a raised eyebrow.  This breeze across the border was likely facilitated by the fact that both Brett and I are U.S. citizens -- but it couldn’t have hurt that the guy in the little Border Patrol booth looked too hung over to bother with much more than just waving us through.

Several hours (and one warm, gooey Cinnabon) later, we rolled into New York City.  After successfully navigating our way through Queens, we arrived at the Shea Stadium parking lot around 11:30 -- time to spare.

As we neared the box office, we saw a large sign which read, “Under penalty of law, an unlicensed vendor within 1,500 feet of Shea Stadium may not resell tickets.”  Apparently there is a lesser-known bylaw wherein an unlicensed vendor may resell tickets, as long as he’s within 15 feet of the ticket windows -- which is where we were approached by a guy trying to unload a pair of lower-level tickets.  He offered them to us for $20 each, $9 under face value, and after a failed attempt to bargain him down to $30 for the pair, we relented.  We were on our way.

Upon finding our seats, we discovered that we had done well for ourselves, and sat down in the shade along the third-base line.  We also discovered that we had stumbled upon the Triumphant Glory Series.

The Triumphant Glory Series is an “exciting new 19-game series [that] lets you be a part of Major League baseball history and relive the glory of your favorite team’s greatest era. At each game, teams will recreate the magic of classic Major League baseball like never before using vintage uniforms, signs, film clips, and more.”

In the spirit of Triumphant Glory, then, the Mets were wearing vintage uniforms from 1986, when they last won the World Series.  Since the Marlins don’t really have much vintage in them, as franchises go (they didn’t exist until 1993), they wore the vintage uniforms of the 1982 Miami Marlins, the Class-A minor league team for which the now-infamous slugger Jose Canseco made his professional debut.

While it would be easy to guess that those ’82 Marlins were being honored to recognize the impact steroids have had on the game of baseball this summer -- after all, less than two months ago Canseco admitted to using steroids during his career and accused 85 percent of all major leaguers of being juiced -- the Triumphant Glory Series in fact celebrates the boost that comes from another wonder drug.

Did I mention that the Triumphant Glory Series was presented by Viagra?

Once marketed as the drug that made Bob Dole happy and could inspire you to dance again, Viagra (sildenafil citrate) has made an aggressive push into professional sports in recent years.  This season, their ads are perking up big-league ballparks, and they’ve recruited Texas Rangers first baseman Rafael Palmeiro as their spokesman, with a campaign theme of, “Step up to the plate.  Ask your doctor about Viagra.”

Viagra apparently looks at baseball fans and sees potential customers, so they’re hammering away at that target market.  The Triumphant Glory Series, a key component in these efforts, featured four National League East teams and three American League West teams, all wearing classic duds.  It also featured, at the host ballparks, a barrage of Viagra (sildenafil citrate) propaganda.

On this sunny Tuesday at Shea Stadium, interested fans could pick up a brochure featuring a photo of a happy, dancing couple, entitled “Love Is Not The Problem.”  Inside, it asks the question, “Have things between the two of you changed?  Maybe it’s ED.”  For the record, ED is not the name of the guy Viagra (sildenafil citrate) suggests that your wife is having an affair with -- it’s Pfizer’s shorthand for “erectile dysfunction.”  I can’t help but wonder why Viagra (sildenafil citrate) insists on using this euphemistic acronym in their advertising.  Are they worried that if they mention “erectile dysfunction” as often as they mention “ED” that people might realize they’re actually talking about erections and not dancing?

But I digress.  I was talking about Viagra (sildenafil citrate) propaganda.  In addition to the “Love Is Not The Problem” brochure, fresh-scrubbed Pfizer employees interspersed throughout the stadium were handing out the “Step Up To The Plate” brochure, which features Palmeiro on the cover and several “opening lines” you might want to try on your doctor on the inside; the Summer 2002 issue of LifeDrive magazine, which, according to its website is “the magazine created to help men and their partners get the most out of life,” but is really no more than a series of advertisements for Viagra (sildenafil citrate) disguised as a magazine; the “Real people -- Real stories: A World of Difference” video, which I haven’t watched yet, but from the cover looks like a real popcorn flick; and souvenir water bottles, emblazoned with the Triumphant Glory Series logo.

I liked these water bottles best; once I realized that they were being given away by Viagra, I got a nice chuckle every time I saw some little kid with one, sucking water through the straw that protruded from its bulbous, baseball-shaped top.

By the way, have I mentioned how difficult it is to write about Viagra without making any bad puns?  Let me tell you, it’s very hard.

But back to the game.  In the spirit of 1986, the Shea DJ spun nothing but tunes from that storied year.  This meant the soundtrack to our afternoon included Eighties classics like Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On A Prayer,” Madonna’s “Papa Don’t Preach,” Paul Simon’s “You Can Call Me Al,” Genesis’ “Land of Confusion,” and the unforgettable “Point of No Return,” by Nu Shooz.

On the field, sparked by a towering home run from first baseman Mo Vaughn in the first inning, the Mets pounded the Marlins, and went on to win 10-5.  And while the Mets piled on the runs, we piled on the toppings -- on our hot dogs, of course.  Well, at least Brett did.  He enjoyed an Italian sausage heaped with peppers, onions and mustard.  It was my day for the regular dog, and while I could have gone into the concourse to buy one, I took advantage of something we hadn’t seen before on the trip -- roving hot dog vendors.  I waited until Dog Girl came near our section, flagged her down, and began salivating as she made her way up the steps, toting her little metal case filled with hot dogs and buns.  Due to the nature of the dog delivery system, my topping options were limited to mustard and ketchup packets, but the bun was very fresh, and the boiled dog hit the spot.  While Brett rated his Italian sausage a 6, I gave my dog a 7, with a bullet.

Just to be clear, when I said salivating in that last paragraph, I meant about the dog, not the girl.  You knew that, right?

Anyway, though the game was thoroughly enjoyable, we did witness a sight that, as Americans and baseball fans, shook us to our very core.  It was a sight that made us shudder for the future of both our nation and the game, a sight that we both agreed was, unfortunately, symbolic of much that is wrong with the world today:

On this glorious summer afternoon, at a Major-League baseball game, in seats right along the third-base line, this kid, this horribly-misdirected youth, sat two rows in front of us, playing on his GameBoy.

I generally don’t wish ill will upon children, but I used up a lot of karma that day trying to get a foul ball to knock that GameBoy from his hands and shatter it to little pieces.

GAME 5:  Wednesday, July 17, 2002, The Bronx, New York

Detroit Tigers vs. New York Yankees at Yankee Stadium

The next stop on our tour was a place dripping with history, Yankee Stadium -- “The House That Ruth Built.”  But Babe Ruth was merely one of the Yankee legends that played there; some of the all-time greats of the game, including Lou Gehrig, Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle, called Yankee Stadium home.

Indisputably the most storied franchise in American professional sports, the Yankees have won 26 championships (a fact of which you’re frequently reminded in Yankee Stadium), and the Yankee tradition is a tradition of excellence.  So you’d think you’d be able to get a decent hot dog at “The House That Ruth Built” -- especially considering the Babe’s famed fondness for them.

Unfortunately, you’d be wrong.  The Yankee Stadium Jumbo Dog was terrible.  The dog itself rated a 5, and that was generous.  The fixins were bare bones -- mustard and ketchup packets.  The bun was a slice of bread.  Overall, it rated a 3.  The Italian sausage I had was only slightly better.  The sausage was decent, but the bun was soggy, and the toppings of peppers and onions were grilled to death.  I gave it a 5.

Clearly, then, it was not for the pork products that fans packed the house on this Wednesday night.  And by most estimates, it wasn’t because people wanted to see Detroit Tigers, either.  It seems the Yankees pulled in a crowd of 49,116 -- a bump up from their home average of 43,905 -- because it was Jason Giambi Celebriduck Night.

A Celebriduck is a rubber ducky in the likeness of a celebrity.  As such, the Giambi Celebriduck is wearing Yankee pinstripes, and its face looks . . . well, it looks mostly like Yankees first baseman Jason Giambi, only instead of a nose and mouth, he’s got a beak.

As odd as that may sound for a ballpark giveaway, it nearly sold out the house for a game against an otherwise-uninspiring opponent.

The Celebriduck giveaway is also the Yankees’ attempt to stay ahead of the curve in baseball promotions.  For the last several years, bobble head dolls have proven themselves as a drawing card.  Give away a bobble head, and the fans will come.  In fact, in Montreal, where the Expos average attendance is just 9,881 fans a game, they have drawn more than 20,000 fans for only three games this year -- Opening Day, Family Day (every seat in the stadium except V.I.P. seating for $5, and only $1 for kids under 12) and Tim Raines Bobble Head Day.  On a bad day in Montreal (May 9th, for example, when the Expos played the Colorado Rockies), as few as 3,183 fans might show up at Olympic Stadium.  For the Raines bobblers, 25,109 packed the joint.

Many experts, however, think interest in bobble heads is beginning to wane; thus the Yankees’ venture into celebrity bathing accessories.  Perhaps the Expos should take a cue from the Yankees and consider a Vladimir Guerrero Celebriduck.

But I digress.  Though Detroit is a bad team, they took a one-run lead in the third inning, and as the game wore on, it looked like that might be enough for the victory.

During the seventh-inning stretch, the PA played “God Bless America,” then “Take Me Out To The Ballgame.”  Since September 11th, many stadiums have added “God Bless America” to the seventh-inning stretch, so this was no surprise.  What came as a surprise was that following “Take Me Out To The Ballgame,” they played “Cotton Eyed Joe.”  For those of you unfamiliar with the tune, it’s a ditty popular with the country-line-dancing crowd.  Apparently, it’s also become popular with Yankees fans, who gyrated wildly in their seats to it.

In the bottom of the seventh, an attempt was made to start the wave.  As everybody knows, a wave does not achieve success unless it makes a full circle around the stadium.  Usually wave attempts fail because the effort just peters out somewhere along the way.  But on this night, the wave failed because it was stopped cold.

Each wave attempt was started along the third base line.  It made its way back behind the plate, around third, and into left field.  But it never made it past right field.  Fans in the right field bleachers stood up, all right -- but they stood up to put their arms out in defiance, and the waves stopped.  Evidently, the right-field bleachers in Yankee Stadium are where waves go to die.

This tactic drew the ire of most of the rest of the stadium, which booed those right-field fans every time they brought the wave to a standstill.  But the wave efforts, however incomplete, did seem to have some residual mojo for the Yankees two innings later, in the bottom of the ninth.

Down 1-0, Alfonso Soriano led off with a double, then Derek Jeter walked.  First and second, nobody out.  The excitement began to build.  Was this a little of that old Yankees magic brewing in the bottom of the ninth?  After Bernie Williams flied to center for the first out, Jason Giambi knocked a single to center, scoring Soriano and sending Jeter to second.  The buzz grew even louder.  The game was tied, and it would only take one hit to bring home the winning run.

That hit came one out later from catcher Jorge Posada, whose single drove home Jeter.  The Yankees had pulled out a 2-1 win. 

I’m as sick as anybody of the Yankees winning all the time and spending more money on their players than every other team, but I have to admit, it was exciting to experience a bottom-of-the-ninth Yankee comeback like that, and cool to hear Frank Sinatra’s “New York, New York” after the victory had been clinched.

I still don’t get the “Cotton Eyed Joe” thing, though.

GAME 6:  Thursday, July 18, 2002, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Chicago Cubs vs. Philadelphia Phillies at Veterans Stadium

What exactly is the Phillie Phanatic?

He’s a mascot, sure, and he’s very green.  He’s furry, definitely, and he has that tongue-like thing that he sticks out at people.  And he’s pretty fat.

But is he a monster?  An animal?  A genetically-mutated human?  Your guess is as good as mine.  Whatever he is, though, he’s funny, whether he’s riding his scooter around the warning track, dancing on top of the dugout, frightening little kids or taunting the umpires.  Simply put, his goofball antics have redefined the mascot position in Major League Baseball.  How big an impact has the Phanatic, now in his 25th year of entertaining Phillies fans, had on baseball?  Well, just last Saturday, as part of Hall of Fame Weekend in Cooperstown, New York, the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum officially welcomed the costume of the Phanatic into the Museum's permanent collections.

The Phanatic became just the third mascot from a Major League franchise to have his costume donated to the Hall.  I maintain he should have been the first, but the San Diego Chicken and Montreal Expos mascot Youppi! somehow got there before him.

You can say all you want about the San Diego Chicken (and believe me, Johnny Bench has), but I think you should know that he isn’t even the Padres’ official mascot anymore -- according to the Major League Baseball Kids’ Dugout, that honor now belongs to somebody called the Swinging Friar.  Heck, he’s not even the San Diego Chicken anymore -- his official name is The Famous Chicken.  And look, I’ll be the first to give the Youppi! his due (the kids love him, and he is, after all, the only mascot in the game with an exclamation point in his name), but has he ever worn a dress for Mother’s Day?  I didn’t think so.

So don’t even try telling me that the Phillie Phanatic isn’t the best mascot in all of baseball -- and maybe all of sport.  I simply won’t hear of it.

Now, if you want to tell me that Veterans Stadium, the soon-to-be-former home of my beloved Philadelphia Phillies, is the worst stadium in all of baseball -- or even all of sport -- you’ll get no argument here.

I grew up in Philadelphia, and as such, have been going to games at the Vet my whole life -- literally.  In fact, go anywhere near early 1971 in conversation with my mother, and you’re guaranteed to hear the story of how she waddled up to the 700 level (Section 715, Row 7, Seat 5, to be specific -- my dad still has the ticket stub) in May of that year, five months pregnant with me, to see the Phillies take on the Cincinnati Reds in Veterans Stadium’s inaugural season.  That was the night I had my first hot dog.

Unfortunately, when Veterans Stadium was built, the trend in stadium construction was the multi-purpose monolith.  As such, stadiums were built in St. Louis (1966), Cincinnati (1970), Pittsburgh (1970) and finally, Philadelphia (1971), all designed for both pro baseball and football -- but ideal for neither.  They were also all built with artificial turf.

They have a new, baseball-only stadium in Pittsburgh now, and the Cardinals and Reds both ripped up their Astroturf and put grass in their stadiums.  That leaves the Phillies as the only team left in the Major Leagues that plays on fake grass that doesn’t play in a dome.  And the Vet holds 62,418, so you can imagine that even with the respectable crowd of 27,672 in attendance, the place still felt a bit like a mausoleum.

While Phillies fans will have to wait until 2004 before the team gets its new ballpark, in the meantime, Veterans Stadium still has something to offer -- Dollar Dog Days.  We happened to stumble upon such a day.

I love it when a plan comes together.

Certainly you will understand when I tell you that when you stumble upon something as glorious as Dollar Dog Day, any plans you might have had to sample a specialty dog get tossed out the window.  As such, Brett and I temporarily scrapped the program, and each got two regular Phillies Franks.

Though we still had three stadiums to go, there was no doubt in our minds that the Phillies Franks would be crowned the champion when it came to our Cost Value Rating.  As far as taste goes, Brett and I disagreed a bit.  I was in dog heaven; though it was a no-frills frank, I gave the dog a 7 and the bun an 8, with a 7 rating overall.  Brett, however, rated the dog a 5 and the bun a 6, with an overall rating of a 5.  It was at this point that I decided that Brett was a hot dog snob.

(After the trip was over and the ratings compiled in a spreadsheet, he would chastise me, declaring in an email, “Just as I suspected . . . you rated every regular dog a 7 the whole week.”  But I ask you, is it wrong to appreciate the simple elegance of a ballpark hot dog?)

Oh, yeah -- there was also a ballgame going on, too.  Unfortunately, the Phillies lost to the Cubs, 6-4.  Amazingly, this would prove to be only the second time in the entire nine-game trip in which the home team would lose.  Not so amazingly, both games involved the Phillies -- they won on the road in Montreal, and lost at home to the Cubs.  Certainly made me wonder what sort of mojo I was carrying, that’s for sure.

As we concluded the second third of the trip, we took a few moments to reflect, to see if we could find a theme.  We agreed that New York fans weren’t as obnoxious as advertised.  We still weren’t tired of hot dogs and sausages.  And the common denominator thus far?  Well, we saw our last “Eight Legged Freaks” ad in Montreal, but we realized there was another common thread:  In all six stadiums, at some point during the course of the game, they played a little Nelly.

And if you’re looking for some symbolic meaning in that, the Nelly song most often played was “Hot in Herre,” which features the lyric, “It’s getting’ hot in here, so take off all your clothes.”

NEXT WEEK:  Baltimore, Pittsburgh and Cincinnati.

One of the things I enjoy about looking back at old columns is seeing what looks different with the benefit of hindsight.  For instance, it now seems fairly apparent that Viagra was not the only performance-enhancing drug Rafael Palmeiro was putting into his system.