Headed For Home

This edition of The State of the Union originally appeared on August 9, 2002.

For the past two weeks, we’ve regaled you with tales of the epic adventures of two dashing young road warriors (that would be me and my friend Brett, just to clarify), who set out on a journey to Detroit, Toronto, Montreal, New York and Philadelphia to see if they could find the soul of baseball.  This week, we reveal the final chapter in their story...

GAME 7:  Friday, July 19, 2002, Baltimore, Maryland

Chicago White Sox vs. Baltimore Orioles at Camden Yards

Oriole Park at Camden Yards launched baseball’s “retro” ballpark craze when it opened in 1992.  Modeled after classic stadiums like Boston’s Fenway Park and Chicago’s Wrigley Field, as well as older stadiums like Ebbets Field (former home of the Brooklyn Dodgers) and Crosley Field (former home of the Cincinnati Reds), Camden Yards not only inspired a new era of stadium design -- it ushered in a new era of baseball economics.

You see, the brand-new jewel in baseball’s crown had team owners drooling.  Once they saw how the fans flocked to it, how its luxury boxes and upscale amenities promised new streams of revenue, and, perhaps most significantly, understood that its construction had been funded by the state of Maryland, every owner whose team played in a less-than-perfect stadium began plotting to build a new ballpark just like the one they had in Baltimore -- and trying to figure out how to get taxpayers to foot the bill.

Certainly the good people in the Orioles organization, who were able to get Camden Yards built for a mere $110 million, could never have imagined that their park would set off a mania in which some teams would spend more than $500 million trying to replicate the Camden effect, which is what the Seattle Mariners did with their $517 million Safeco Field, opened in 1999.

But the reality is, had Camden Yards not been such a cool place to watch a baseball game, fans might never have clamored for the manufactured nostalgia of these retro ballparks the way they have, and more teams might still be playing their games in lifeless concrete coliseums.

Nevertheless, those money issues, some of them triggered by Camden’s impact, now loom large over the game.  The specter of a strike followed us everywhere we went.  “You think they’ll finish the season?” someone would ask.  Though the question usually drew an, “I hope so,” the tone of the reply was rarely enthusiastic.  Just this Thursday, one MLB official told ESPN.com that projected net operating losses for baseball will be more than $450 million this year, even if there is no strike, and that only one team is estimated to produce a net operating profit.  Those are ugly, ugly numbers.

If you can put the baseball economics aside for a few hours, though, Oriole Park is a fantastic place to be on a breezy July evening when the O’s take the field.

A few minutes before the first pitch, Brett and I approached the ticket window and inquired about the cheapest seats.  The cheapest we saw on the board were Left Field Upper Reserved seats, for $9.  But the guy selling the tickets responded to our question with, “We’ve got five-dollar college seats.”  It has been some years since either Brett or I were in college, but this guy was making us an offer, not asking for college ID, so we quickly gave the man ten bucks, and we were on our way.

We entered Camden Yards onto Eutaw Street, which, for a block, is enclosed within the ballpark, running along right field.  Eutaw Street is filled with a wide selection of food options, so we decided to get our dogs there before finding our seats.  It was my turn to get the specialty dog, so I got a Brewer’s Bratwurst, and Brett got a Spicy Dog with Cheese.

Just behind the right-field bleachers sit a half-dozen picnic tables, from where fans can enjoy their meal and the game.  Figuring the view would be better from the picnic tables than our upper-deck seats, we decided to munch on our hot dogs at one of these tables and hang out for a few innings.

But there were no open tables, only tables with open seats, so I asked a woman if I could sit at a table with her.  She obliged, and soon Brett joined us.  A few moments later, the woman’s husband joined us as well.  As I had my notebook with me, and Brett and I were discussing how the dogs stacked up against other stadiums’ dogs (the bratwurst was only decent -- I gave it a 5.  But Brett’s dog was excellent -- the cheese was inside the dog!  He gave it an 8), the folks guessed we weren’t from Baltimore.  Apparently not everyone takes notes and rates hot dogs during ballgames.  So we introduced ourselves, explained our trip, and told them about where we’d been.  Excited to hear about our journey, they introduced themselves (Mike and Kitty), and told us all about Camden Yards.

After a friendly conversation, Mike and Kitty got up to go to their seats, so we said goodbye and set to finishing our hot dogs.  But before we could even finish the dogs, Mike and Kitty were back.

“We were just talking,” Kitty said, “and we figured you guys are bigger baseball fans than we are, and you’re on this trip, so we wanted you to have our seats.  You’ll appreciate them more than we will.”  Their seats, as they had mentioned to us earlier, were in the lower level, along the third base line.  We told them we couldn’t take their seats, but they insisted.  Finally we accepted, and after thanking them profusely and getting them to sign my notebook, we went off to our new seats, floating on the kindness of strangers.  Brett and I both agreed, when the opportunity arises at some point in the future, to do the same for somebody else.

The seats were fantastic, and we were surrounded by more friendly fans.  More than any other stadium we’d been to, Camden Yards had a community feel.  Of course, it may have helped that after the fourth inning, the Orioles were up 9-3.

As Orioles first baseman Jay Gibbons came to the plate in that fourth inning, the biting guitar lick that kick-starts Dire Straits’ 1985 classic, “Money For Nothing,” blared from the stadium PA.  Now, I understand that in the modern era, no home team player is allowed to come to bat without some sort of theme music played to mark his entrance, and, admittedly, it was just a clip, so we didn’t hear any of the words.  But certainly Brett and I weren’t the only music fans in the audience who recognized the song and knew its lyrics.  Let’s just say that, with ticket prices at all-time highs, the average player salary above $2 million a year, and talk of a player’s strike in the air, “Money For Nothing” might not be the most appropriate song to play at a Major League ballpark these days, at least from a fan-appreciation perspective.  But at least Gibbons got a hit.

In the seventh-inning stretch we experienced another entertaining stadium sound moment -- following an organ rendition of “Take Me Out To The Ballgame” came “Thank God I’m A Country Boy,” by John Denver.  I realize Baltimore is south of the Mason-Dixon Line, but this song selection made about as much sense to me as hearing the fans whoop it up for “Cotton Eyed Joe” in the seventh-inning stretch at Yankee Stadium.

Is this is what they mean when they say “the South will rise again”?

The in-game fireworks -- four home runs and 14 runs scored -- were complemented with post-game fireworks, a fitting end to a fantastic evening at the ballpark.  But once the fireworks were through, we still didn’t feel ready to leave Baltimore just yet.  So we decided to visit Mecca -- the original ESPN Zone, on Baltimore’s Inner Harbor.

The ESPN Zone is a sports fan’s dream, with TVs everywhere, and every TV showing sports.  There’s even a TV you can watch while sitting in the stall in the men’s room.  I can only guess that there’s also one of these in the women’s room, but as I didn’t conduct an inspection myself, I cannot comment on the ESPN Zone’s Title IX compliance.

Gender equity aside, though, the ESPN Zone is filled with a head-spinning array of sports memorabilia.  Some of it is classic -- authentic game-worn uniforms and the like -- and some of it is, well, bizarre.  The most out-there item at the ESPN Zone?  A rotating statue of legendary Green Bay Packers coach Vince Lombardi -- carved from a block of cheese.

Like I said, Mecca.

GAME 8:  Saturday, July 20, 2002, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

St. Louis Cardinals vs. Pittsburgh Pirates at PNC Park

On the way to Pittsburgh, we enjoyed several simple pleasures -- the Pennsylvania Turnpike, getting roast beef sandwiches at Roy Rogers at a rest stop on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, and listening to Harry Kalas (who was inducted into the broadcaster’s wing of the Hall of Fame two weekends ago) call the Philadelphia Phillies-Atlanta Braves game on the radio, switching from one station to the next as we drove west, enjoying the full range of the Phillies Baseball Network.

As we listened to the game, Phillies reliever Ricky Bottalico, who is on the disabled list for the remainder of the season with a torn labrum in his right shoulder, made a guest appearance in the radio booth.  He was asked about starting pitcher Terry Adams, who ended up losing the game, and who has struggled throughout the year as a starter (he’s since been relegated to bullpen work).  Bottalico offered up that though Adams has had a tough season, “He just battles and battles and battles.”

What Bottalico meant, of course, was that Adams was working hard out there on the mound, really trying his hardest to get every batter out.

Now, I know that sometimes it seems as though baseball players are only capable of speaking in cliché, but this particular inanity made me wonder -- what’s the alternative?  Doesn’t every pitcher just battle and battle?  I wanted so badly for Harry to reply, “That all sounds nice, Ricky, but can you find me someone out there who isn’t battling?  Except for the guy who asks out of the game and says, ‘You know, Skip, I’m really stinking up the joint today.  I think you better take me out,’ I think you’ve just described every pitcher in the game.”

Unfortunately, Harry’s far too nice a guy to upstage Bottalico like that.

Along the way, we also witnessed some creative highway billboards, courtesy of the Pennsylvania Turnpike Commission.  Each billboard in the series shared a flower-power/Austin-Powers motif, which fit well with the theme:  “Peace, Love and the Pennsylvania Turnpike.”  My two favorites:  “Spread the Love; Let Someone Merge,” and “Happiness is never having to see your airbag.”  It’s always good to know your toll money is going to a creative ad agency.

After significant bonding with the aforementioned Turnpike, we finally made it to Pittsburgh, and arrived at PNC Park, an absolutely stunning baseball stadium.  Like Camden Yards in Baltimore and Comerica Park in Detroit, PNC manages to evoke the feeling of an old-time stadium while still offering toilets that flush automatically.  But with the Pittsburgh skyline and Roberto Clemente Bridge serving as the outfield backdrop, and the Allegheny River flowing just behind right field, the overall aesthetics of PNC Park are the best we’ve seen thus far.

Considering those outstanding aesthetics, I found Pittsburgh’s apparent appreciation for mullets (the infamous, short-in-front, short-on-the-sides, long-in-the-back haircut; if you don’t know what I’m talking about, click over to http://mulletsgalore.com/) somewhat ironic.  But appreciate them they do, and thus was inspired “Mullet Moments,” wherein the PNC JumboTron showed what three celebrities -- Regis Philbin, Bill Clinton and Dave Williams (he’s a pitcher for the Pirates, so his “celebrity” is questionable, but we’ll allow it) -- would look like with mullets.  I’ve got to tell you after seeing Regular Regis and Mullet Regis, I think Regis needs to talk to his hairstylist.

After milking hearty laughter from the crowd for the celebrity mullets, the clever PNC Park film crew turned their cameras on the audience, where they found a multitude of fan mullets.  It was disturbing how much some of these people seemed to enjoy being ridiculed on the JumboTron like that.  But in my brief stay there, I learned there are some things about Pittsburgh that just defy reason.

The Great Pittsburgh Pierogie Race would also fall into this category.  Most ballparks have some sort of scoreboard race -- among others, Comerica has the Dunkin’ Donuts Donut Race, featuring Beanie Bagel, Cuppy Coffee and Dashing Donut, and at Yankee Stadium it’s the Subway race, where the B, the D and the 4 trains, the three trains that will get you to the stadium, race across the screen.  But while it begins on the big screen, the Great Pittsburgh Pierogie Race breaks free of the digital confines of the JumboTron as the four full-size pierogies -- Cheese Chester, Jalapeno Hanna, Oliver Onion and Sauerkraut Saul -- burst onto field in a race to the finish line.

Tonight’s winner was Jalapeno Hanna, but the win couldn’t move her past third place in the overall standings (Cheese Chester led with 16, followed by Sauerkraut Saul with 15, Hanna with 14, and Oliver Onion with 6).

In case you were wondering, the Pirates Pierogie performers are available (schedule permitting) to non-profit and charitable organizations for complimentary one-hour appearances, and if you’d like to have your own Pierogie for that special private event (weddings, bar mitzvahs, bachelor parties, etc.), you can schedule the Pierogies for appearances at the rate of $125 per hour per Pierogie.  I can only assume lap dances are extra.

As you might imagine at a stadium featuring live-action pierogies, PNC Park has a tremendous array of food offerings.  Their selection is the most expansive we’ve seen; in addition to the standard hot dogs, kielbasa, fries and nachos, they offer foot-long hot dogs, capicola sandwiches, cheesesteaks, fish and chips, fried shrimp, chicken wings that come in a bucket from a place known as Quaker Steak and Lube, and an Outback Steakhouse above the bleachers in left field.

Befitting such a spread, PNC delivered the first -- and only -- 10 rating of the trip.  Brett’s grilled kielbasa came topped with “confetti” -- grilled onions and red and green peppers -- that looked so good, he didn’t even want to add mustard, for fear he might ruin the mix.  Turns out the confetti was so tasty, no mustard was needed, and the kielbasa was pure pork perfection.

After a 15-6 Pirates victory that featured an offensive explosion from recent Triple-A call-up and new fan favorite Adam Hyzdu (he went 4 for 5, with two home runs and seven RBI), and a home run from Cardinals rightfielder J.D. Drew that shattered a half dozen light bulbs in the Pepsi billboard above the right-field stands, we decided weren’t ready to leave Pittsburgh just yet -- we needed to experience a little more of the local flavor.  And friends, can there be a better place to experience the local flavor in Pittsburgh, PA, than in a bar on Federal Street, in the shadow of PNC Park, drinking Iron City Beer?  We didn’t think so either.  Plus, we figured it would be a good place to wait out the post-game traffic.

An hour or so later, having imbibed our share of the local flavor, we decided it was time to hit the road.  After all, we had to catch a 1:15 game in Cincinnati the next day.  So, we got in the car, and after navigating our way through the construction of Pittsburgh, we hit the highway.  We figured we’d drive about an hour, just enough to get us out of town and into the cheap-hotel territory.

After about an hour, we neared West Virginia.  As Brett had never been to the Mountain State, I suggested we find a chalet there and crash for the night.  He agreed, and we pulled off the road just outside of Wheeling to find accommodations.  It had been a long day, and we were both ready for some shut-eye.

“Sorry, we’re booked solid,” said the man behind the desk at the Holiday Inn Express.

“Well, do you know if anybody in town might have any openings?” I asked.

“You won’t find a hotel room for 60 miles in either direction,” he said.

“This is West Virginia, right?” I asked.  He nodded.  “What’s going on?”

“It’s Jamboree,” he said.  Brett and I looked at each other, then looked back at him.  “It’s the Super Bowl of Country Music,” he explained.

“Oh,” I said.  “Right.  Of course.”

“Okay, then,” Brett said, after a few seconds of dumbstruck silence.  “I have another question for you:  Do you have any coffee?”

The kind gentleman pointed us to the hotel’s continental breakfast nook and told us to help ourselves to some coffee, which was real nice-like of him.  Coffee in hand, we hit the road again, and an hour later rolled into Cambridge, Ohio, hoping we had crept past the edge of Jamboree’s reach.  We discovered we had only reached the outer fringes.  The first hotel we tried was booked solid.  But they said the Days Inn down the road had one room left.

“Is it a non-smoking room?” I asked when we got there.

“Nope,” came the reply.

“Okay, then,” I said.  It was now past three in the morning.  “We’ll take it.”

GAME 9:  Sunday, July 21, 2002, Cincinnati, Ohio

New York Mets vs. Cincinnati Reds at Cinergy Field

The Reds used to play at Riverfront Stadium, so named because of its location along the Ohio River.  In 1996, the stadium was renamed Cinergy Field, so named because of the money the Cincinnati utility company gave the Reds.  But whatever you call it, that stadium will be coming down soon, for starting in 2003, the Reds will play at The Great American Ball Park.

In fact, some of the stadium has already come down -- following the 2000 season, 14,000 seats in left and center field were removed from Cinergy to prepare for construction.

Having seen this gaping hole -- and the view it affords of the new park rising beyond the left-field wall -- in Reds highlight clips, I knew the Reds were building a new stadium, but I didn’t know what its name would be.  When I discovered it would be called The Great American Ball Park, I was excited.  Sure, it’s a bit grandiose, but talk about celebrating the wonder of our national pastime!  And I couldn’t help thinking how nice it was that in this day and age, when baseball is played in corporately-branded bandboxes like Qualcomm Stadium and Bank One Ballpark, the Reds were bucking convention with a patriotic name that was sure to conjure thoughts of Mom and apple pie -- and, most importantly, baseball and hot dogs -- across this great land.

You can imagine my disappointment when I realized that Great American is an insurance company.

Personally, I think Skyline Chili Field would have been a much better name, if you’re going to have a corporate name on the thing.  First of all, there isn’t a single venue in professional sports named after a chili company, and second of all, Skyline Chili is a Cincinnati institution.  While Cinergy’s specialty dog (Mettwurst, a kind of German sausage), which earned an overall 8 on the strength of its juicy taste and big, soft bun, helped us forget the horror of the Cinergy hot dog, which rated twos across the board, the hot-dog highlight of Cinergy Field was the Coney Dog.  A Coney Dog at Cinergy is a very small hot dog, slathered with Skyline Chili, raw onions, and cheddar cheese.  Though the actual dog is so buried in stuff you can barely tell it’s there, the toppings were a meal unto themselves.  We both enjoyed a $2.25 Coney, which earned a combined overall rating of 7, and a napkin rating of 3.

The scoreboard race at Cinergy is decidedly old-school -- it’s The Great Reds Race, in which three Mr. Reds race (crawl would actually be a more apt verb) across an old-style, yellow-bulb scoreboard.  While it’s tough to top racing pierogies, the no-frills Great Reds Race (won this day by Mr. Red #1, who came from behind with a burst of speed at the end) somehow managed to pack as much drama as the scoreboard races with computer-generated bagels.

It certainly packed as much drama as the game, which the Reds ran away with, 9-1.

Meanwhile, one of the nice perks of taking a baseball road trip in 2002 is that free gifts await you in every stadium.  All you have to do is apply for a Major League Baseball credit card.  I did.  Four times.

It’s not that I need a new credit card -- I don’t.  I just wanted free stuff.  On this final leg of the tour, my application earned me a Mr. Red bobblehead doll; I already had claimed a Mr. Met bobblehead, a Phillies bobblehead, and an Orioles visor.  And I could have had a Tigers t-shirt, a Blue Jays t-shirt, a Mets visor, an Orioles duffle bag, a Pirates beach towel or Roberto Clemente commemorative hat, or a farewell to Cinergy/Riverfront beach towel.  (We didn’t see any sign-up booths at Olympic or Yankee Stadiums.)

As I told Brett, who was a bit reluctant to cash in on the free booty, you don’t actually have to use the credit card -- when it arrives in the mail, you can just cancel it.  If you’re approved, that is.  Just this week, I’ve received two letters from Don Hamilton, Customer Advocate at MBNA, who wrote:

“Recently we received your request for the Major League Baseball Preferred MasterCard.  We have given your application individual attention and have made every attempt to approve it.

“After careful review, we are unable to approve your request at this time.  We have determined that the amount of credit extended to you by MBNA is adequate based on your reported income and indebtedness.”

I’m guessing they didn’t approve me because I already have four Major-League Baseball Preferred MasterCards -- either that, or because I suggested on my application that my income was somewhere near the poverty line.  Either way, it’s fine by me.  I’ve already got my bobbleheads.

EPILOGUE

Before I get all philosophical, let me give you what you’ve all been waiting for -- the final hot dog ratings.

WINNER, REGULAR HOT DOG
Camden Yards, Spicy Dog with Cheese, topped with sauerkraut, $4.50. Notes:  Cheesy.  Spicy.  Mmm.

WINNER, SPECIALTY DOG
PNC Park, Grilled Kielbasa, topped with confetti, $5.00. Notes:  Mmm.  Taste the confetti goodness.

WORST REGULAR HOT DOG
Cinergy Field, Hot Dog, topped with mustard (ketchup available), $2.75. Notes:  Pigs died for this?

WORST SPECIALTY DOG
SkyDome, Italian Sausage, topped with raw onions and spicy peppers, $3.75 (Canadian). Notes:  Do they even have Italians in Canada?

WINNER, COST VALUE RATING
Veterans Stadium, Phillies Frank, topped with mustard (ketchup available), $1.00. Notes:  You simply cannot top Dollar Dog Day.

WORST COST VALUE RATING
Yankee Stadium, Jumbo Dog, topped with mustard (ketchup available), $3.75. Notes:  Yes, we know New York is a pricy town.  But the bun was still a slice of white bread.

Okay, now onto the philosophy.

As the trip approached, I dubbed it “Brett and Eric’s Jealous Friends Tour 2002: A Baseball Odyssey of Epic Proportions.”  A bit melodramatic, maybe, but it fit.  After all, telling people about the trip, whether before, during or after it, has generally elicited three responses:

1.  “That is awesome.”

2.  “Oh, I’m so jealous.  I’ve always wanted to do that.”

3.  “Hey, you guys are just like the MasterCard commercial.”

Yes, those goobers in the MasterCard commercials from last summer did drive around the country from one game to the next.  But they were hardly the first ones to come up with the idea of a baseball road trip, and they certainly won’t be the last.

In fact, three guys a few rows behind us at Cinergy Field were on a trip of their own.  They reminded us of this every half inning, when they stood up to hold up their two signs.

The first read, “19 Stadiums Down, 11 To Go.  Next Stop:  Cubs.”  The second read “Best Damn Road Trip Period.”

Especially after nine games in nine days, I appreciated the magnitude of their quest -- after all, they were going for all 30 stadiums, the whole enchilada -- but I found them annoying.  Besides the fact that sucking up to Fox Sports Net’s “Best Damn Sports Show Period” is like bringing in an apple for the school janitor, these guys were trying way too hard to get themselves on TV or the JumboTron.  In my book (soon to be published, look for it in stores), that kind of thirst for attention takes away from your purity of purpose.  It’s not about getting on TV, boys.

Then what is it about, you ask?

It’s about the joy.

Sitting next to me at Cinergy was an 11-year-old boy.  He was at his first big-league baseball game, tagging along with his older brother.   The brother frequently rolled his eyes, looking terribly inconvenienced that mom had made him drag his kid brother along.  But the 11-year-old didn’t mind.  He had a constant look of amazement on his face, whether it was when Reds hero Barry Larkin stepped to the plate or red balloons floated down from the upper deck.  For him, the ballpark was full of wonder.  “What’s your favorite part of coming to the baseball game?” I asked him.

“Home runs,” he said earnestly.  “And catching the ball.”  He pounded the palm of his baseball glove with his fist as he said this.  He had no doubt he was going to catch a ball.

Between the two of us, Brett and I have been to hundreds of baseball games.  But it was about the joy for us, too.

In the car on the way to Pittsburgh, Brett laughed to himself, apropos of nothing.

“What?” I asked him.

He looked at me with a six-year-old’s glee in his eyes.  “We’re going to a baseball game tonight!” he said, beaming.

By all rights, we both should have been looking -- and feeling -- haggard.  In the last week, we’d slept little, our diets had been filled with beer and processed meats, we had spent nearly 30 hours driving a rented car, and we were on our way to our eighth baseball game in our eighth stadium in eight days.

“I know,” I replied.  “Isn’t that the coolest thing?”

The joy had not worn off.