The Roads Less Traveled

As I stated in my first post of this series, I’ve gone to five major league games that didn’t feature the Phillies or the Orioles. I’d like to talk about those games in more detail, as each one was unique. This post will cover the first three games.

 

Mariners @ Cardinals, July 4, 2004: Back in my college days, I was a member of a community service organization called Circle K (the college level of the more familiar Kiwanis). I attended its International Convention in St. Louis, and it marked the first time in my life that I ventured west of the Mississippi River. In the weeks leading up to the big event, members from the Kansas District of Circle K sent a message to all of the convention attendees, inviting anyone who was interested to join them at a Cardinals-Mariners game, taking place directly after hotel checkout on the convention’s final day. Of the hundreds of people who received that invitation, I was the only one to accept. It helped that me and several other members from my home district were staying in St. Louis an extra night.

I met five or six people from the Kansas District, all of them very funny and personable, and we took the short walk to the old Busch Stadium, which was in its final year before the new and current Busch Stadium replaced it. Our seats were in the second-to-last row of the upper deck, but given how hot it was outside, we felt fortunate to sit in the shade. As I was in their home ballpark, and I still heavily favored the National League over the American League at this point in my life, I rooted for the Cardinals, who beat the Mariners, 2-1. However, I also still harbored bitter feelings toward former Phillie, Scott Rolen, so while I cheered for every other Cardinal when they came up to bat, I booed Rolen. He clearly couldn’t hear me from that high in the stratosphere, as he collected two hits and drove in a run. This was the first of four times that I would see the legendary Ichiro Suzuki at a game, and though I didn’t know it at the time, he was in the middle of a historic season that would see him break George Sisler’s all-time record for hits in a season with 262. I saw one of those hits that day. By the way, St. Louis is a cool city, and if you haven’t been, I’d recommend it, especially during July 4th when you’ll see one of the best fireworks displays ever. They’re shot from a ferry on the Mississippi, and if you watch from the Illinois side, the Gateway Arch provides the perfect backdrop.

 

Marlins @ Mets, July 2, 2005: A friend and I had discussed going to a Mets game numerous times, and after four years, we finally pulled it off. Unfortunately, the day was not without its trials and tribulations. I overslept and I got lost trying to find my friend’s house in northern New Jersey. This was, of course, during the days before GPS became widely available. When I finally arrived, we got sidetracked by conversation, as we hadn’t seen each other in more than a year. And with the notorious New York traffic, it took us an hour to get to Queens. By the time we finally got to our seats inside Shea Stadium, the game was already in the bottom of the sixth inning. The Marlins would go on to win 7-3, but that barely seemed to matter. Personally, I was just thrilled to be in the same place The Beatles performed for the first time 40 years earlier. I kept looking just beyond second base, picturing the band on their makeshift stage. I have yet to return to New York to see the Mets, who now play at Citi Field, but I will someday, and I’ll make sure to get there on time.

 

Indians @ Twins, April 20, 2008: As many of you know, I lived in South Dakota for two years after I graduated from college. I can’t say I enjoyed my time out there that much, but the one thing it allowed me to do was attend a Minnesota Twins game, which I did with my fiancée at the time and a friend. Minnesota was one of the last teams in the majors at this point that still played in a cavernous, cookie cutter-style stadium with an Astroturf field, so as we entered the Metrodome, it felt like I’d stepped back in time to the 1980s. The stadium’s domed roof made it more eerie. I had never watched a baseball game indoors, and it almost didn’t feel like I was at a baseball game. Still, I had become familiar with the Twins over the previous year, and I even got to interview their manager, Ron Gardenhire, three months earlier when he and a few other members of the organization visited my town. I was happy to cheer on the home team, and first baseman Justin Morneau made it even more memorable. The game went into extra innings, tied 1-1, and in the bottom of the 10th, Morneau hit a walk-off single to win the game. It was an unlikely hit as well, as Morneau managed to hit a sharp ground ball past the defensive shift on the right side of the infield. After 18 years of going to major league games, that was the first walk-off hit I’d ever seen. Two years later, the Twins would join the 21st century, moving into their new stadium, Target Field.

Part 2 of this series will feature a baseball road trip of sorts to New York and Boston. Stay tuned!

May 21, 1995: Phillies vs. New York Mets

I would be willing to wager my entire collection of autographed baseballs that there is nothing cooler a 12-year-old kid could wear to a major league game than a Little League uniform.

You look just a little more important than the other kids in their normal threads. Other parents think it’s utterly adorable. It also brings a smile to the faces of the players on the field to see a child following – albeit distantly and unlikely – in their footsteps.

That cool kid was me on this sunny day in May. I got up bright and early to don my Orioles uniform (wonderful foreshadowing, as I would soon become a fan of the American League team 75 miles to the south) for the purpose of team photos. I loved my Little League team. I got along extremely well with my teammates, which was a refreshing change from the daily torment I received at school. I was also proud to be the third baseman, a position I picked as an homage to the best Phillies player of all time, Mike Schmidt.

To the relief of my dad and I, the photo session went much quicker than expected. That meant we didn’t have to cancel our plans to go to that afternoon’s Phillies game with his co-worker, Greg, who had two extra tickets. That’s always the best way to go to a ballgame. It’s typically unexpected and it’s like finding treasure. I also chose the game over attending the birthday party of my best friend at the time, Brian, but being just as big of a Phillies fan, he understood.

Unfortunately, the actual experience failed to live up to the promise. As is the case with any big city, traffic was atrocious, and the photo session robbed us of the extra time we needed to factor into our trip. We had to settle for cheering to the car radio as the Phillies scored four first-inning runs against the Mets. I was doing most of the cheering, while Greg and my dad lamented about our predicament. It’s much easier to see the silver lining in most situations when you’re a kid.

Parking was another issue since we obviously arrived at Veterans Stadium after all the other fans. By the time we finally got to our seats, the game was in the sixth inning.

The Phillies made our ordeal worth it by letting the Mets back into the contest. The 4-0 whittled to 4-3, and the bullpens on both sides were left to duke it out.

Darren Daulton started some two-out magic in the eighth with a double. Charlie Hayes followed with a catchable line drive to right, but the ball bounced off the webbing of Chris Jones’ glove, allowing Daulton to score. The Phillies won by that 5-3 score, and it came as no surprise to us.

Though the pitching staff had changed dramatically in two years, the Phillies still retained most of their starting lineup from 1993, and they returned to form over the first two months of 1995, jumping out to a 35-18 start. But injuries and a general lack of team chemistry eventually took their toll, and the Phils took a nose dive out of contention in July.

Sadly, those four innings in 1995 would be my last live look at Dutch, The Dude, Dave Hollins and Jim Eisenreich in a Phillies uniform. All things in professional sports seem to go full circle, and the basement from which Philadelphia furiously emerged would become their residence once again in 1996 and 1997.

My bandwagon allegiance to the superstar Dallas Cowboys of the National Football League around this time proved that I had yet to learn the value of loyalty, and so it’s no wonder I turned my attention away from the Phillies. My dad and I curtailed our viewing of them on television, and we stopped going to their games. In a way, I was saying goodbye to my childhood. This incarnation of the Phillies was at its end, and the Little League costume hung in the closet, never to be worn again.

It was the end of an era for sure, but my baseball tutelage was just getting started.

The K stands for Killer

Phillies left fielder Raul Ibanez may wish he had his at-bat back in the top the ninth inning in Saturday's game against the Mets. He couldn't hold up his swing on a pitch out of the zone, ending the Phillies' shot at a little more insurance in a game they wound up winning anyway. Considering it was Francisco "K-Rod" Rodriguez on the mound, Ibanez should be glad that last pitch didn't end up lodged in his forehead. K-Rod had already learned by that point that his fist wasn't strong enough to do the job.

That strike three wound up being Frankie K's last of the 2010 season, as the New York Mets just revealed that he will miss the rest of the season due to a torn ligament in his pitching hand. In a weird twist of fate, the injury was likely suffered during his alleged thrashing of his girlfriend's father, Carlos Pena, three days previous. It's no wonder he injured his hand, considering that he was trying to ram it through the skull of another human being, belonging to the grandfather of his children, no less.

Apparently, this whole fight was precipitated by Pena talkin' about K-Rod's mother. I'd sooner expect such an exchange to occur on an elementary school playground, and it wouldn't end with someone in handcuffs.

Maybe Rodriguez recently read a tutorial on tough love and took it much too literally, and we've all seen him flex his muscles and scream his head off after every save. Getting knocked around by those cannons can't be much fun, and the only message I would derive from such a shellacking is, "Get me the hell away from this guy, now!" Pena and K-Rod's girlfriend, Daian Pena, agreed with such a stance and had K-Rod arrested right there at Citi Field. A judge later ordered Rodriguez to stay away from the two of them.

And what was his punishment from an embarrassed Mets organization? Two games. A penalty of $125,000 can barely be considered a slap on the wrist for a guy making 12.2 million. K-Rod did not only commit third-degree assault on a member of his own family, but did so at his place of work. Pictures of the shackled closer being escorted from the stadium by police were splattered all over the Internet. If that happens at almost any other job, that's the last time he would be seen on the premises.

Maybe if Rodriguez had been punching a dog, the penalty would've been more severe.

The Mets end up looking like world class idiots, because it turns out K-Rod's crime has made it impossible for him to return to work. In a way, I'm glad he screwed up his thumb. He's now receiving the exile from Citi Field and his teammates he should've gotten from the start. After Rodriguez undergoes surgery to repair the torn ligament, he'll be forced to sit and reflect on what he's done while he waits for his Sept. 14 court date. It took a little time, but justice has been served.