Play Ball!

On a whim, we went to a Padres game the other night. I’d like to think Rob scored a good deal on the tickets because they were pretty good seats for deciding to go the night before. It was a great night for baseball at Petco Park. It was warm, mostly cloudy with just the slightest breeze. We shared a cheese-steak sandwich with garlic fries even though it was Taco Tuesday. I treated myself to a $12 beer and got Rob a $6 coke with an environmentally friendly straw. We cheered the Padres as they walked all over the Dodgers, winning 4 – 1. We walked around the ballpark, browsed the team store and then rode the trolley home. It was a great night.

Of all the sports, I like going to baseball games the most. It was my dad’s game. We used to watch games at Lawrence Stadium in Wichita a few times a year. Whenever the NBC was in town, we’d get free tickets from the grocery store and all go watch the college kids play. I had no idea who these guys were, but they came from places as far as Alaska. Sometimes we’d go to one of the minor league games – The Wichita Aeros, then The Pilots, The Wranglers, and The Wing Nuts.

I always loved going to the games. We got to stay up late, eat hotdogs, drink cokes and later, eat soft serve ice cream from a miniature ball cap. Sometimes we’d get those malts with the thumb-sized flat, wooden spoons. Those were so good. I remember there was talk of my dad playing baseball when he was a kid. He didn’t get to play in school because of the expense but I heard he was a good. I never asked him about it. I just accepted it as truth and didn’t want to know things any other way. Besides, I saw the way he watched the game.

I had my first job at that stadium, a fourteen year old cooking hotdogs and hamburgers. That was a great summer, my first real step toward independence. I’d ride the bus to work late in the afternoon and call for a ride from my tired mom at 10, 11, or 12 at night. It depended how late the games went or how long it took to clean. I remember the heat of the day forcing its way into the stands, the noise of the crowds, the smell of hotdogs and spilled beer. I remember leaving the concession stand and running up into the stands late in the night, feeling the cool air on my sweaty, greasy face. I remember the quiet of the stadium after the crowds had gone, the peaceful calm after a storm.

When I go to a baseball game I remember all these things. These moments that make me smile or shake my head because I was young and believed the world was mine. Going to a game brings it all back. When I was young, those guys seemed so old. Now, as I sit in the stands and watch, I smile when I think that these guys seem so young. How time flies.