...When All is Said and Dunn

I am taking a break from my duties here and am going on a secret mission for a special covert government agency and will be under deep cover for a while. In my absence, please enjoy the following encore of one of my favorite past articles originally published August 11, 2000. -- Bill, aka "The Jackal"

One of the summertime rituals for my family is a trip to Dodger Stadium. No matter which “boys of summer” you follow there seems to be some mandatory, yet unwritten rule that you make a pilgrimage to the ballpark of your choice to watch your favorite Major League team, just so you can say you are an American.

Since my wife and I have been together I must admit I have become a little spoiled. Up until this year, my father-in-law had season tickets that he gave to his customers, and he would generously let us pick a couple of games each season to go to. The tickets came with paid preferred parking and were decent aisle seats, so getting in and out was a breeze. But alas, all good things must come to an end and he gave up his tickets this year, thus closing that avenue for attending games.

This really didn’t break my heart all that much. I do enjoy going to the game itself but all of the peripherals can be a pain in the butt. I was reminded of this when I attended a game last Friday night. My daughter Rachel made Softball All Stars, so as a reward she was given two tickets to a Dodger game by the district in which she plays. We were given the option of buying more tickets for the rest of the family at a discounted price. OK, I thought, this is cool and the kids will dig it.

Then I got the tickets. As soon as I do, I pull out the seating maps so I can get my bearings to see where I need to go. The tickets said “reserved section” on them so I was feeling pretty good, that was until I found them on the map. They were in a part of the reserved section I never knew existed. The section was parallel with the very top section, or as it is more commonly referred to, the nosebleed section.

My elation quickly turned to dread. I began envisioning the players the size of ants and began wondering if there was a way I could rent the Hubbell telescope. During the 24 hours leading up to the game, with the way my imagination works, the picture became bleaker as the hour approached. I just kept repeating my mantra, it’s for the kids, it’s for the kids, over and over trying to psyche myself into having a good time.

As we were driving to the ballpark, my wife, ever the optimist, is attempting to balance out my negative vibe, my mantra having dismally failed, with all the positives about going to the ball game and the fun to be had once we arrive. The kids laughing hysterically at our banter back and forth.

Then we arrive. Whose vision would win, mine or my wife’s? We’ll see. Stop number one, the front gate. We have to pay $6.00 to park, strike one. We drive in and realize that we have been relegated to the nether regions as far as parking goes, and stupid me, I forgot to pack a lunch. But my wife reminds me I could use the exercise, not to complain and it would be good for me. OK, I’ll call that one a ball.

We get inside the park and it’s time for dinner. The cuisine of choice? Why Dodger Dogs of course, what else? So as we make our way towards our seats we scope out every Dodger Grill between our point of entry and our seats. Once we find the closest one to our aisle, we get in line to get our dogs and sodas. Each of the two lines that were open were approximately the same length so it was an easy choice.

We wait and wait as we watch the game on one of the strategically placed TV monitors. As it always happens, one of the best hits of the game came while we were standing in line. So I guess it’s a good idea that the monitors are there, I’m sure it cuts down on “fan rage”.

So I take turns glaring at my watch and at the people behind the counter, who seem to be engaged in a slow motion ballet. It was as though they had challenged one another to a contest to see who could serve the customer the slowest. Unfortunately for us, the person serving our line was winning. With the limited menu at the stand it was absolutely mind boggling that we had now been in this line for a longer period of time then it had taken us to drive to the stadium, park and walk to the stand.

The guy in line in front of me quipped that the people in front of us ordered one of everything on the menu. I responded that I could have eaten one of everything on the menu in the time that it took serve them.

Finally, with Dodger Dogs in hand, we head to our seats. As we turn the corner into our section we saw many familiar faces. As we work our way up to our seats we are told by one of the moms that everyone had basically started sitting where ever they wanted to and good luck in sitting in our assigned seats. Sure enough, when we found our seats someone was in them. When we told them they were in our seats the curt response was that there was someone in their seats. This type of attitude does not fly with my wife, so without her even saying so, she dolled out a strike. Strike two.

We spy some seats a little higher up and in my opinion, when you’re that high up what difference is a couple of rows going to make? So we plant ourselves and start to settle in. After the dogs are consumed and the sodas have been reduced to the point where they are not spilling, things begin to settle down and the magic of the game and the surroundings began to take over.

The players were not as miniscule as I had imagined, they actually looked like Little Leaguers from that distance, a sight I was familiar with. The angle and view weren’t bad either. OK, that’s worth a single. My son, Alex, immediately upon finishing his dog finds his friend Vinnie and they were stuck together like glue for the rest of the night. That’s another single right there. The Dodgers are winning, which means everyone in attendance is in a good mood. OK--the bases are loaded.

I begin to notice the sense of community in our section and the interaction between all the kids as well as the adults. I began to see what a great vibe was happening all around me in a venue that I had been coming to all of my life, but never had experienced like this before. Even if I didn’t know the names of the people around me, I knew their faces and that gave me a sense of comfort in a place where I’m usually isolated to my own little foursome.

Then came the 7th inning stretch. My senses were heightened by everything that was happening around me as we all stood to sing and stretch.

Then, I looked in front of me. There was Alex and Vinnie with their arms around each other’s shoulder, with their free arms raised with their large blue foam finger attached. They were swaying back and forth as they sang, smiled, and cheered at its conclusion. It was one of those Kodak moments and there wasn’t a camera around. It will always be in my mind’s photo album. Grand Slam.

As we left the stadium I had the same uplifting feeling I have every time I watch the closing baseball sequence in the movie “The Natural”. No matter how many times I see it, I feel good for hours afterwards. I wish I knew how to harness that feeling all of the time, but I don’t.

The best I can hope for is to try to remind myself of it the next time I need it.