Peanuts and CrackerJack: A Day at the BallPark
It’s August 6, 2006, and has been for six hours and 45 minutes when the alarm goes off. Normally I’d hit the snooze button a good seven times before dragging myself to the shower and getting my day started in my usual slow and tired manner. But this day is different. This day I’m up and ready to go, out the door by 7:15 and on the highway by 7:30, driving to catch the bus to the afternoon Detroit Tigers/Cleveland Indians baseball game in Detroit, MI.
Life is good.
As a child, I was never close to my father so I never got to experience the daddy/daughter day at the baseball park. Even if we had been close (and we did make a few attempts with hunting and fishing), sporting events never seemed to be a big thing in our family. In all honesty, I never cared. Never having been much of a sports fanatic until my high school years when I discovered the delicious violence of hockey, I didn’t feel like I was missing out on anything. I’d catch a game here and there on TV, but I couldn’t sit still long enough to really enjoy baseball.
Fast forward to adulthood, the age of 27 to be exact. I’m offered two tickets to Comerica Park as part of an employee raffle at my job. What does it for me isn’t the thought of baseball itself, but the idea of getting to try something new, of getting out of town and chalking one more experience mark on my board of life. I find a buddy to take with me, buy some sunscreen and some batteries for the camera, and I’m ready to roll. Take me out to the ballgame…
The moment the park entrance came into sight, the baseball bug bit me hard. Lines of people made their way in and I became just another face in a crowd of excited people ready for an afternoon at the field. Watching the parents with their children didn’t make me feel jealous. What it did do was give me that feeling of being part of a great American pasttime. Everywhere you looked, young kids sat with big smiles on their face and wide eyes ready to take in anything and everything. They eagerly awaited the start of the game, wearing the hats and shirts given lovingly and proudly to them. Mothers were in on the action as well. One man sported a sign happily telling the crowd that it was baby’s first game.
Besides the families were the young couples, happy to be together on such a warm afternoon, enjoying their time together in what I’d guess, in most cases, was the newness of their relationships. Older friends and couples called happily to each other from across the stands, waving each other over to join them in thier own cheering section. Packs of college aged men whooped it up with their 24 oz beers and bare chests, cheering and high fiving each other. Masses of game goers made their way along the food and souvenir stands, most likely as enticed as I was by the mixed aroma of game snacks ranging from bratwurst, to nachos, to pizza.
Comerica Park was built in 2000 as an upgrade from the old Tiger Stadium and offers carnival rides for the kids to enjoy, statues and a beautiful scenic view all around. There’s not a bad seat in the house. Even from the upper deck, a spectator gets a grand view of the game and can feel the contagious excitement of the summer game.
From the moment the game started, I ceased to be my own individual and instantly became another baseball fan, happily lost in the crowd. I felt the surge of country pride when I joined those around me in singing the national anthem. Anticipation got the best of me as I watched as my team, the Tigers, get one, two, three outs in a matter of minutes in that first inning. I engaged in the little seat dance that others around me did during each of the home team player’s walk out music. I invested in three fairly expensive but highly worth it beers to not only drink throughout the nine innings, but to toast with and celebrate the great plays, the quick outs, and the one run of the game, made of course by Detroit. I screamed myself hoarse, got a slight sunburn, got a more than slight beer buzz, and ended the game high fiving with my friends as if the team’s victory was one of our own.
In a way, it was.
It may have taken 27 years for me to get to that game, but I know the experience just couldn’t have happened any other way. Coming home with my new ballcap and a camera full of pictures, I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow, exhausted but completely satisfied. Will I go again? You bet! Will I take my own kids someday? Most definitely! Am I already thinking about my next game? Heck yeah!
How will I always think of my first experience at the ol’ ballgame?
Priceless!
