TheBanyanTree: Real Baseball

[NancyIee at aol.com]

I wanted no party, no announcement for my birthday this year.  My roommate 
was determined to get me something (she always goes overboard and loves surprise 
parties, and I hate them) pleaded for me to let her know what I wanted. I 
said I wanted to go to a real ball game.

The Reds have their winter field here. Of course, they are out playing in the 
league up north, but they have their promising newcomers playing a summer 
league, vying for coveted positions on the teams.  There was, that night, a game 
between the Reds and the Mets.

The night was balmy, with a small cooling breeze. The moon was golden, the 
hot dogs cheap, the grass closely mowed, the players eager. We sat behind the 
dugout, just left of home plate. Close enough to comment on a catch well made, a 
hit way-y-y out there, a bullet out on a runner taking too big a lead, making 
the players smile and nod in return.

We cheered. I was more a fan of one team, but hollered and acknowledged every 
good play no matter which teammate made it.  It was real baseball, out doors 
with real grass, no dome blocking out the stars and the flight of night birds. 
I remember watching the Minnesota Twins play such games in years past, at an 
open stadium long since torn down to make a mall.

The Metropolitan Stadium in Bloomington, where the night lights lit up the 
sky, where the cheers could be heard blocks away, where tailgate parties  left 
the scent of  grilled hamburgers in the air.

I don't go to ball games these days. I don't like the domed stadiums and the 
fake grass.

On my birthday, my roomate and I sat under the stars, watched the uniforms 
smudged with real red soil after sliding into base, ate hot dogs and peanuts, 
and cheered with the crowd, our joined voices filling the night air.  Give me a 
real baseball game any time.

I'll go again.

NancyLee