A Day at the Park

Sunday, June 7, 2009.

At noon, Michael & I went to the grocery store and got two cans of corn.

That's what I would put on my Twitter tweets if I had some. And people would be curious. And the Enquirer would take this tidbit and make some horrible story out of it, damaging my reputation as a pillar of my community. Salt of the earth. Pillar of salt? Anyway, looking back—

By 12:30 on Sunday we were at Omaha's famous and, sadly, doomed Rosenblatt Stadium. A horrible sense of foreboding filled the air, heavy rain clouds hanging thick and dark over the plains. Once we parked, Michael carried the cans of corn while I carried his Giant Foam Finger. He proudly strode right past the people in the ticket lines, bypassing them on his way to the super special secret Omaha Food Bank/Open Door Mission table where he exchanged his cans of corn for General Admission tickets to the ball game.

Since we were amongst the first thousand fans into the park, we each got a super special secret Rosenblatt Scoreboard Photo Phrame.

I told Michael that I had a baseball signed by "2B-F. White", "3B-G. Brett", and "CF-W. Wilson". He was unimpressed. He was more impressed by the olde-fashioned style poppe korn karte we passed on the way in. So we got a tub of popcorn and piled cups of special secret Kettle Korn seasoning on it. I now believe Kettle Korn seasoning is really just sugar.

Home on the range, where the skies are all cloudy and grey. The clouds continued to be all looming dark and threatening, spooky and foreboding, and other adjectives as well. It thunderstormed the night before, and again the night after— but for the seven hours we were at the park... well, at one point we felt about twenty little raindrops; but that was it.

Looking east— this is a view I will truly miss, 'cause I've got a lot of memories associated with it. Tales that will grow taller with each telling. The horizon line is miles and miles of Iowa's great plains stretching off into the distance. The dome is a desert, and the pyramid is a jungle. It's all so geometric, and makes me melancholy.

Plans call for the land that Rosenblatt Stadium currently sits on to be sold to pay off the debt remaining from its own multi-million dollar renovations. The adjacent Henry Doorly Zoo is set to take control of the land and demolish Rosenblatt once the new TD Ameritrade Stadium is completed downtown for the 2011 season. Last year I thought that this year was the last year, but this year I found out next year will be the last year. So the good news is, as they say, there's always next year. The bad news is, there's only next year.

We saw a Royals pitcher "strike out the side." We saw Royals batters hit back-to-back home runs. We saw Royals fielders turn nifty double plays, and lead the game 4-to-nothing. I wondered if they would lose it in the 9th inning like they're known for, or the eighth. But NO— this was a double-header day! So the Royals only had seven innings to pull off the loss. Which they did.

According to ORoyals.com:

• The Royals' record in games decided in the last at-bat is 2-13.
• Omaha is 0-7 in extra inning contests.
• The Royals have lost 14 of their last 17 home games.
• The .355 home winning percentage is the worst in the PCL.

Simply put, they choke. Often. Annoyingly, Michael didn't get to see the Bad Guys get a Grand Slam Home Run, like last time we went... (when the crowd collectively groaned and Michael wondered what happened, and I said, "Well, see all the Bad Guys all running around the bases?")

Anyway, after the first game, most of the fans left. Most— meaning more than half? Yep, most of the people left. I guess they had other things to do. Michael and I just wandered around the area. He threw 4 balls in a Batting Cage Of Mannequins, hitting the batter once. (Batter-quin?) I was miserating that each throw cost me 50 cents, when we could just go home and throw a ball for free.

Going back in for the second game, Michael saw a super special secret door and wanted to go in. So we did. Inside was a small foyer with a Gatekeeper guy. We chatted with him, and he pointed us to an elevator. Michael likes elevators.

The super special Stadium View Club was all quiet and enclosed. And empty. After a few minutes, Michael wanted to help finish up the buffet. Instead, we went out and down to the concourse and got special secret Quarter Pound All Beef Royal Dogs. The guy didn't even get confused when I asked for Quarter Pound All Beef Royal Dogs. See, on the menu boards, they used to say, Quarter Pound All Beef Royal Dogs. Now, they just say Royal Dogs. I want the all beef Royal Dogs, not dogs made from Royals. So I ask for Quarter Pound All Beef Royal Dogs. What's so hard about that? And it was probably for the best that I specified, "not too rubbery."

So we got hot Royal Dogs and watched the rest of the second game from the 1st-base side. I think it's been about 25 years since I've sat on the 1st base side.

A panoramic photo of the stadium, looking North. Click it for a 1200px version. The bigger, the better.

I worried that Michael, who starts to get antsy as a 9th inning approaches, would have trouble sitting through 14 innings of baseball. And he was getting bored, with the stadium being empty and quiet while the baseball guys played the second game. The "roar of the crowd?" Not here. Look— this kind of crowd defines the phrase "smattering of applause." The Sound guy, the organist, the cheerleaders, and even the CCTV cameramen tried to keep the fans interested. While live Fan Cam shots of various spectators flashed on the scoreboard, every few seconds the PA would yell pre-recorded soundbites: "EV'RYBODY CLAP YO HANDS!" and obediently we'd all clap clap clap clap clap clap clap and then— dead silence except for the smack of a pitch into the catcher's mitt echoing through the place. Crickets chirped. In the distance, somebody would call out something. We could hear the zoo train chuffing along, two blocks away. The PA would suddenly play a trumpet charge, and Michael & I dutifully yelled, "MUSH!"... then, again that long expectant silence, and a "spack" for strike two. Sooooo quiet. So placid. Peaceful... a soft breeze on a summer day... mmmm... zzzzzzzzz

What— sorry! It was a long day.

I told Michael that since it was a double-header, the game was only seven innings. Luckily, the game was tied at the end of seven innings. So, for three innings of extra baseball, Michael declared me a liar. The Royals weren't able to lose this game until the tenth.

Finally, all the mean ol' baseball guys got off the field so that Michael could run around on it.

By then, it was 7:30, and time to go home. Since the College World Series happens here, the Royals were leaving for "the longest road trip in baseball"— nineteen days on the road. My mission is simply to inject enough Rosenblatt experience into Michael's brain that he will actually have some vague memories of the place as he grows up. A reference point for all the tall tales I will tell him. I'm hopeful that days like this help do that.