kingdome

Mariners scorecard
Originally uploaded by slack13

When I started my posts on baseball stadiums I'd intended to eventually get around to writing about every park I've attended a game in. As so many other things, I keep putting these off. Not sure if they'll be of much interest to anyone else, but I like the excuse to dredge up my memories.

The first game I ever saw was in 1991 at Seattle's Kingdome, in Seattle. The stadium left much to be desired. It was a bleak concrete building with artificial turf on the field and artificial lighting flooding down from the ceiling. But for a 13-year-old baseball fan who had started to fanatically follow the game on TV and had been immersed in books on the history of the game, it was more than good enough.

It would be several more years before I'd have the experience of walking out the tunnel to my seats and seeing the sun gleam off an emerald grass field. But my first game impressions are still shining and glorious in my memory.

If I saw the same game today, the atmosphere would mostly inspire apathy. It was a Wednesday afternoon game (I didn't actually remember the day of the week - certain details have been supplied by the wonders of internet box scores). The official attendance was about 19,000, which seems high. Even then, I knew the crowd was sparse; in my mind I think 12,000 would be a better estimate. We arrived well early and took seats behind third base (I wonder what those seats cost at the time?). I'm not sure if we actually were there for batting practice, but I remember having a lot of time to take in the details: the expanse of seats, the crisp colors of the uniforms, the size of the scoreboard. We picked up souvenir miniature bats. I ended up with a scorecard which I still have. I can go back and look over my attempt at keeping score (I was lost on how to denote a first-inning pinch runner). I don't remember the details of what happened on the field. Before I found the scorecard I knew the game was against the Red Sox, I knew Ken Griffey, Jr. hit a home run and I was pretty sure the Mariners won.

I remember even at the time not having a great grasp on the play-by-play; leaving the stadium, I was a bit disappointed in my brain for not remembering everything exactly, and instead having more general impressions. A few moments, however, were vivid then and still easily accessed. The crowd noise going from indifferent to what (at the time) seemed insanely loud after Griffey's home run. We were right in front of the Red Sox bullpen, and crowded with other kids along the front rail to try and get autographs. I had no idea who Tony Pena was, but I knew that was the name of the Red Sox' backup catcher who was signing autographs, and who stopped just before he worked his way to us.

(I also learned a lesson that day, one my parents probably would prefer hadn't been as long-lasting.
My father parked our minivan in a two-hour spot during the game. When we returned to the vehicle, there was a ticket on the windshield. Us four kids (aged 13-7) who simply understood tickets were bad, were concerned. Our parents deflated our anxiety by remarking, "No one pays parking tickets in a city they're not from." Or at least one you're not going to soon return to. It's a lesson I've adhered to.
My parents got notices of the ticket for many years after. Seattle would send them a notice every year or two a year saying the ticket was delinquent and adding penalties to the total. Until one year the notices just stopped coming. There's no chance of them taking that van back to Seattle, so I'd say they're safe.)

The next day my father, brother and I went back to the Kingdome, this time for a night game against the Tigers. The tickets this time were free, thanks to collecting a quantity of Raisin Bran box tops. The Tigers that year were known for free-swinging power hitters: Cecil Fielder, Rob Deer (I didn't have to look up those two. I did have to look up to find out Mickey Tettleton was also on his way to hitting 31 home runs). I remember we got to the park a bit late; we probably didn't see Fielder hit a first-inning home run. I don't know if we saw Rob Deer hit a second-inning homer.

I do remember watching a late home run win the game for the Mariners. In my mind, it was Harold Reynolds hitting the winning home run in the ninth inning. According to the box score, it was Alvin Davis putting the Mariners ahead in the eighth. Either way, I remember watching the ball from the upper deck, seeing it fly on a low arc along the right-field line and just fair into in the stands. I've seen a lot of home runs since, but few are seared into my memory like that one.



(Looking here, I see the Mariners' average ticket price in 1991 was $7(!). Hot dogs were $1.50; beer $2.50. The Kingdome might not have been great, but at least it wasn't also unaffordable.)

A constant source of irritability in the household has been a lack of storage space for all our stuff, a problem unlikely to get better anytime soon.

We have gotten slightly better at managing the spillover, keeping the piles from turning into scattered bits and pieces on the floor (and be we, I mean "not me"). But the biggest problem is almost zero closet space and more possessions than can be crammed into the spots for stowing we do have.

It's the only real complaint I have about the place. We got lucky with where we are; Kirsten found the apartment in about two days after she got the job offer. We're paying less than we would for other comparable places we've seen. We like the neighborhood. We're sharing a four-bedroom house, but we have the basement to ourselves - our own entrance, own kitchen, own bathroom. Even have a washer/dryer. As well, we can go upstairs to the house common area (which happened more before I ran the cable downstairs). The roommates are nice enough, and rarely home. So not too bad, if only we had a closet or less stuff...

big city life, again

So for the last couple months my bike has been out of commission, waiting for a new gear cable. My roommate had the technical expertise to do the job, but our timing kept being off and I had to make a couple different runs to the bike shop to get the right cable and parts.

This weekend, everything finally came together, or so I'm told. While I was out running around town, my roommate put the bike together and it was ready to ride.
Early this week, a combination of rain and sickness kept me from testing it out. Yesterday, I decided an evening ride was in order. I walked out to our back yard where it had been stored under the porch, and no bike. The other two bikes were there, as well as various assorted other items, but my bike was gone.

So now I'm wondering, did they wait until the new cable was installed? Did they decide only one bike was needed, and left the others there? And what to do this weekend, now my idea of a nice ride is out of the picture?

correction

After seeing another game at RFK this weekend, I discovered the Nationals allow their fans to follow the out-of-town scores.

There isn't a dedicated out-of-town scoreboard, but the other scores are flashed up on some of the small video boards on the front of the upper deck throughout the game. Still makes it hard to see the game you're looking for with just a glance; you have to wait until it's the one on the screen. Kind of like waiting for a score on the ESPN ticker.

I'll take Wrigley's or Fenway's anytime.

big city life

I suppose it should be expected, but we didn't expect it to happen there.

We were just trying to take advantage of the nice weather Saturday afternoon. A drive through the park, then a stop to walk around and actually be in the weather. On our return, the car had either gained a dent or lost some structural integrity.

There weren't more than 12 cars in a lot with spaces for 50. Our space was in the midst of the few cars, nothing attention-grabbing about it. But someone decided their car also needed to occupy a piece of the space, the same spot our left rear corner was occupying.

Someone else walking along told us they'd seen the hit; they believed the man in the offending car was teaching his partner to drive. They'd told him a note would be left. Of course, it wasn't.

They managed to push our car well out of the center of the space. Other than losing a few cubic inches off our bumper's profile, there appears to be no real damage. Our new Glacier National Park bumper sticker, however, was torn and obscured. Insult, no injury.

maps

I have two T-shirts featuring the silhouette of New Zealand. Apparently, this is just recognizable enough for people to know it is a landmass, but obscure enough for them to have a hard time knowing which landmass it represents.

While we were home for the wedding, I wore one of the shirts and had two people ask my why Italy was upside down. The other day I wore one out to the bar and a girl asked why I was wearing a map of Japan.

I don't know if I would have picked it out either, before I lived there. But it's not helping the American reputation for geographic knowledge.

sand and sun

I hadn't checked out the time required to get from here to there (a nearly-too-long-for-a-day-trip three hours each way). I knew nothing about where we were headed, except it promised sand, water and waves. That was enough.

A year in New Zealand spoiled me. I didn't take enough advantage of always living within a few minutes drive of the ocean waters, but I didn't really have to. I stumbled across enough beaches, rarely needing to plan an excursion.

Since we've been back in the States, I haven't stumbled across the ocean. Most of the time, I couldn't see water to the horizon no matter how badly I wanted to.

So we headed east until we hit the Atlantic. The waters weren't the blue-green of my memories, more of a green-brown. But the sand was properly pale yellow, and the sun shone just enough. Too much, really, for my skin, victim of my carelessness. Despite the obstacles, it was exactly what I wanted.

(Oriole Park at) Camden Yards

the Warehouse
Originally uploaded by slack13

The Orioles may have one of the most repugnant owners in baseball (the Washington Post used the great phrase "locally loathed") and a team destined to always fall well behind the Yankees-Red Sox spending war, but their home park is still pretty sweet.

I headed to Camden Yards (officially Oriole Park at Camden Yards) this week to watch the Seattle Mariners, who are geographically much closer to my heart than these East Coast teams. I'd heard people rave about Camden Yards, but to be honest, I expected to be underwhelmed. Camden was the first in the new breed of parks, the stadium to end the ugly concrete era, but 15 years later half the teams in the league play in a stadium designed to rip off Camden's once-unique architecture. I figured this meant it would now inevitably feel somewhat diminished, its unique character absorbed and diluted by too many imitators.

A friend told me, just before I started the drive north, to be sure to get right-field bleacher seats, which he termed "the best seats in baseball." I'm not sure I can completely agree (bleacher seats in Fenway win for atmosphere, behind-home-plate seats just about anywhere win for immediacy, San Francisco's bay view seats win for scenery) but they are pretty damn good. Not only for themselves, but for the area just behind them.

The portion of Eutaw Street adjacent to Camden Yards isn't technically part of the stadium, although it's inside the stadium gates. It has become a pedestrian walkway (open to all when there's not a game going on) bordered on one side by the stadium and on the other by the old Baltimore & Ohio Railroad Warehouse. For games, the street is lined with food and drink stands and merchandise vendors.

The most celebrated of the drink stands is Boog's Barbecue, run by former Oriole Boog Powell. Boog himself was on hand to greet a line of customers and sign autographs. The food proved to be somewhat of a disappointment; $7.25 for a barbecue sandwich is a bit steep (I chose not to shell out an extra 75¢ for the beans and coleslaw sides) especially when the meat is pretty dry. However, it was well within tolerable limits for ballpark food.

Our seats were well above tolerable limits. We walked up and got second-row seats in center field for $15. Unlike some stadiums, the seats ran right up to the outfield wall, putting us right on top of the fielders (an excellent vantage point to watch Ichiro hang out).


The weather walking up to Camden Yards was the same as in a blast furnace; the Orioles announced a gametime temperature of 101 degrees, which was certainly a cheap ploy for sympathy (I'll believe the temperature was that high an hour before first pitch, when we were walking in, but a breeze and the sun going down actually cooled the air off considerable by the time the game started.

The game was marred by some sloppy play early, but the good guys ended up on top (just another disappointment for the home fans). I noticed the Orioles haven't shelled out the money to update the video board or changed the small scoreboards on the facades of the upper deck from lightboards to video screens, as have most other parks. I think that's more a case of cheap ownership rather than hanging onto tradition.

Somehow, Camden Yards manages to capture more of the pure baseball feel than most of the other new stadiums. Perhaps it's the fact it has had a chance to age, but it just feels like there's more character here than in most of the newer ballparks. In Philly and St. Louis, the stadiums are nice, but there's also the feeling that everything is too nice, too shiny, too packaged to really tap into the retro baseball feel the styling is aiming for. Camden Yards, with its warehouse, harsh lines and angles defining the outfield wall and brick-and-steel faces just seems to capture something many stadiums miss.

RFK

The Cheap Seats
Originally uploaded by edwardaggie98

I finally made my way out to RFK Stadium to see the Nationals in late July.

There isn't anything particularly remarkable about RFK. The Saturday afternoon game seemed to have a crush of people on the Metro and walking up to the main gate of the stadium. However, the crowd was well dispersed inside. The announced crowd was just shy of 32,000 in the 56,000-seat RFK (I can't imagine what the crowd outside would have looked like when the Redskins were playing here). Such a crowd will seem larger next season, when the Nationals move into a new 41,000-seat stadium in southeast D.C.

The Nationals did do one thing perfectly. The outfield seats are just $5, which makes a trip to the park an easy decision. It's the cheapest regularly-priced ticket I've seen since coming back to the States. It looked like that $5 ticket could get you a seat anywhere in the house, since I didn't' see any signs of ushers checking tickets. I didn't test the theory; our group talked about moving down, but ended up satisfied in our perch.

The seats are worth $5. There are a few quirks of seeing a game in RFK, not least of which is the fact every outfield seat is in the upper deck. The cookie-cutter stadium's rounded shape doesn't allow space for any lower-level or bleacher seats in the outfield, at least not in the current configuration. The yellow, wood-and-steel seats do feel properly worn. Cracks in the wood show through the paint job. The concrete deck shows its weather-stained age. For me, such touches generally add rather than detracting from the overall experience. Not enough to make up for the generally bland character of one of the last cookie-cutters still used for baseball.

The group for this afternoon game was far more interested the event as a social outing than the game itself, which also made for an enjoyable time. The game, as it was, had few moments of interest until the Nationals scored a few in the late innings for a 3-0 win. Not a positive result, as I was there primarily because the Rockies were in town.

I did notice one glaring absence from RFK. We sat up above the left-field foul pole, so I wasn't sure if it was below me and I just couldn't see it. But on our exit from the stadium, I walked down to the lower deck behind home plate and looked around. Nowhere. There wasn't an out-of-town scoreboard to be found. A deficiency I'm sure will be fixed at the new place.

wedding week - the final post

So here is my last post about the wedding, since it's been almost a month now - probably time to get this up.



Thursday

We drive from the farm to North Forty where the reception will take place and most guests are staying. We reserved most of the cabins for Friday and Saturday night, with my immediate family and some friends coming in on Thursday. As it turned out, a few too many friends decided to show up on Thursday, and sleeping spaces were at a premium. The weekend's shopping (we got too much food) was done during the afternoon. The food was packed away, the accommodations were all sorted out (although I almost ended up without a spot). Then away to Whitefish we went. Kirsten's bridesmaids actually organized a bachelorette party, or at least made of list of who would be around, and invited them to eat and drink. The guys weren't as organized, but it hardly mattered. Everyone piled into cars (we had two volunteers for designated drivers - excellent) then piled into bars. I had the presence of mind to order food before the shots started coming, then no more presence of mind. More drinks appeared - I don't think I bought many. Bars were hopped. Near the end of the night, we found ourselves in a bar with live poker tables. I managed not to lose all of my money. Closing time, we all made it back to the cabins. More drinks appeared, and I remember talking late into the night and then the morning, although I don't know about what. I went to bed slightly after one of our friends woke up and left to get a sunrise picture in Glacier.

Friday
It was a late morning for me, but not late enough. The rest of the family and friends poured in (although it seemed like most ended up coming on Thursday). The morning carried a bit of stress, not helped by the hangover. Kirsten fielded some calls from her dad, who ended up unable to make the wedding (this was known to be a likely proposition, but still caused some stress). Food preparation for the evening's meal started in earnest, with my family putting most of it together. Kirsten and I, along with a few others, headed to Glacier to scout the wedding location and choreograph the wedding. Jobs had been handed out and all were accomplished. The dinner (no rehearsal) was a hit. Friends and family mingled. An uncle was costumed. Gifts were given to my aunt and uncle for their 60th birthdays, and to my mom and dad for their 30th anniversary. A game was played. People retired early, to recover from Thursday night. (Everyone, as far as I'm aware, was in by midnight).

Saturday

The morning was still earlier than I would have liked, but far better than Friday's. Pancake breakfast fortified everyone. We enlisted guest to help erect a large tent for outdoor seating, as well as setting up tables and chairs. Others put together and set up decorations. Food catered for the reception arrives. Flowers arrive. (A small relief, since I made the arrangements). Kirsten leaves to have her hair done. A near crisis - the only real one of the weekend - I realize I forgot the cord to hook up music to the sound system. Kirsten wants music. I want music. I enlist sister's boyfriend to pick up new cord. He does. Crisis averted.
The morning seems to be a lot of rushing around, making sure everything is done. Then iron and put on wedding outfit. It seems all is done, now an hour to kill before heading out for photos. Someone remembers we should eat - good call. Photos are taken. Everyone arrives. (The parking was a worry, but doesn't seem to be an issue). Group portraits are done, everyone mingles. Our lemonade stand (served by my sister and her boyfriend) is a hit. It was 100 degrees Thursday and Friday. Today it's almost cool at 85. Everyone is seated, at 3:30 the music starts. Everyone in the seats pulls out their cameras. Ceremony goes well - music, reading, vows, reading, done. Everyone is invited to wade into the lake, most do. More photos. People head back to the cabins. Kirsten and I take our time, have ice cream at the nearby park village. (They don't have root beer floats. We order a root beer and a scoop of ice cream to dump together. Now we have root beer floats.)
We arrive, reception can start. Toasts, cake, food, keg, wine, talking. People sit inside and out. More mingling. First dance, then no dance (the music was good, but people were more interested in talking and drinking than dancing). Second keg is sent for, just in time. We open presents. More talking. Some late-night dancing when friends hijack the play list. The hall is to be vacant at midnight, so the keg is moved. It was a poor location choice, some of the guests who had intended to be sleeping no longer were after the keg and its attendant loudness were relocated. The frivolity went on into the early morning. Kirsten and I retired at 3 a.m. Reliable sources tell me the keg gave out at 4:30 a.m., when the remaining partyers drifted to bed.

Sunday

I try for an early morning, but I find the work I'd intended to help with is already mostly finished. We try to find places to put all the unused food. Again a morning of rushing, as people try to pack up and say goodbye. We arrange to have lunch with a group of friends. It's a slow-moving crowd. Afterward, Kirsten and I go back to the park with our photographers. We pose for portraits in the scenery for hours. And more hours. Just before the sun sets, we set up camp.

Monday

We plan on heading to Canada (still with our photographers). I realize I packed our passports in a shipment headed back to the farm. Kirsten is worried - we only have drivers licenses. No problem. We get into Canada. Then I'm worried - we see a front moving in, with black clouds, wind and rain. There's a bear at the Waterton visitors' center. The bear crosses the road. We get back on the road, take a short hike and avoid the rain. The front blows over, sun shines. We drive to Cameron Lake. Nice. Another short walk, then back to the townsite. A few drinks at the hotel (no we weren't staying there, we camped down below). Campsite had no fires, but a lot of ground squirrels.

Tuesday

Back to U.S. We drive to Many Glacier. Then we take a short walk. Another bear is there. We see the cinnamon-colored black bear about 30 feet away, looking through a rotten log. My companions are interested in hurrying down the trail. Kirsten and I leave the photographers to the park, and return to the farm.

Wednesday

We try and figure out how to fit everything we've obtained from the weekend into our packs. It's a futile effort, although we managed to fit most of it. Two 40 pound bags each will tax the baggage handlers Thursday when we return to D.C.

education vs. experience

I'm convinced one of the reasons a long international trip is such a rare event for 20-something Americans is the lack of time in the socially acceptable life calendar.

I'm not talking about a few weeks or even a summer in Europe during college. One of the quickly apparent facts when you're staying in hostels in New Zealand or Australia or Asia is the relatively large numbers of English, Australians, Kiwis, Germans, Irish, Dutch, etc., who pack up and travel for months or years somewhere in the post-high school or post-college years.

It's common enough to have slang descriptions. In New Zealand, pretty much everyone was expected to have an OE, or overseas experience. Sometimes it came right after high school, delaying college for a few years. Sometimes it came during or after college. It seemed just as often it came in place of college. The Kiwis could go to Australia and work at anytime or go to the UK once with a two-year work visa. For your career, the choice to go live andbar tend in London was as valid as the choice to go to University, as long as you weren't planning on a specialized career. Or it was a chance to figure out just what you wanted to do before getting to school and being forced to choose a career plan. In England, the same idea is referred to as a Gap Year.

In the States, there is no term for it. There isn't even a concept. You leave high school, you go to college or get a job. You leave college, you better have a job. That, at least, is the general assumption present in most of the conversations about the future when you're in high school or college. When Kirsten and I were thinking about leaving and going to New Zealand for a year, the general consensus from everyone we told was they were envious, but it wasn't something they would even consider.

It also wasn't easy when we returned. I don't know how much having a year off on the resume affected either of us, but it definitely leads to some uncertainty when
you return with no job and no immediate prospects.

In New Zealand, a college degree wasn't as necessary to get into the general business world as it is here. It wasn't always a requirement. Life experience could also work, or even no experience at all; it seemed sometimes places handed out jobs hoping the applicant would figure it out on the job. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't, but it's a concept hard to embrace with an American work background. Kind of like the standard three-week business vacation around Christmas. (I saw family-owned shops closed in early December, with signs in the door saying they were closed for the holidays and would re-open in mid-February.

It was one more aspect of a generally more relaxed society. New Zealand is nicely isolated from the go-go world of America and Europe businesses. The small population makes the country pretty much an afterthought for multi-national corporations, which probably contributes to the more relaxed business (and general) culture. Not
that I have a job at the moment to compare, but I'm not looking forward to getting back into the U.S. work mindset.

travel costs

I found some notes for blog entries I made while traveling which never got up here. The first one:

I'm not quite sure exactly how some of the people we met while traveling bankrolled their trips. I know people here weren't sure how we bankrolled ours (we worked in New Zealand, had some money saved, and used some credit cards). There were, I'm sure, people whose parents were paying for it. The English just saved up some money and then saw its value double or triple once they started exchanging pounds into other currencies. Other people had obviously laid out money for a round-the-world ticket and then squeaked by on odd jobs and low standards. We met a couple of people who had bought or inherited property they were renting, and using that income to travel.

One German guy we met in New Zealand had an even better system. He'd simply registered for classes. I didn't verify the details, but according to him Germany not only gave him free tuition, but also a living stipend and insurance as a student. So he simply wasn't showing up for his classes, since he happened to be about 11,000 miles away.