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Ranking the grandest cathedrals of Major League Baseball

The author of this blog post ranks Fenway Park as his favorite MLB stadium.

Baseball-themed road trips have been a big part of fandom for decades. Major League Baseball fans will drive thousands of miles over a week’s time or more to watch as many games in as many different cities and stadiums as possible.

For instance, my friend Mike, along with his brother and his son, would drive from OKC to, say, Chicago to see a game at Wrigley Field one day, Comiskey Park on the south side the next. Immediately after that game, they would drive 300 miles to Detroit to catch a Tigers game the next day, then on to Milwaukee to see the Brewers the next.

Sounds exhausting, but a big part of the attraction was soaking in the atmosphere of different MLB stadiums, each of which offers a unique experience in architecture, food, fans and even dimensions of the field.

My MLB experience is much more limited. I’ve watched games in 13 different major league ballparks in my life, six of which are no longer in existence or in use. Read a post about my first MLB experience in the early 1960s at Houston’s old Colt Stadium,

But I think I’ve sampled enough to know which ones are my favorites for the in-stadium experience. So, in honor of the official opening of MLB season — even if it was in Tokyo — I’m ranking my three favorite MLB stadiums.

I’ve also asked four friends who have experienced a lot of baseball venues to weigh in with their top three, as well. Their rankings follow my list.

As for me, I was privileged to attend the annual Biotech Innovation Organization — BIO — Convention for 12 consecutive years with the delegation that showcases Oklahoma biotech industry at the show each year. Those trips created the opportunity to watch MLB games in six different cities, including San Francisco, San Diego and Boston, which are the top three venues for me.

Here’s how I’ve ranked them.

No. 3: Oracle Park in San Francisco (opened in 2000 as PacBell Park). I was able to combine two of my passions — rail-fanning and baseball — on this trip. I caught the Muni Metro train on Market Street, and it delivered me and about 400 of my closest friends wedged into the car right outside the stadium. As far as Oracle Park, it’s in a beautiful setting, situated so close to the San Francisco Bay that many home runs to right field land in what is known as McCovey Cove in the bay. The park offered great food and drink options, as well as a display of Giants’ World Series trophies on the left field concourse. It was a great experience, despite the chilly San Francisco weather.

No. 2: Petco Park in San Diego. Another ballpark with great public transportation options. I attended a Padres game on two straight BIO trips to San Diego. Located in the heart of San Diego’s Gas Lamp entertainment district, I loved the Petco experience because it has a real open feel to it, with a great picnic area in right field, and an old downtown building incorporated right into the stadium down the left field line. It is renowned for fish tacos, but food options seemed endless.

The Green Monster as viewed from lower deck seats behind third base at Fenway Park

No. 1: Fenway Park in Boston (opened in 1912). I was in awe of this ancient baseball cathedral when my former i2E colleague and fellow Oklahoman, Rick Rainey, and I attended a game while in Boston for the BIO show. Never mind that the Red Sox lost to the lowly Detroit Tigers, Fenway offers so much history that the score didn’t matter. Where do I start? Well, the atmosphere outside the ballpark was tremendous with hundreds of fans lined up to buy food and merchandise from dozens of vendors. Inside, the Green Monster taunts hitters in left field. The Pesky Pole in right. The Triangle in Center field. The Red Sox have the ultimate between-inning music, too, hitting right in my wheelhouse with a ’60s/’70s dominated playlist. And the near capacity house that night was primed and ready to belt out Sweet Caroline when it was played in the middle of the eighth inning. It’s a great memory.

Now, let’s see how my friends ranked their top three baseball stadiums. I asked two long-time newspaper reporters and editors — Mike Sherman and Bobby Ross Jr. — for their thoughts, as well as Steve Buck and Jeremy Ball, two people who have attended the same church as I do for many years.

Here are their rankings:

Mike Sherman
I’ve seen a baseball game in 25 MLB parks, including 14 still in service. Here are my rankings.

No. 3: Tiger Stadium. I could have picked a half-dozen parks in this spot, including the Ballpark at Arlington — the easiest place to get to the bathroom and back in your seat between innings without missing a pitch. But three things stick with me from a 1988 visit to Tiger Stadium: The greenest grass I ever saw. Sitting in the upper deck, first row, and feeling like I could snatch the cap off the third-base coach’s head. The sensation of watching baseball in a time capsule and eating my first Domino’s Pizza while my traveling companion obsessed over whether he’d ever see his car again.

No. 2: Wrigley Field: This is where I’ve seen Pete Rose return from a 30-day suspension for bumping an umpire (1988) and watched Charles Barkley throw out the first pitch before a Jake Arrieta near-no hitter (2014). On Father’s Day 2023, my two sons and I watched a guy pour his grandfather’s ashes over the rail and on the ivy from the second row of the left-field bleachers. During a 2022 Orioles-Cubs series, Wrigley ushers kept giving my youngest son — Baltimore attire head to toe — Topps baseball cards of former O’s. People love this place and it shows.

No. 1: Camden Yards. If you want to discount my opinion because my father once hauled boxes of cigarettes out of the Warehouse, go ahead. Or because I snuck in before it opened to pick out my mother’s 1991 Christmas present — Sunday-only season tickets in the left-field stands. Or because my wife’s surprise for my 40th birthday was flying me blindfolded to Baltimore (I am not making this up) and not removing the blindfold until we stood on Eutaw Street, where she handed me tickets to a weekend series with the A’s. (I can do this all day.) Camden Yards is the ballpark that re-started everything. Without it, there may be no Petco, PNC, etc. Oh, and crabcakes.

Bobby Ross Jr.

No. 3: Wrigley Field. I realize I’m cheating, and this is actually the fourth ballpark I’ve mentioned. But the historic nature of Wrigley — and the wide enough seats (unlike Fenway Park in Boston) to fit a 21st century human — make this one a must-visit stadium.

No. 2: PNC Park in Pittsburgh and Petco Park in San Diego (tie). Both of these are spectacular with incredible downtown backdrops. PNC’s setting on the northern bank of the Allegheny River may give it the slight edge.

No. 1.: Globe Life Field. The Rangers’ home ballpark is in a league of its own. You might think I’m saying this just because I’m a Rangers fan, and you would be 99% right. This is, after all, the field of dreams where I witnessed the World Series Game 1 heroics (by Corey Seager and Adolis García) in 2023.

See my full list of rankings of the 22 current ballparks I’ve visited here:

Jeremy Ball

My top three stadiums:

No. 3: PNC Park. This is largely based on location and cityscape visible from the stadium, the Clemente Bridge in particular is the best backdrop for a stadium available. Inside the stadium, has a good mixture of modern amenities/foods with more standard fare, and there isn’t a bad seat anywhere in the stadium.

No. 2: Camden Yards. This is honestly the cleanest ballpark I’ve ever been to, this place literally looks like it was opened last year. This is a really intimate ballpark, soon as you walk in you are close to the seats and vantage points are great. The warehouse is a cool backdrop, even more interesting when you can walk right next to it.

No. 1: Wrigley Field. As a Cardinals fan, it pains me to say this, but the Wrigley experience is baseball heaven. The stands are really flat in the lower level, so I felt more connected to others, and the prevalence of one beer (Old Style) is a cool feature of the experience. Everything about the ballpark is intimate, and there’s something cool about how the stands are largely segregated from the concessions area. What probably sets Wrigley apart is the ‘Wrigleyville’ area outside the stadium; it’s a celebration before and after the game. It’s also the first place I ever shared a beer with my dad, so there’s a personal part for me.

A couple other notes on stadiums:
Best public transportation to a stadium: Target Field, Minneapolis — Rail drops you 100 feet from the East entrance!
Best food: Guaranteed Rate Field, White Sox — The stadium is nothing special except the wet beef sandwich with sweet peppers, OFF THE CHARTS GREAT.

Steve Buck

No. 3: Arlington Stadium. Yes, it has been replaced twice now but I attended my first MLB game there on June 25, 1976. The Rangers played a doubleheader on a Friday night (yes, that used to be a thing). Toby Harrah, the Rangers shortstop, walked off the first game with a grand slam in the bottom of the 9th. Arlington Stadium was brutally hot and a miserable experience, but that first in-person game captured a certain 10 year olds attention and fueled my MLB enjoyment that resonates to this day.

No, 2: Camden Yards. My all-time favorite baseball player is Cal Ripken, Jr. I attended games in Camden several times in the early 90’s. The unique architecture (at the time), the cool community surrounding the stadium and my passion for Ripken and his teammates made attending games there an absolute must-do. I wonder if I would see it the same way now that I no longer follow the team closely but I hope to catch Jackson Holiday soon and see if the magic still exists.

No. 1: Wrigley Field. Make no mistake, it is a dump. Outdated, inconvenient and lacking modern conveniences. All of that is true. But that is part of it’s character. Baseball in Wrigley is magic. A reminder of the game I fell in love with in my earliest years. I was never a fan of the Cubbies but attending a game there is easily a top 5, personally attended, sporting event in my life, and that includes multiple golf majors (including the Masters), seeing Gretzky skate and Jordan dominate, and several other sports historical moments. I am eager to attend a game in Fenway to compare it to the absolute rush that is baseball in Wrigley.

***

Thanks to these fans who shared their personal favorites. I love seeing the different perspectives, even if Camden Yards (in three ranking) and Wrigley Field (in four rankings) appeared early and often.

Must be a reason.

Let me know what MLB parks are your favorites in the comments to this post. I welcome your perspective. If you want to know more about the cathedrals of baseball, visit this website.

BONUS CONTENT: I ranked my three favorite stadiums, but couldn’t write this without listing my least favorite MLB venue.

I saw a game in Oakland in 2004 between the A’s and the Reds, and I was appalled at the venue in which people paid good money to attend. The exterior of Coliseum (as I’ve always called it) was composed of plain concrete like you might see on a bridge or a highway. And the concrete facade was chipped and jagged. Inside, the concourse was narrow and dark. When more than a half dozen people waited in line at the concession stands, it was extremely difficult to navigate. And because it was (then) also home to the NFL Raiders, the outfield seating had been remade into a giant triple decker structure that felt out of place for the ballpark. Plus, the entire upper deck was closed off and covered in green tarp. Definitely, not an enticing atmosphere for baseball. You have to give it up to fans who stayed with the A’s despite their crummy stadium. No wonder they fled for Las Vegas with a 3-year stop in Sacramento’s triple A stadium.

Chicago woes, part 2: Cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness

Don Will — Don and Will on the Blue Line before they learned that all their moving plans had turned to dust.

Editor’s Note: Don Mecoy is a friend and former colleague at The Oklahoman who retired as the newspaper’s managing editor at the end of 2022. He shares recent misadventures in Chicago with us in this post.

By Don Mecoy

I love Chicago, even if sometimes it doesn’t love me back.

Hog Butcher for the World,
Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat,
Player with Railroads and the Nation’s Freight Handler;
Stormy, husky, brawling,
City of the Big Shoulders

Regular readers of Jim’s Blog (“Howdy,” Jim’s extended family!) may recall my last post here about spending a night in Chicago’s O’Hare International Airport.

Undaunted, I returned to the City of Big Shoulders, and again I experienced the peculiar situation of being homeless without being destitute. Perhaps it would be better to say we were “houseless.” This time, it involved my son’s move from one apartment to another that went awry. Like a big shoulder to the solar plexus.

Here’s the setup: My son, Will, had to be out of his West Loop apartment on Sept. 1. He was scheduled to move into his new Printer’s Row apartment in South Loop the very same day. The lease was signed, the elevators were reserved, the movers were contracted and I showed up a few days early to help out with the packing and cleaning and so forth. He had just started a new job and was understandably reluctant to take much time off, and I’m completely unemployed, so I flew up.

The day before the scheduled move, we went to his new building to drop off a big deposit with the landlord and get the key. That’s when we learned that she would not accept an electronic payment despite the fact that she had previously taken a payment in that form. She wanted a cashier’s check and only a cashier’s check. Unfortunately, my son’s banking account is with an online bank, which made it nearly impossible to get what she wanted in short order. Nevertheless, we said we would obtain one that very day and return to get the key. I should mention all of the communication with the landlord was via email; she never provided Will with her phone number even after they met in person during his tour of the apartment and again when they signed the lease.

Will rushed to open an account at a nearby bricks-and-mortar bank and started trying to fund the account. That wasn’t going to get us a cashier’s check in one day, we learned. I started hitting ATMs to get cash. I called my Oklahoma credit union to see if they had any ideas. My friendly neighborhood banker suggested I could purchase a cashier’s check by taking advantage of a shared branching agreement between credit unions. Unfortunately, the nice folks at the Chicago Patrolmen’s Federal Credit Union said that would violate their policies. A teller’s check was the best they could do. And, they said, even if I showed up with cash in hand, they wouldn’t sell me a cashier’s check unless I had an account.

I was about to go to a check-cashing store to see about getting a cash advance on my credit card. But Will told me the landlord had stopped responding, so we pulled the plug after several hours of frantic money-raising efforts.

They tell me you are wicked and I believe them, for I have seen your painted women under the gas lamps luring the farm boys.
And they tell me you are crooked and I answer: Yes, it is true I have seen the gunman kill and go free to kill again.
And they tell me you are brutal and my reply is: On the faces of women and children I have seen the marks of wanton hunger.

In the midst of all this chaos, my phone died. I couldn’t field calls from my credit union, or Will, or my wife back in Oklahoma. It also left me far away from Will’s current apartment without the ability to hail an Uber or catch a bus or train because all of my data and payment methods for those forms of transport were in the dang dead phone. I walked about 6 miles that day. At least the weather was nice.

The upshot is that the landlord said she would “review” all of the emails between her and Will to determine what her next step would be. That night, she wrote to Will that she just didn’t find him trustworthy and believed he wouldn’t pay his rent on time, despite the fact that he has lived in apartments for years and never once was late with his rent. She also disputed his claim that she was leaving him homeless because “your dad lives in Chicago.” That was just one of several problems prompted by communicating solely through email. He offered to pay three months rent in advance, but we never heard from her again.

Boxes — All packed up and nowhere to go.

We were tired and disappointed and angry. But we had a lot of work to do. We had to find storage for all his belongings. We had to contact the movers to make sure they would move those belongings to storage instead of to the new apartment. We had to find someplace to stay for the next few days. And we had to start hunting for a new place for Will to live. And we really needed a beer.

More than once during those troubled days I thought about “The Out-of-Towners,” a 1970 Neil Simon movie starring Jack Lemmon and Sandy Dennis about an Ohio couple’s disastrous trip to New York City. While we weren’t mugged or left penniless, we were subject to forces beyond our control in a big city.

But after all those repeated disappointments, things started looking up. The movers agreed to take in his belongings, and even store them for up to a month for no charge. We secured a hotel room. Will scheduled an apartment tour on Sept. 2, and the new place in Wicker Park was fine. The owners had planned a kitchen renovation, but when they learned that he needed it immediately they agreed to sign a lease the same day and knock a little off the rent. On Sept. 5, he became a resident of the trendy area with lots of shops and restaurants and tree-lined streets of 3-story walk ups.

And having answered so I turn once more to those who sneer at this my city, and I give them back the sneer and say to them:
Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive and coarse and strong and cunning.
Flinging magnetic curses amid the toil of piling job on job, here is a tall bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities;

Apartment — The new place has great morning light.

Now we see what can be done about the landlord. This fiasco cost Will a fair amount of money. He’s paying more in rent. He had to pay for two moves instead of one. He’s out the cost of the hotel room for four nights. We obviously had no kitchen for several days, and that cost extra. I had to extend my planned stay by five days.

But I got to spend a lot of time with Will — always a good thing. I also loved being in Chicago. It’s a great town mostly filled with good folks.

Fierce as a dog with tongue lapping for action, cunning as a savage pitted against the wilderness,
Bareheaded,
Shoveling,
Wrecking,
Planning,
Building, breaking, rebuilding,
Under the smoke, dust all over his mouth, laughing with white teeth,
Under the terrible burden of destiny laughing as a young man laughs,
Laughing even as an ignorant fighter laughs who has never lost a battle,
Bragging and laughing that under his wrist is the pulse, and under his ribs the heart of the people,
Laughing!
Laughing the stormy, husky, brawling laughter of Youth, half-naked, sweating, proud to be Hog Butcher, Tool Maker, Stacker of Wheat, Player with Railroads and Freight Handler to the Nation.

–Carl Sandburg

The wisdom of Linus: Be nice, and always carry a blanket

The floor is about the only place to stretch out at Chicago O’Hare International Airport.

Editor’s Note: Don Mecoy is a friend and former colleague at The Oklahoman who retired as the newspaper’s managing editor at the end of 2022. Don recently experienced the challenge of navigating the commercial airline system when multiple flights were cancelled as he attempted to return to Oklahoma City from Chicago’s O’Hare Airport. He shared his reaction to the experience in this blog post.

By Don Mecoy

I recently got a taste of homelessness. I wasn’t actually without a home, but I temporarily lacked access to some basic needs such as food and a place to sleep. It was a frustrating and instructional experience.

I was homeless the way that Barack Obama is jobless. I was fine.

My situation was the same that millions of Americans find themselves in every year — my flight was cancelled and I was abandoned at a large metropolitan airport. My fellow passengers and I were shooed off our American Airlines plane at about 1 a.m. last Sunday — five hours after the planned departure — and told that we would not be flying from Chicago O’Hare International Airport to Oklahoma City anytime soon. The airline offered little to help us deal with the situation or to appeal to our better nature — $12 food vouchers (all the restaurants and stores were closed until 5 a.m.); no hotel vouchers (there were no rooms available within miles of the airport anyway), and no concrete information on when we might get back to good ol’ OKC.

After a lot of waiting in lines, hand-wringing and watching our flight’s self-designated Chad unload on the helpless, but genial gate attendant, we former passengers got down to the business of making the best of a bad situation.

About a dozen simply checked out, heading off to Ubers and Lyfts to whisk them away to someplace with food and blankets, or perhaps to rent a car and drive the 12 hours to Oklahoma City. I’m not sure; I never saw them again.

I could have done the same and returned to my son’s apartment in the West Loop area of downtown Chicago. But it hardly seemed worth it for a few hours of sleep and a very early return to O’Hare, particularly since I didn’t know what time our flight was. Within a few minutes of our flight being scratched, my American Airlines app showed the next departure for my flight changing from 12:30 a.m. to 3 a.m. to 6 a.m. to 10:40 a.m. The gracious gate attendant said she “hoped” that 10:40 time would hold. It didn’t.

The rest of us started cracking open suitcases and putting on more clothes. It was freezing in the cavernous, empty airport. I once interviewed a guy who helped run what is now called Paycom Center. He told me they crank up the air conditioning long before Thunder games or other big events to account for the body heat and activity of the 18,000 or so people who will fill the arena. Perhaps that’s what the airport folks were doing in anticipation for the next day’s crowds. But the A/C never stopped producing a chilling breeze that was unavoidable everywhere except in the middle of the concourse, and I wasn’t going to sleep on those tiled floors.

There are thousands of pieces of furniture in O’Hare, and just like at every airport, they are designed to be impossible to sleep on. You’ve seen them, essentially long couches, but with stainless steel arms demarcating where each individual should sit. They work fine when you’re waiting for a plane. But when seeking a place to lay your weary head, it makes you ponder why they don’t make those arms movable like the armrests on the planes. It’s needlessly cruel. Of course, cities do the same with park benches and walls to discourage those with no bed from making one in a public place. A bed is a very important thing when you don’t have one. And a blanket.

Meanwhile, directly across from the gate where we waited to secure our food vouchers was American Airline’s Admirals Club, an expansive area for the airline’s most lucrative customers that offers recliners, food and drink, showers and other amenities. I bet they even have blankets in there. It was closed. Here’s a suggestion, American: Give the beleaguered gate attendant a key so she can offer something to abandoned folks like us. What a waste.

Seating in the American Airlines Admirals Club at Chicago O’Hare International Airport.

And lest you think the powers that be at O’Hare are heartless. There is a yoga room in the airport. It closes at 10 p.m. I would have paid good money for one of those yoga mats. Instead, I swiped a floor mat from behind a ticket counter to soften the concrete floor covered with — like every airport I’ve ever been to — the thinnest grade of carpet known to man.

I took my pilfered floor mat and began to build a nest in a semi-isolated place. I draped most of the shirts in my suitcase atop the three shirts I was wearing, rolled up a pair of pants for a pillow and tried to nap. It was futile. After what felt like an hour of trying to get comfortable, I had to get up and move to warm up. I dragged the floor mat to a fellow passenger attempting to sleep on the bare carpet. She was grateful. She had a blanket. Man, a blanket. Luxury!

Another annoyance: At nearly every gate in O’Hare there is a TV. All those TVs play the same loop of programming that includes ads for stores and restaurants in the airport. It also features Conan O’Brien interviewing Kevin Bacon on how the star’s life was changed by the recent emergence of COVID. I looked it up: the interview was taped on April 9, 2020. It was impossible to turn off the TVs, or the sound broadcast through overhead speakers. Believe me, I tried.

So I was tired, hungry, bored, but not really upset. I wasn’t missing a wedding or funeral or graduation back home. I had the wherewithal to simply leave if my health or safety was a real concern. I learned that McDonald’s was going to open at 4 a.m., so I was an hour closer to food. My fellow passengers and I seemed to enjoy strategizing about our situation amid our shared misery.

Among our group was the tallest (6 foot 2), most mature 15-year-old I’ve ever met. He was traveling alone, was not allowed to leave the airport and nevertheless was handling the situation better than 90 percent of his fellow refugees. I met the gaze of another parent, and we shared a look that felt like a silent promise that this kid was going to get home. As the sun rose, I had a conversation with a lady from Moore about our favorite books we had read while on airplanes.

After climbing off the floor around 2:30 a.m. or so, I somehow was able to book an 8:30 a.m. flight on my American Airlines app. I hurried to tell some of my fellow passengers about the discovery, but no one was able to reproduce it. A dozen or more were placed on standby for that flight, and at least four of them — including the gangly 15-year-old — boarded along with me.

Our original flight finally took off at 1:11 p.m., roughly 17 hours after it was scheduled to depart. By that time, I was well fed and sound asleep in my bed. With my blanket.

All in all, it was not a terrible experience. And it drove home a couple of maxims that I long have believed true.

Be nice. It costs nothing, and you might make a friend; perhaps even ease someone’s pain. You don’t really know what struggles anyone is dealing with, so cut folks some slack.

If you see someone carrying a blanket or a piece of foam, or wearing layer upon layer of clothing, or trying to beg, borrow or steal some food, they’re just trying to make the best of a bad situation. Have a heart.

MORE READING: My daughter, Sarah Stafford, had a similar experience that I wrote about in this blog post back in January.