Tag: Field of Dreams

What compels these fathers and sons to make an annual Major League Baseball trip?

Jeremy Ball, right, along with his father, Richard, and son, Hensley, at an MLB game in Sacramento.

Editor’s Note: My friend Jeremy Ball, along with his father and son, recently completed their annual baseball trip, an adventure that took them to Seattle, San Francisco and Sacramento. I asked Jeremy to write about the experience, and why the Balls are compelled to travel across the country each summer to watch baseball. Here is Jeremy’s report:

By Jeremy Ball

Twenty-one years ago, three generations of men in the Ball family (Me, my father, Richard, my grandfather, Lyle) came up with a plan to visit St. Louis and attend a couple of baseball games. From this simple beginning a favorite family tradition was born.

Why did we travel to St. Louis to watch baseball? Three basic reasons: the old Busch Stadium was set to be replaced in 2006, the St. Louis Cardinals were coming off a World Series appearance and looked to be very good, and my grandfather was itching to take a trip.

The next year, we naturally had to return to see the NEW Busch Stadium, and so the tradition began. We all enjoyed St. Louis, but with dad living in Texas we took in home games for the Astros and Rangers in 2007-08.

In 2009, my grandfather suggested we take in a Colorado Rockies game, this was followed by trips to a few other places. Then, around 2018, dad and I came up with an additional purpose for the trip: Visit every MLB home ballpark.

This year, three generations of men in the Ball family (Jeremy, Richard, my son, Hensley) took to the friendly skies on a Saturday morning for our annual baseball trip. This year took us to the West Coast: a Saturday night game in Seattle, a Sunday afternoon game in San Francisco, and a Monday evening game in Sacramento.

The trip involved five separate flights from six different airports, multiple trips on Seattle’s light rail, a rental car in California, and a wide variety of climates. We sat down the left field line, in the first base side upper deck, near the edge of the infield third base side, and even spent a few innings 10 rows behind home plate.

‘Hot Dogs from Heaven’ float into the stands at a Seattle Mariners game.

I witnessed one of the great promotions ever: Hot Dogs From Heaven. In the 8th inning, a few Mariners employees dropped hot dogs with mini-parachutes from the upper deck, resulting in a 10-15 second slow descent into the famished masses in the section below. People scrambled to fetch the highest margin item in the whole ballpark that was probably cooked around the same time pregame started; the whole scene was strangely beautiful and perfect.

We also had an opportunity to watch Seattle celebrate their 50 Greatest Players, and while the list wasn’t ranked they saved four greats for the final entrance: Ken Griffey Jr., Randy Johnson, Edgar Martinez, and Ichiro Suzuki.

The view of San Francisco’s Oracle Park and McCovey Cove beyond right fieild.

There are still kayaks patrolling McCovey Cove (maybe 15 total?), and most were visible from the upper deck. Sacramento was a good experience, but MLB baseball in a Triple-A ballpark feels more like that latter than the former when the home team is 20 games under .500.

We marveled at the beauty and tranquility of Muir Woods, enjoyed my son’s reaction to the Gum Wall within Pike Place Market, and spent time Tuesday morning in my new favorite midsized airport: SAC. We learned that summer doesn’t really exist on the Golden Gate Bridge, where 58 degrees and 30 mph winds sent dad back to the car without us when we stopped for extra selfies. However, summer most certainly exists in Sacramento, as the 98 degrees had me sweating a few minutes into our 1/2 mile walk to the ballpark.

One thing we didn’t experience was a home win; Seattle managed only two runs during a 3-2 loss to the Rays, and San Francisco followed it up with a single run during a 3-1 extra innings loss to Detroit. Monday looked promising after the A’s took a 6-2 lead after the 7th, only to surrender eight runs to those pesky Rays in the 8th and lose 10-6.

The AL East leading Rays went 9-0 on their western road trip (they played three in Colorado before trips to Seattle and Sacramento) before returning home and losing three straight to the last place team in their division, Baltimore. Baseball is a funny game sometimes, maybe Tropicana Field is the problem?

A view from the stands of Sacramento’s Sutter Health Park

“The Trop” could be on the agenda for next year; Tampa, Miami, and both New York teams are the only ones left to make all 30 for me. Dad has made it to the Mets but otherwise lacks the other three, so we are hoping to finish our quest by 2028. My son has only made it to eight, so in much the same way baseball is cyclical I hope this trip will be as well.

As Terrence Mann once told us, the one constant throughout the years has been baseball; I sincerely hope this remains true for Ball generations now and yet to come.

An OKC Field of Dreams and ghosts of baseball past

fieldofdreams
A group of OKC adults turned the Northeast High School baseball field into their own ‘Field of Dreams’ for an afternoon

Moneyball is one of my favorite movies. It shows the impact that using computer statistics to drive player development had on Major League baseball and the Oakland Athletics in the early 2000s.

The movie features a host of memorable scenes, including one where Oakland outfielder David Justice asks new first baseman Scott Hatteberg what he feared most at the position.

Hatteberg had been a catcher all of his professional career, and to that point had never played even an inning at first base.

“A baseball hit in my general direction,” was Hatteberg’s honest reply to Justice’s question.

That’s exactly how I felt Sunday afternoon as I stood in right field at the Northeast High School baseball field.

I was there at the invitation of my friend, Russ Florence, who invited a group of fellow adults to “have a catch” with him.  A lifelong baseball fan, Russ began his informal monthly “catch” several months ago.

It was sort of a Field of Dreams-come-to-real-life opportunity for those of us who once played the game or have followed it all of our lives.

The baseball dreamers who came out Sunday included several guys my age or older, a few younger and a couple of women who showed more agility than most of their male counterparts.

I dug my old baseball glove out of the closet and joined about a dozen others at the Northeast field.

Unfortunately, the experience revealed exactly how the passage of time has robbed me of athletic ability, real or imagined.

Once upon a time, I thought of myself as a pretty good baseball player. Now that was in Little League in College Station, Texas, followed by Pony League as a 13- and 14-year-old.

Here’s how it went five decades later on a warm November afternoon beneath a bright blue sky.

First, we warmed up by playing catch with a partner about 40 feet away. I put most of my throws into the ground in front of him or several feet to his left.

My shoulder ached after about 15 minutes. My glove hand screamed with pain from catching baseballs in the heart of the mitt.

Then came the real embarrassment. I stood in right field as Russ hit flies and grounders to players stationed at infield and outfield positions.

He hit one in my general direction.

My feet felt like they were in quicksand as I “ran” toward it. I could not bend over far enough to even make a stabbing attempt at a catch.

I hung my head in shame. No one seemed to notice.

Russ hit about three other balls in my direction. I managed to catch one on the bounce barehanded, but caught none before they hit the ground. I decided if a ball wasn’t hit within three feet of where I was standing, I had no chance.

But the day wasn’t a total loss. I had the opportunity to visit with some old — and new — friends. The weather was pleasant watching from the dugout, where I spent much of my time.

“It really scratches an itch for a lot of people,” Russ told me afterward. “None of us is as good as as we once were — or as good as we THINK we once were. I’m glad you were there.”

Thank you, Russ, for inviting this ‘ghost’ of a former player to experience your OKC version of the Field of Dreams.

Even if it brought home a sobering reality of aging.