The Baseball Trip, Part IV: Home Turf

It wouldn't have been much of a trip if I hadn't paid a visit to the home turf: the SkyDome. Since 2005, I have been to at least one Blue Jays game every year, even after moving to the other side of the continent, and I'd estimate that over the course of my life I've attended between 30 and 40 Blue Jays games there.

It was always a big deal, something I always looked forward to and never got tired of doing. Even after attending games at three real ballparks over the course of the summer (sorry, the Dome doesn't really count), I was still really excited to catch Blue Jays game in person. As terrible a ballpark as I now know the SkyDome is, it's still my team and my home turf.

The day was spent in Toronto with one of my best friends and was marked with a couple of firsts: my first trip to Sushi on Bloor, which many told me was the best sushi place in the city, and my first trip to the hockey Hall of Fame. Both were pretty sweet. But the ball game is what I was really here for.

I gathered about a dozen friends and we sat in the nearly vacated second deck out in left field behind the Blue Jays bullpen, long established as my usual spot. I had jokingly referred to this series against the Angels as the "Battle of the Most Underachieving Teams in Baseball", a title few of my friends could argue with as both teams looked very good on paper in the spring, but performed well below expectations.

It didn't take long for the heckling to start, even though the Angels stormed to a quick lead in the first inning. Josh Hamilton was the unforunate soul who played play left field for the Angels. Truth is, it could have been anyone.

"Thirty-two is a girls number!!!"

"Nice red hat Hamilton!!!"

"HAAAAAAAAAAMILTOOOOOOOOOOON!!!"

The Jays tied the game up on a grand slam by Anthony Gose in the second inning, but Mark Buehrle struggled and before we knew it, the Angels were well in control of the game. Hamilton even tried to silence us by hitting the right field foul pole for a home run. It didn't work.

"Hit one this way Hamilton, IF YOU CAN!!!"

We were relentless. Three of my friends and I took turns taking verbal jabs at him in succession, it was probably the finest display of heckling that I have been involved in. Even a guy in the front row helped us out here and there. I think his son might have even yelled at him once or twice as well.

Around the fourth or the fifth inning, things got weird. One of my friends, I can't remember who, paid him a compliment rather than insult his taste in baseball pants or his beard. Shortly after that happened, the Blue Jays got a hit. Then another. My old roomate's brother immediately made the connection.

"Come on guys, positivity."

Shortly after, the Jays scored a few runs. Then someone made fun of him again, and the third out was made.

"Come on guys, didn't you see? When we're being nice to him, the Jays were getting hits."

I can only imagine was Josh Hamilton was thinking as our new positive messages came raining down from the bleachers:

"I like your red cap Hamilton, it looks really good on you!"

"Those are nice baggy baseball pants, they look very fashionable!"

"I like your shoes Hamilton, I'll bet they grip the astroturf really well!"

It became a contest to see who could ignite the largest fit of laughter in our section. It was probably the most fun I've ever had so much fun heckling someone at a baseball game, and the best part is that the beers had almost nothing to do with it. It was just a hefty dose of some good clean fun.

Of course, with the Angels comfortably in the lead going into the bottom of the ninth, we threw karma to the wind and finished the game with a Simpsons-esque chorus of "HAAAAAAAAAMILTOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!!!" which surprisingly drew a quick, subtle response from the Angels left fielder. He held his glove up, and quickly opened and closed it like a talking mouth for a few seconds between batters. Of all the times I had sat in those seats, I had never seen a player so much as glance up at us, let alone give any sign of acknowledgement that they could hear us, even though it was hard to believe they couldn't.

For the third straight game on the trip, the home team lost, leaving a deflated feeling in the stadium that pretty much epitomised the entire Blue Jays season. The sense of disappointment could be felt all through the stadium as we left, but what's a loss when the night was spent enjoying the company of some friends that I hadn't seen in quite some time.

The other day on the radio, a few sports commentators got talking about the uniqueness of baseball in how it is experienced in person when compared to other sports. Going to a ball game can be as much a social event as a pure sporting event. There's plenty of stops in the action that allow you to carry on conversations that you don't get in hockey or basketball or football. Even as I sat with my friends and took in the game, it was easy to catch up without missing much of the ball game.

It was a welcome change after visiting two ballparks in two different cities the previous week by myself. It's just another great part of baseball, another facet that sets it apart from other high tempo sports. I always find that when I go to hockey games, I get just a bit too riled up and caught up in the excitement to really enjoy the company of my friends except between periods. Just one more reason why I love baseball, and going to the games in particular, so much.


The next day while I was waiting for my flight home in Calgary, I found Josh Hamilton on Twitter and sent him this tweet:

@thejoshhamilton could you hear my friends and I heckling you at the SkyDome last night? don't lie.

— Matthew Bull (@theRealMattBull) September 11, 2013

But this time, he never responded.

-matt

The Baseball Trip, Part III: The Tour

Several years ago, one of my best friends made the trip to Chicago. All he talked about after he got back was the Wrigley Field Tour. I'm glad he did, because it's entirely possible if he hadn't I never would have known that it was even possible for me to get a tour of the iconic stadium.

It was another beautiful day in Chicago. I was lucky to have had great weather every day of the trip so far, sunny and warm from the time I landed. For the second time, I made the walk up Clark Street to Wrigley Field and again I stood in awe of the stadium. I was really early, so I walked around a bit and snapped some photos of things I missed the first time.

Around 10am our tour guide rounded us all up at the main gate and the tour commenced. I figured I would learn some new things about the stadium, but it turned out to be more of a history lesson on the Chicago Cubs than just a here's this and here's that of Wrigley Field. It was like walking through a museum. Imagine working there as a professional baseball player.

Our tour guide told us some great stories. An explanation as to why the basket exists along the outfield wall. The origins of the bleacher bums. How the Chicago north-siders are basically the reason every MLB stadium has a batter's eye. How the Cubs influenced the name of the NFL's Chicago Bears. Why the Cubs owners finally relented in the late 1980s and installed lights for night games. All kinds of little tidbits that I always wondered about were revealed through the tour, stories that answered questions, induced laughter, and raised some eyebrows.

The anticipation kept building throughout the tour because I knew what was at the end: the chance to actually stand on the playing field. And while it was cool to sit in the press box, and walk past the very booth where the famous Harry Carey called Cubs games for as long as I could remember, I would have been perfectly happy to just fast forward to the last 10 minutes of the tour.

When the time came to go onto the field, we were given only two simple instructions: do not step beyond the rope, and do not pick up any dirt or grass. If you do either, you will be kicked out by security.

Fair enough.

With that, our tour guide led us to the Cubs dugout. Yes, the Cubs dugout. I immediately sat down on the bench where I figure Lou Pinella, Dusty Baker, and most recently Dale Sveum sat and managed the Cubs. The view was great. What I wouldn't give to watch a game from here. I looked up and down the bench as others on the tour took their turn sitting on the Cubs bench, then out at the ground's crew working on the field. How cool would it be to work here?

After a few minutes, I climbed the steps of the dugout and walked onto the field. The FIELD! The roped off area where we were allowed to walk was confined to the dirt in front of the backstop between the two dugouts. But let me tell you, it was enough.

I described this part of the trip as a quasi-religious experience, like gazing into the face of God himself. That's exactly what I did. I stood for a few minutes and just gazed. From the left field foul pole around the field to the right field foul pole. The infield dirt. The pitcher's mound. The ivy. The scoreboard in center field. The flags.

I took my time, felt the dirt under my feet, as I slowly walked towards the Cubs on deck circle. I stepped onto it and couldn't help but let my imagination take over as I pictured myself clad in Cubs pinstripes as I waited on deck for my turn to bat. That lasted a few seconds, then I returned to reality, and continued along the backstop dirt until I was directly behind home plate.

I could have, and would have, stayed their and just watched it all happen all day. The ground's crew was hard at work on the field and that probably would have been enough activity to keep me entertained. After a while though, the tour guide and the security guards started easing us back towards the stands so we could make our way out of the stadium. Determined to get my full $25 worth out of the tour, I lingered as long as I could out on the dirt of the backstop. Finally, when there were only myself and few other stragglers, the security guards were more firm in their request to make our way off the field. I got one of them to take one last photo of me standing by the dugout with the outfield and the center field scoreboard in the background. With that, the tour was over.

I thanked the tour guide as I left, told her this was probably the coolest part of my trip, and that I would be back for sure. I wasn't quite done though.

About two or three blocks north on Clark Street is a concert hall called The Metro, another Wrigleyville landmark with a deep meaning for me. My favourite band, The Smashing Pumpkins, got their start at The Metro some twenty-five years earlier, when I was barely old enough to remember watching baseball games on television with my dad. If Wrigley Field was my baseball mecca, The Metro was surely my music mecca.

I tried to arrange my trip so that I would be able to see a show, any show, at The Metro because being a concert hall meant that it would only be open if there was a show going on. Unfortunately, it didn't work out and I would be forced to settle for merely stopping in front and taking a look.

I snapped a few pictures and gave it a good look before heading back south in search of lunch. At one point along the way, I could actually see both by merely turning 180 degrees. I knew they were close together, but never did I expect I would be standing on a sidewalk along N Clark Street in Chicago and be able to see two of the locations that hold the deepest meaning in my life. All I could do was smile, take a moment to let it set in, and keep walking.

I walked a few more blocks south and found a pub to grab some lunch and sat mowing down a burger while reflecting on the morning's events.

The trip was winding down, I was leaving Chicago for Toronto the next morning, and during that hour when I sat eating my lunch. I was glad I ignored all my inhibitions that told me this trip was a bad idea and that heeded the encouragement of a girl I went on a date with back in February who told me about a similar solo trip she had taken to Boston.

For those who care, I never heard from her again.

I had wanted to take this exact trip for a long time, maybe an entire decade. I could never convinced anyone else to go with me. I never had the money. Being a small town Canadian I was always a little bit afraid of traveling alone in a big American city. And I'm always a bit hesitant doing anything the first time, especially by myself. But when I first got the inkling to parlay a trip home for one of my best friend's wedding into a full on trip to Chicago, everything fell into place so perfectly that I couldn't convince myself not to go.

The Brewers playing a day game on the holiday Monday, the Cubs being at home the whole week, the off day that would allow for a more complete stadium tour, the full day to travel before the wedding, the Jays being at home the week after. The stars were all aligned so perfectly that I was convinced that nothing could go wrong. Even when the hostel I was originally planning to stay at was full, the alternative I found appeared, and was, an even better choice.

It was a great trip, and even though I was headed back to the home turf, I would have been totally content to stay a while longer, or maybe even forever, but one thing is for certain. I will be back.

-matt

The Baseball Trip, Part II: My Baseball Mecca

There was plenty of time to spare. I had a solid two hours, and I was told the walk up N Clark Street would take about 20 minutes and was well worth it. It was shaping up to be a perfect evening for baseball which meant it would also be a perfect time for a stroll.

I had kept myself busy for the first two and a half days of the trip which meant there was little time for the anticipation to mount until I set off from the hostel, clad in my white pinstriped Chicago Cubs home jersey and brand new on field cap. This is it, I thought to myself. Finally.

A group of Canadians I had met a few nights earlier had advised me to do the walk rather than take the L Train. They said it was very cool gradually making your way into Wrigleyville, and then all of a sudden, bam, you're there. I was glad I did. Wrigley Field has the unique distinction of being smack dab in the middle of a neighbourhood, not buried amongst skycrapers downtown or in the middle of nowhere off the innerstate.

About half way, I noticed the scenery changing. Cubs logos were everywhere. People clad in t-shirts, caps, jackets, jerseys were all over the place, and they all seemed to be headed in the same general direction as I was. Even though I was traveling alone, it was an interesting sense of belonging in Wirgleyville. I felt like I could move into this neighbourhood and instantly feel like I belonged.

And then I could see the lights.

That's when it hit me, seeing the lights on the roof of Wrigley Field. I walked just a little bit faster and the anticipation almost became too much. Then before I knew it, I was standing at the corner of Clark Street and Addison Avenue, staringacross the intersection at the iconic marquee that I had seen a million times in photos and on television. I couldn't help but be just a little bit awestruck. I had finally arrived at my baseball mecca.

Just a month earlier, my best friend, a lifelong Red Sox fan, made his first trip to Fenway Park in Boston. When talking to him about the experience there, he described the atmosphere and scene around Fenway before the game as "like a carnival". That is the exact phrase I would use to describe the scene around Wrigley as I made my way around the stadium.

It was unreal. I can't even find words to describe the scene as fans and vendors and others wandered around the stadium much like I was, smiles on their faces knowing that the Cubs were to be in action this evening. This single game between two bottom feeding teams was a huge event, or so it seemed, and it was clear to me in this moment that when it came to baseball, the Chicago north-siders took nothing for granted.

About an hour and half before game time, I had gotten my fill of photos and made my way inside. Seeking as authentic a Wrigley experience as possible, I opted for a seat in the bleachers. As I made my way up to the bleachers, the Marlins were in the midst of batting practice. There were quite a few people already there watching as the Miami players took their hacks. I sat down in the front row and immediately took a look over the railing at the basket at the top of the outfield wall and the ivy. I always wondered what the view was like from up there, and in that moment I could tell I was in for a memorable experience.

Three young guys in their twenties were standing in the front row, yelling at every Marlins player in sight to throw them a ball. Surpringly every so often a ball would get tossed in our direction, and after a few minutes one of the three guys had souvenir. About ten minutes later, another was tossed to the three of them. One of them tried to catch it, bobbled it, and watched it land in the basket below him. The small crowd around him laughed and booed, and after a moments hesitation, he turned to his friends and said, "Grab my legs, I'm going in!"

It was a hilarious scene as this guy slithered headfirst over the rail, with one friend holding each leg and, after a struggle, emerged with the ball in his hand. Those of us nearby who watched trying not to hurt ourselves laughing gave a round of applause. It's the sort of scene that I feel lucky to have witnessed, but one that I suspect isn't uncommon in the bleachers.

I went up to the upper concourse of the bleachers and took a look around for food and beer options and just to take it in. I looked down at the sidewalk almost directly below me, the rooftop seats across the road, the fans sitting on lawn chairs on the closed streets hoping for a home run ball, it was unreal, nothing like I expected watching all those Cubs games on TV.

Deciding it best to sample the food before the game started and things really filled up, I got myself a Wrigley dog and loaded it up. There's really only so much you can do with a hot dog, and I don't know if I would say there was anything special about it save for the neon green relish, but something about a ballpark classic in a classic ballpark made it taste just a little bit better.

Batting practice was winding down and the Marlins batters seemed to be kicking things up a notch as balls started raining down on the bleachers. After one crack of the bat, a ball came heading in my general direction, right at the three guys who had been weaseling balls the entire time. One of the guys camped under it and tried to make the barehanded catch. Instead, the screaming liner smacked off his hand with a huge SMACK and bounced a few rows back. He immediately hunched over in pain and I stifled my laughter as his friends made fun of him for not catching the ball.

I couldn't tell you the final score of the game. I know the Marlins won, Edwin Jackson didn't pitch very well, Bogosevic hit a home run, the nine innings seemed to take forever, and Christian Yelich was a 2nd Team All-American when he played high school ball. It's not that I wasn't paying attention to the game, but just being in Wrigley Field was almost overwhelming. I found myself looking around the stadium, taking in the historic ballpark rather than paying attention to what was happening in front of me on the field. The ballpark was so full of subtle touches that I couldn't help being distracted as the game went on.

Christian Yelich was the Marlins rookie left fielder who took up his position during the home half in front of the left field bleachers. There is no buffer zone at Wrigley to separate the fans from the players in the outfield like in Milwaukee or Toronto. The left fielder is right there in front of you, and there is no doubt in your mind that he can hear everything you yell at him. None.

The heckling started almost immediately and continued uninterrupted through to the ninth inning when a guy sitting a few seats from me took out his phone and got some dirt.

"Yeeeeeeeeeeelich! Second team All-American?!?!? WHAT HAPPENED!!!"

"Yeeeeeeeeeeelich! You played for the Grasshoppers? NOBODY LIKES GRASS HOPPERS!!!"

"Yeeeeeeeeeeelich! Hold on I'm looking at your Wikipedia page! .... GRASSHOPPERS!!!"

With the game out of reach for the Cubs, those who stuck around erupted into a fit of laughter as the new age heckling broke out. And everyone knew that Yelich could hear him.

The game ended fairly late, sometime between 10:30 and 11 so I didn't stick around much, just made my way to the bleacher gate at Sheffield and Waveland and headed for the L train to get back to the hostel. I went up to the platform to wait for the southbound red train, and an amazing scene awaited me.

From the platform, I could clearly see the stadium, lights still on, and in the foreground was the CTA Addison station sign with a big Cubs logo. I had also noticed that on many of the maps along the red line, Addison had a Cubs logo instead of the regular circle (35th street also has a White Sox logo). It was those little subtle things that made me realize that Chicago is a baseball town. Throughout my time there, it was hard not to take notice of all the Cubs and White Sox caps that I saw on people's heads everywhere I went. Chicago even has a definitive boundary, 100 Street, between Cubs and White Sox territory.

The historic ballparks are slowly disappearing. The closure of Yankee stadium leaves Fenway Park, Wrigley Field and Dodger Stadium as the last of the truly historic baseball stadiums. Any real baseball fan should do themselves a favour and take in a game at one of these magnificent ballparks before they are gone forever. Having experienced the old school charm of Wrigley Field, I have moved Fenway Park and Dodger Stadium to the top of my stadium list because nothing beats it.

If I could ever go back in time, I'd go back far enough that I could make my way to Yankee Stadium and Tiger Stadium, two of the classics that I remember seeing the Blue Jays play at on TV for as long as I can remember. Yankee Stadium for the pure history and Tiger Stadium for the quirks. I can imagine what it would be like to stroll through the original monument park in Yankee Stadium, or take in a game from the upper deck at Tiger Stadium on top on the field.

But I know for certain that I wouldn't do either justice.

-matt

The Baseball Trip, Part I: Miller Time

The Miller Park adventure actually started the night before in a large way. After spending my second day in Chicago visiting the Shedd Aquarium and the Lincoln Park Zoo, I returned to the hostel with a memory card full of pictures and a long way to go on my trip. After I ate dinner, I lugged by laptop and its dead battery into the common area in search of an electrical outlet so I could empty my camera's memory card in preparation for the next day.

As I stood awkwardly looking for an outlet, someone made a comment about my Toronto Blue Jays cap, which had already been successful in luring both a set of Jays haters and a group of friendly Canadians. In fact, the first people I met in Chicago were a group of guys from Philadelphia who asked me what I thought of Joe Carter before even so much as asking my name. Naturally, they were not too happy to see anything to do with the Blue Jays.

Luckily for me, this turned out to be a group of Torontonians who were more than happy to see a guy wearing a Jays cap, so I sat down with them and talked as I dumped my photos on my computer. After a while a full blown party had erupted around us as a group of European students studying law in a nearby town joined us and a pair of young ladies from Australia. Others came and went, and after an indeterminate number of beers, we all decided to hit the town.

I was hesitant to joining my new found travel friends knowing that the train to Milwaukee left at 8:30am the next morning and that I was prone to Frank the Tank moments under similar circumstances, but even though I was a few years removed from the good ol' college days, I couldn't refuse.

The first bar we went to closed down shortly after 1:30am, but like many of the nights from the aforementioned good ol' college days, we were just getting warmed up. We quickly found another bar, and when I went for the first round of drinks, I asked the bartender when last call was, to which he replied 3:45.

Yes, yes we did.

After another solid two hours, we were slowly being herded, drunker than skunks towards the front door by the security guard who was either very entertained by the antics of us crazy Canadians or very unimpressed. I couldn't tell.

The five of us piled in a cab and sometime shortly after 4:30am we made our way back inside the hostel. My new found friends weren't done, but I was and called it a night hoping that two and a half hours would be enough time to at least sober up before setting off for Milwaukee.

I almost got lost downtown, but I did make it to the train station in time to catch the 8:30 train. It was actually easy to figure out where to go, I just followed all the Pittsburgh Pirates jerseys, the Brewers opponent later in the day. In the middle of a sports crazed city like Chicago, following Pirates jerseys was a safe strategy to say the least.

The train ride was actually a lot of fun. It's a mode of transportation that I haven't taken advantage of nearly enough in my life, but I find it a wonderfully relaxing way to travel. The hour and half flew by pretty quickly as we made our way out of the suburbs of north Chicago and seemingly in the blink of an eye into downtown Milwaukee.

My first impression of Milwaukee was one of being weirded out. I arrived at 10am on Labour Day, and I think it not unreasonable to expect people milling about at this time of day on a holiday in a big city. Not so. As I walked out of the train station, there was nobody. Not a single soul walking down the street any direction I looked.

I had decided before I left that as long as the weather was reasonable, that instead of waiting an hour for the express busses between downtown and the ball park to start running that I would take the hour long walk along the Hank Aaron Trail to get to the stadium. It was cloudy, but seemed to be little threat of rain, so I set off.

The walk along the trail was equally strange. Numerous cyclists passed me, but during the entire hour long walk I again saw no one walking anywhere. There were people in cars, motorcycles, on bikes, but no pedestrians. It was disconcerting as I wondered the entire time if maybe I missed something, some sign or common notion that walking was prohibited in Milwaukee.

I could see Miller Park off in the distance almost immediately, which quelled any notion that I was going the wrong way which, upon getting off the train, was a legitamate worry for me. It got bigger and bigger until I made my way to one of the ginormous parking lots that surrounded the stadium. At that point I stopped and put on my vintage style Brewers jersey and tried my best not to look awstruck as I took in the stadium.

Two hours before game time and the parking lots were full of Brewers fans tailgating. Kids were playing catch on the small patches of grass while their parents barbequed and drank beer. It was the sort of scene you would expect to see before every baseball game if the space existed to allow it. It was a much different experience than approaching the SkyDome or Safeco Field in their downtown locations, surrounded on all sides by roadways and other buildings.

The roof looked a bit goofy, but the outside of the stadium was beautiful, surrounded by statues of the Brewer greats. I circled it a few times to take it all in, knowing that I had some time to kill before the gates opened.

When I finally did get inside, I was amazed at the sheer size of the place. The concourse was enormous. Food stands, beer stands, merchandise stands, they were everywhere. Everything you could possibly imagine wanting at a ballpark was there. There were a lot of areas set up with historical plaques, it was almost like little pieces of a museum scattered among the usual ballpark fare.

After a long lap of the concourse to plan my food sampling, I made my way to my seat in right field and watched the Pirates take batting practice. I focused mainly on the players in the outfield shagging balls and goofing around a bit since I hadn't actually made it to a ball game early enough to see it as an adult. I purposely took the early train so that I could see BP and it was very interesting seeing the guys running around and plain having fun before the game.

I don't actually remember much about the game. I know the Pirates won and the crowd was very tame and that September probably isn't the best time to go watch a last place team play baseball. The Brewers had lost their star player to suspension, a player who had pleaded innocence for using performance enhacing drugs. The fans were behind him, the team was behind him. He was the face of the franchise. When I got my ticket in the mail, the accompanying schedule had his picture on the front of it. Having that all turned upside down in the midst of a disastrous season equals a crowd that can understandably be hard pressed to muster enthusiasm for anything other than their resident Japanese player Norichika Aoki making a nice play in the field.

It was a real shame, because there are a lot of things Miller Park is known for that I think would make the atmosphere a lot of fun if there was good baseball to watch. The sausage race, the slide in center field that the mascot goes flying down after a Brewers home run (of which there were zero in this game), the tailgating, and while Milwaukee is a smaller market, I've always associated the Brewers as being a team with a proud history and a tradition of good baseball. To see the fans at the game watching with seemingly nothing to get excited about is unfortunate, but sometimes you have to get through the bad times to truly enjoy the good times.

-matt

Enhancing Performance

Well it finally happened. On Monday, Major League Baseball set a group of PED using witches ablaze whilst tied to a stake and miraculously they all escaped unscathed. Witches!

In the latest episode of what has descended into a PED witch hunt, several MLB players, most notably Alex Rodriguez, Nelson Cruz, and Jhonny Peralta, received hefty suspensions after an investigation into the now defunct Biogenesis anti-aging clinic concluded. Ryan Braun, who repeatedly pleaded his innocence after testing positive for PEDs after an MVP season, was suspended as well last week. With all that was being reported in the media, this is hardly surpising as all the guilty parties were suspended for 50 game with the exception of Braun who received 65 games and Rodriguez who was in for a world of hurt.

MLB decided to assess Rodriguez a 211 game suspension, and it was widely speculated that they were pursuing a lifetime ban from MLB. Wait, can they do that?

Well as we have found out, they can certainly try. Although Rodriguez is appealling the decision, which will likely keep him in the Yankees lineup for the rest of the season, its very likely he will miss most, if not all, of next season. At the age of 38, he is essentially facing a career death sentance.

So why drop the hammer on A-Rod?

The reasoning given by Major League Baseball for the lengthy suspension is that Rodriguez attempted to cover up his use of PEDs by trying to buy documents and pay people off so they would not talk to MLB. But didn't all of the accused try on some level to cover up their usage of PEDs? Didn't Ryan Braun basically accuse the man who handled his urine sample of tampering with it? And didn't he get away with it for a time? What about Melky Cabrera who was caught last year, and set up a fake web site to try to cover it up? Why didn't these two in particular get 211 games?

The answer is plain to me: Bud Selig is trying to save face.

After the strike shortened season of 1994, baseball was floundering. A sport that was at the height of popularity was suddenly forgotten. Fans were furious and looked elsewhere to get their sports fix. That is, until the magical season of 1998 when Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa chased Roger Maris' long held single season home run record. It was during this season baseball became relevant again as one of the most prominent records in all of sports was destined to be broken.

Behind the scenes, Bud Selig had to know what was going on. He had to know that baseball had become overrun with PEDs, but instead of doing something about it, he stood idly by and watched baseball gain back the popularity it lost.

Then the Jose Cansecos of the world brought the truth to the masses and after congressional hearings and the Mitchell Report and cries of the fans to bring these cheaters to justice, it suddenly became more important to appease the townspeople and burn these witches at the stake.

Who could resist a good ol' fashioned with hunt?

The names started pouring in. Palmeiro .. Bonds .. Clemens .. McGwire .. Sosa .. Pettitte .. A-Rod .. many of the most prominent players of the previous decade, and numerous not-so prominent ones, were thrown off the proverbial cliff. If they flew away, they were obviously witches. If they didn't, oh well, there's no way they would have survived the fall, so screw them.

Which brings us to Monday. Selig saw an opportunity to change his legacy, to erase the memory of losing a season to a strike and letting the PED epidemic reach epic proportions and replace it with that of a crusader who cleaned up the game of baseball once and for all. And what better way to cement that legacy in the minds of baseball fans than to kick a high profile, serial PED user like Alex Rodriguez out of the game for good?

It sets a dangerous precedent when Selig is able to do this unilaterally by invoking the "good of the game" clause in the Collective Bargaining Agreement. Does this mean that any player with a bad public image can be tossed from the game for good after one violation of the league's drug policy? Few can argue that Alex Rodriguez is a rotten, dispicable, self-serving human being, but that is hardly a basis for throwing an extreme penalty like a lifetime ban, or even a 211 game suspension after one proven violation of the league's drug policy. Quite frankly, it's BS.

It's BS, and I'm beyond sick of hearing about it. I flat out don't really care anymore. I don't care who cheats and who doesn't, because I honestly believe the truth is that most players cheat in one way or another. This idealistic notion that the majority of professional athletes are "clean" is a load of whoey. I truly believe that it just doesn't happen. If it came out tomorrow that, despite what Don Cherry would have you believe, a majority of NHL players were using PEDs before they started testing for them or that they still are, I wouldn't be the least bit surprised. The cheaters always have the advantage because they can't test for what they don't know about, and as long as you are ahead of the curve you're fine. Science is an amazing thing when you get it working for you.

And what does it mean to be "clean" anyway? Where is the line drawn? Should these guys be banned from drinking protein shakes or eating energy bars or any of that good stuff you can get at your local health food store? Does that not enhance performance? Learning that baseball players were doing steroids had about the same effect on me as learning that WWF wrestling wasn't real. It was something I suspected was true but didn't detract one bit from the entertainment value I derived from watching it. In short, they can juice all they want, I don't care. I'll still watch baseball and still enjoy it.

Is this the end? Certainly not, and that's a shame. I can only hope that this incident serves to take the torch out of the hand of Bud Selig and give all these witches the right to due process when it comes time to tie them to a stake and lay kindling at their feet.

-matt

A Sojourn in Seattle

We missed the exit. As one of my oldest friends Ryan and I were cruising down I-5 through Seattle it was pretty obvious that we were going to have to take a slight detour. But that was okay, we could see Safeco from the innerstate and we figured as long as it didn't disappear from view, we would figure out a way there eventually.

We turned off at the next exit which led us to 1^st Avenue, which led us directly to Safeco Field. As we drove towards the stadium, we quickly noticed empty parking lots of abandoned businesses with huge "EVENT PARKING" signs in front. The price, predictably, increased as we got closer to the stadium. Five dollars. Eight dollars. We pulled into the second lot with a sign reading ten dollars and decided four blocks was close enough.

Trusting that the man with the reflective vest and huge wad of green bills was legit, we parked and made our way to the field. I was hoping we would get there early so we could walk around the park and take it all in, but considering the late night on Granville Island that had concluded just eleven hours earlier, I was content to be walking up to the ticket window about fifteen minutes before the first pitch.

Ryan insisted, jokingly, that I get tickets in a spot where we were guarenteed a home run ball. I got two tickets in the right field bleachers. As we entered through the main gate behind home plate, I could see immediately that this would be nothing like taking in a game at the SkyDome. Above us was a huge chandelier made out of clear, likely plastic, baseball bats. We made our way up the stairs to the main concourse and as soon as I reached the top, right there in front of me was the perfectly groomed field awaiting the beginning of the afternoon's contest.

Even though I had never set foot in a big league park other than the Dome, I suspected just by seeing all the other parks on TV that it is probably one of, it not the most ordinary and boring stadium in all of major league baseball. As soon as I climbed those stairs and looked out onto the field, it was clear that my suspicions were probably correct.

As Ryan and I made our way to the right field seats, I looked all around me and took in the essence of the stadium, which was incredible. Fans passing by decked out from head to toe in Mariners paraphernalia, the smells from the various (or should I say, varied) food stands, even the support beams over my head just screamed of baseball. This was a bona fide big league ballpark.

We found our seats and sat down with a few moments to spare before the first pitch of the ball game. Next to me was a young couple, clad in vintage Mariners gear, and next to Ryan was another young couple, also clad in Mariners gear although more comtemporary. All around us were t-shirts, caps, jerseys, jackets .. you name it .. all emblazoned with various incarnations of the Mariners logo.

Jurickson Profar, who I would later learn was and is the highest rated prospect in the game, led off the game for the Rangers and smoked the third pitch from Hisashi Iwakuma. Right at me. Off the bat and as the ball took flight there was no question about it, the ball was headed right for me. I quickly stood up, along with everyone around me, and held my glove up ready to catch the ball. As the ball reached its apex, it carried a bit, and as it started its descent back to earth it quickly became obvious it was going over my head. A fan five rows back caught it. Bare handed. The fans in section 109, oblivious to the fact that it was a Ranger who had hit the home run immediately started cheering for the fan who held the ball over his head triumphantly.

Then, as if sitting in the bleachers at Wrigley Field, several people yelled at the fan to throw the ball back. "Are you kidding me? I'm keeping it!" the fan yelled defiantly and as quickly as the chiding started, it stopped and the everyone's attention went back to the game.

Ryan immediately complimented my choice of seats as neither of us had been nearly that close to catching a home run ball in all the Blue Jays games we had attended over the course of our lives. The closest I could recall was a Frank Thomas home run ball that landed across the aisle in the second deck, about 15 or 20 seats to my right.

After the third inning, the Rangers were leading 2-0 and Ryan and I decided to do a lap of the concourse to check things out and grab some food. We casually walked around, noting the various food choices we had available to us and looked at everything the stadium had to offer, stopping for half an inning to watch the action from the center field standing area. Everything about the ballpark, from the buzz of the crowd even when nothing was happening in the game, to the sound of the radio announcer in the concourse to fans singing and dancing in the aisles between innings was unlike any baseball game I had ever been to.

By the time we had circled the stadium we decided on nachos, and just past the home plate entry gate we found a nacho stand that looked indeed unique. We both waited and watched as piles of pulled pork, baked beans, jalepeno peppers and god knows what else was piled on the nachos of the people ahead of us. It probably took close to a minute for the food sevice workers to assemble this plate of nacho-y goodness for each of us.

We made our back to our seats and decided to sit in the empty row behind our actual seats to spread out a bit and eat our nachos in peace. It took about three innings to polish them off, three innings well worth it.

During that time, Nelson Cruz of the Rangers attempted to stretch a double into a triple and was thrown out on a great relay from Brendan Ryan. This of course prompted a group of overserved fans sitting along the right field foul line to start chanting "NEEEEEEEELSOOOOOOOOOON!" after he took his defensive position in right field, much to my delight. Ryan and I joined in briefly yelling "Nice hustle Cruz!" and "Hit the gym Cruz!", but the hecklers didn't stop. Hey, nothing wrong with some tasteful heckling.

Around the sixth or seventh inning, a guy probably in his forties or so sat down at the end of the empty row where Ryan and I were sitting. I immediately noticed that he had a glove on both hands. Upon further inspection, I noticed he also had batting gloves on underneath. And here I thought I was hardcore for bringing one glove to the ballpark, this guy had two! He was right into the game, slapping his gloves together as everyone around him clapped their hands. We concluded that he really, really wanted to catch a ball, it was the only explanation.

The game was a bit of a pitchers duel as Iwakuma settled down and finished with eight strong innings while Ranger rookie Nick Tepesch held his own until the sixth when Kendry Morales tied the game 2-2 with a 2-run shot to center. The duel continued until at the end of nine it was still tied.

Free baseball!

As the game moved into extra innings, the anticipation and energy from the crowd started going to another level. It had been pretty lively the entire game, but they showed no signs of fatigue as we game went to extras. And I wouldn't be surprised if no one left.

No one, that is except for the guy sitting at the end of the aisle with the two baseball gloves on. He disappeared between innings and we never saw him again.

The Rangers took the lead in the 11^th inning, but that didn't detour the crowd. In fact, I don't think I've seen so many rally caps in my life. As Joe Nathan trotted in from the Rangers bullpen, I couldn't help but think that my first Safeco experience would end in short order.

"NEEEEEEEEELSOOOOOOOOOOON!!!"

Raul Ibanez hit the first pitch from Nathan into the right field sets, across the aisle and about six rows in front of us. The crowd went nuts. I mean nuts. Everyone was on their feet after that and stayed there for the rest of the inning, anticipating a Mariners victory. They almost got it, but let out a collective groan as David Murphy made a beautiful running catch at the wall to end the inning and keep the roller coaster going.

Former Jays reliever Jason Frasor, the object of much ire during his later years in Toronto, took the mound for the Rangers in the 12^th. After getting the first out he proceeded to walk light hitting catcher Jesus Sucre and then totally botched a play on a sacrifice bunt attempt by Brendan Ryan, much to my delight. Again, with the Mariners threatening, the fans got to their feet and went wild with anticipation. But again, the Rangers found their way out of trouble for the second straight inning and kept the game alive.

Seattle was in trouble in the top of the 13^th, facing 1^st and 3^rd with only one out, but managed to escape after a strikeout and a ground ball, much to the crowd's delight. After showing the same fan doing a rally jig on the video screen in center field for about the fifth straight inning, the Mariners went to work. Morales hit a one out double then moved to third on a ground ball. Jason Bay, who in his previous at bat was robbed of extra bases by David Murphy, stepped in with the winning run and sweet redemption only 90 feet away. He ripped the ball through the left side of the infield and Morales trotted home as his teamates stormed the field to celebrate the well deserved victory.

During those extra innings especially, I was no longer a Blue Jays fan. With zero allegiance towards the Texas Rangers, it was impossible not to get caught up in the infectious enthusiasm that everyone in the ballpark exhibited towards the home Mariners. I may not have been screaming at the top of my lungs like the girl in front of us or spilling beer everytime they got a hit, but when the ball got through the infield and Morales crossed the plate, I was high fiving everyone in sight with a huge smile on my face.

Ryan and I sat down for a few minutes once things calmed down and once some of the people had cleared out, we did one last lap of the concourse, heckled the TV analysts on their stage in center field, and went outside. We got some pictures around the outside of the stadium, took it all in one last time, and set off to do a bit of exploring in south Seattle.