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