Off-Day Miscellaney

Well, if nothing else, the last two series saw some gorgeous weather. It's early enough in the season and the summer that I can focus on that and ignore injuries, pitching problems, missed offensive opportunities, and the mysteries of left-handed pitching vs. the Tribe.

In other matters, some items of note off twitter this week. It has not been a good week for Cleveland and the Indians' fans, despite Nick Camino's deft work in getting the hashtag #LopeyTime trending during Jose Lopez's plate appearances, with some help from the Indians' pressbox.

My work here is done. Well done Tweeps! You guys are passionate and enjoy a good laugh. Yes, it's confirmed: We got #LopeyTime trending.
— Nick Camino (@CaminoTribe) May 24, 2012

The only item that really made me concerned this week -- even including Hannahan's return to the DL, news of Hafner's likely absence for 4-6 weeks, continued injuries to our catchers, and a flurry of roster moves -- came from Indians President Mark Shapiro:

Sorry for the silence but had a bunker mentality since injuries hit. 3,4 + 5 hitters and mid diamond players out. Guys will need to step up!
— Mark Shapiro (@MarkShapiro) May 28, 2012

We're going to loose games; it's baseball. Injuries happen, and it may be better that they're coming earlier this year so we have more time to adapt, not to mention having enough time to insure solid recoveries and not end up with a revolving door on our disabled list. But falling into a bunker mentality? That's something we need to avoid.

Meanwhile, at the risk of this blog turning into a Chris Perez fan-page, even after the drama surrounding his comments a few weeks ago, subsequent reactions,  and more recent "controversy", CP continues to impress this author. Following the comments on attendance, he backed his words with actions by buying three pair of season tickets to be given away daily. So on home game days, CP usually tweets a trivia question for the chance to win tickets.

So far, so good, right? Not just backing up his words, but directly interacting with the fans. And if there is anything I excel at, it is amassing useless information. Bring on the trivia. But today was an off-day, and instead of a trivia question, Perez sent out the following:

I will be at the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame today around lunchtime; The first three people to introduce themselves will win 2 tix for tomorrow
— Chris Perez (@ChrisPerez54) May 31, 2012

Alas, my store of useless knowledge is, well, useless. I'm nowhere near the Rock Hall, and I wouldn't make a trip out to introduce myself just because I think think everyone deserves a day off and time him- or herself. Growing up in another city where "celebrity sightings" were a constant experience I'm kind of sensitive to letting people live their lives and just be people. But I wanted to comment on this nonetheless. Not only has Perez stood by his words respectfully and articulately, not only has he backed them up with four knock-out innings since speaking and by giving away tickets, he's just going on doing what he enjoys in the city I live in and the town I love.

The two qualities I've always admired in Perez as a player and a closer are his willingness to take responsibility for his performance whether good or bad, and his "short memory" that allows him to go out the next day and neither resting on past successes nor wallowing in prior failures. All those media questions and twitter trolls asking about whether he worries about "fan backlash?" Forgotten already.

So an off-day tip of the cap to Chris Perez, who continues to impress me with his integrity and his willingness to stand up, speak out, and keep reaching out to and welcoming his fans.

"You Can't See Me!"

Memorial Day as the "unofficial start of summer" did not disappoint at Progressive Field. The Justin Masterson jersey and the afternoon holiday game drew a good-sized crowd of just over 25,000. Following the rather ill-advertised links on the Indians' web site let me register for a pre-game photoshoot with Joe Smith. And a hot, sunny day made me appreciate the freezer-pop vendors more than ever.

Tomlin's return from the DL went as well as could be expected with a limited pitch count, lasting 5 innings and making 4 strike-outs while yielding 2 walks, 4 hits, and 4 runs. Kipnis continued his recent offensive tear going  scoring two runs and going 3 for 4. With Hannahan on the DL, Lonnie Chisenhall made his return to the show and hit a single homerun on his third Major League pitch of the year. #LopeyTime continued as Jose Lopez singled twice and reached on an error. It was not always pretty baseball, but it was certainly fun.

Chris Perez cheering last out.
Photo by Chuck Crow, The Plain Dealer.

An 8-5 lead after 8 innings brought Chris Perez charging in from the bullpen. A fun game and an energetic crowd met him with standing cheers, well deserved both for his ongoing streak of 17 consecutive saves and for his comments that did just as much to energize Cleveland's fans. Perez continued to dominate the 9th, throwing only 9 pitches and each one a strike. Facing the bottom of KC's order, Perez got a groundout on an 0-2 pitch to Brayan Pena, a 3 pitch strikeout facing Jarrod Dyson, and then two called strikes on Alcides Escobar. The 0-2 pitch was hit weakly on the ground to first, and, although Kotchman probably could have made the put-out unassisted, he lobbed the ball to Perez who was covering first. Perez exploded cheering, nearly tripped over himself while screaming and celebrating, and managed to add controversy when striking out Jarrod Dyson by waving his hand in front of his face  with the "You Can't See Me" move of professional wrestler John Cena.

Apparently, Jarrod Dyson didn't like this. According to Jordan Bastian's write-up on mlb.com, some in KC were not happy that in his comments on attendance and attitude Perez pointed out that Cleveland was leading the AL central, unlike KC

Perez had heard from Tony Sipp that after Perez's comments on attendance

"Dyson said their team's coming for me," Perez said. "So I said, All right, you're coming for me? I'm coming for you. If I strike you out, you're going to get the 'can't-see-me face.' That's what happened. Three pitches, and you can't see me."

Dyson said it was a good thing he did not see Perez's gesture while on the field.

The tough talk was echoed by other Royals players.  Bob Dutton of the Kansas City Star writes that catcher Brayan Peña reacted by saying

"That is just a sorry guy looking to be loved... Nobody pays any attention to him so he has to do stuff like that. You don't see guys who people know, guys like Mariano Rivera, do that, do you?"

My first thought was "Brayan who...?" Luckily I keep score -- cause you can't tell the players without a scorecard -- and he was the recipient of Perez's first three strikes that inning. Right.

There is much intelligent debate about Perez, ranging from discussion of his mentality going into games to statistical analysis of his pitching peripherals as predictors of future performance. Dyson and Peña aren't contibuting to such intelligent conversation.

Ok, Perez also tweeted that we're going to retaliate if your pitchers go after our players, and that the KC promotional slogan "Our Time" needs to be ignored because it's Tribe Time.

But one the greatest gifts Perez brings to the game is the simple fact that he enjoys it. He plays hard and enjoys winning. He cheers for and with his team. Winning is a thrill and he's not going to hide that. I sometimes wonder if he's having more fun that we are in the stands -- not that he shouldn't! I only wish we all could get that excited over an out.

Perez, to his credit, pretty much brushed this off. According to Dutton's article, Perez responded

“What, they’re not trying to get me now? . . . Every ninth inning, they’re trying to get me. I’m the closer. They’re trying to win the game. … It could work to my advantage, because they might try to do too much. . . . I really don’t care. The way I look at it is, every time I pitch, they’re trying to get me. And if they’re not, it’s on them. They should try to get me every time."

Ok, Royals. Come and get him. We're ready, waiting, and excited.

Go Tribe.

Momento Mori

Memorial Day is an important holiday, but in recent years its meaning has shifted and slipped in ways I often find disturbing. Today we remember those whose lives were lost in service to our country. Today we honor all whose service became sacrifice. 

Perhaps because meaning is always fluid and shifting, and undoubtedly because our country has too long been at war, I am often troubled by the frequent hyper-valorization we apply to our service men and women. I do not mean that anyone who has served should be valued less, nor that they should not be remembered and esteemed. But the important and even solemn task of remembering those who died in service is increasingly conflated with recognizing everyone who served. Today is not a day to honor and celebrate all the men and women in uniform; today they, like us, remember those who are no longer with us. 

I see a similar slippage in the use of the term "hero", and I worry about the misuse of this word too. Everyone who has served and who currently serves our country deserves our honor, respect, and admiration. But serving in uniform does not make someone a hero. In fact, I worry that turning everyone into a hero diminishes the respect and honor intrinsic to being a service member. 

Chief Petty Officer Robert Feller. Image from
http://www.navalhistory.org/

Like many in Cleveland, today I think of Bob Feller. One of the greatest pitchers in the history of the game, and perhaps the greatest player in the history of Cleveland baseball.  Feller's service was truly a pure sacrifice: he enlisted while his father was terminally ill and he was exempted as the sole supporter for his family. Feller missed what may have been the prime years of his career to enlist in the Navy and serve in World War II. While it may have taken away nearly one hundred wins from his Hall of Fame career, his service as an anti-aircraft gunnery chief on the USS Alabama contributed to that ship's 8 battle star commendations during the war.

Feller's service is well documented and rightly honored. Always outspoken, Feller never shied away from discussing his service. And like me, he felt the same discomfort with people calling him and anyone who served a hero. Feller's response was clear and direct,

"I'm no hero. Heroes don't come back. Survivors return home. Heroes never come home. If anyone thinks I'm a hero, I'm not."

This does not diminish the service of veterans and active members of the armed forces. Simply being a soldier, sailor, airman, or marine deserves respect and honor: I worry that this is forgotten when we too quickly call everyone a hero. Today is a day to remember those who truly are heroes.

A Lazy Sunday for Slow Games and the Head Game

Little to say about the series in Chicago thus far. I suppose it is noteworthy that, given how much concern has been raised by commentators over how many walks our pitchers have given up, there was only one walk in yesterday's 14-7 loss. Otherwise, I'll just stick with saying it's a long season and 162+ is a lot of baseball.

Instead, with a respectful not to the ever eloquent and thoughtful "Lazy Sunday"posts each week at TheDiatribe blog, I'll offer some brief thoughts of my own on this warm Memorial Day Weekend Sunday.

I enjoy pitching. The brilliant game this past week between Masterson and Verlander kept me spellbound watching each pitcher get his outs, or pitch out of jams, or the unbelievable ability of Verlander to find more speed and power as the game goes on.

Now, I know many people don't share my love for close pitching battles.  I remember a close game last season, an inter-league match between Cincinnati and Cleveland on May 21, 2011. I took a friend who is more of a casual fan of the game and after what I thought was a thrilling, fast-paced game we met some friends in Ohio City. They asked how the game was and he said, "Good, it was pretty slow for awhile but it picked up near the end."

I stared at my scorecard in shock trying to figure out how a game that finished in 2:21 could possible have been slow. Through six innings there were only three hits. There was no scoring until the top of the 7th, when Brandon Phillips was hit by a pitch, advanced to third on a single, and scored on a ground-out. The Tribe answered in the bottom of the seventh with a lead-off single by Asdrubal Cabrera and scored 2 runs on a 2-out home run by Travis Buck. By end of the 7th, Josh Tomlin and Hector Bailey had faced a combined 50 batters with 190 pitches. That, to me, was a fast paced and exciting game!

But I recognize how for most of the sell-out crowd that day the highlights were the free Choo jerseys and the thrill of a homerun in the bottom of the 7th. And both were exciting, even if the promotional jerseys had a hot-dog company logo on the sleeve. I can understand how most people want to see towering home runs that make the crowd stomp and cheer. The game I was watching and thoroughly enjoying is more like what Roger Kahn described in his classic on baseball from the pitcher's perspective: The Head Game. Watching the pitcher face off each batter, thinking about what he's throwing and why; trying to understand -- from the distant perspective of the top row of the upper deck -- what he's doing and why. Kahn called it "chess at 90mph", and one of the delights of baseball is playing along in my head and trying to understand, keeping track on my scorecard and revisiting each match-up at a later date, still trying to understand it.

Admittedly, I'm no expert. Neither at pitching nor at chess. I've never played, and whatever daydreams I have of debuting on the mound as a phenomenal left-handed fire-baller, I have never thrown a fastball and only understand the mechanics of breaking pitches in theory. For that matter, my own visual acuity is rarely sharp enough to tell one pitch from another when watching the game. In fact, I'm not even left-handed. But part of the joy of baseball remains watching and trying to figure it out; always learning, always seeing something new and unexpected.

This part of the game has only grown more fun in recent years. Alongside my writings in theory and prose, there are countless blogs and articles at his very moment expanding the statistical representation and analysis of baseball. I can, and will, say more about this in forthcoming posts. But the explosion of sabermetrics and "moneyball" approaches to the game present even more opportunities for delving into the Head Game, really playing along by thinking about the game, and getting more deeply involved.

This is a key point for the use of statistical analysis and modeling, at least for me. Along with each blog post or article out there, there's a comment thread full of arguments ranging from methodological battles over statistical analysis to personal insults to ordinary vapid cheering of the "My team rocks, you guys suck" variety. I can't get behind the methods or the math as a definitive understanding of the game, nor as a process of finding the right or most perfect way of describing and predicting the progress of baseball. But it is, and remains, another avenue of entering into the head game. For that, I'm happy to dive in and dust off my old statistics and calculus textbooks.

A sweep... but what's in it for me?

After last night's amazing game and taking a series from the Tigers, I couldn't resist coming out to see Masterson face off against one of the best pitchers in the game. I'll admit that I rationally did not expect a win. Like many people have said, since we already won the series, we were "playing with house money." All the better, just go enjoy the game, see a great pitching match-up, and enjoy a beautiful day.

Needless to say it was a great game, from Choo's lead off homerun that landed just a few seats away from me in the mezzanine through Chris Perez's third save of the series. Verlander was amazing, and you can only respect him as a pitcher. Anyone who not only goes the distance in a loss, but somehow throws harder at the end of the game, deserves respect and admiration.

So I went to the game not expecting to win. Even when we went to the 9th leading 2-1, I was willing to concede a blown save and a loss. Not that I didn't think we could win, but because I recognized that this is baseball. As much as I wanted the win, I know the Tiger fans who drove down to Progressive Field were just as fervently hoping for a comeback.

Something about this raises a question about how we approach the game, our expectations and the realities of being a fan. So many of the negative voices sound like they feel like they deserve a World Series winning team for the price of their tickets. So much of the rhetoric they repeat about the ownership and the management sounds like they think unless we win, and win everything, and win all the time, then they've been cheated and refuse to spend a dime seeing a game.

And yes, it's a long season. There's a lot of baseball still to go. A sweep in may isn't a statement in a pennant race. But what does it say, and more to the point, what's in it for me?

We did win, but it would have been no less enjoyable of a game if it ended with a Tiger win. We swept, but it would still have been a win in the series without today's victory.

Really, if I knew my ticket money was buying a guaranteed victory, like the AL-Central Pennant most commentators awarded Detroit for signing Prince Fielder to a quarter-billion dollar contract, why bother going? What fun is it?

The tribe swept, beyond my expectations. What's in it for me? A great day of baseball, two days of games with great crowds who were excited and behind their team, a little sunburn and a sore throat.

Wednesday, 23 May 2012: Det 2, Cle 4

For what it's worth, I try not to miss Dollar Dog Nights. The hot dogs are sub-par, and my body never likes me for it, but still. So I had my tickets to last night's game long before Chris Perez called out booing fans or before low attendance became the big story of our division-leading Cleveland Indians.

Besides the hot dogs, last night's win over the Motor City Kitties may have been one of the best games I've seen at Progressive Field. Zach McAllister pitched a great game from the beginning, throwing first pitch strikes and challenging hitters throughout the game. There were more miscues on the field than I wanted to see, but a 2-run Pronk bomb tied the game at 2-2 in the 6th.

Things got interesting in the 8th. With Prince Fielder up, Tony Sipp came in. Prince got to first despite a perfect shift with Kipnis playing short right field. Vinnie Pestano came charging in with his usual hustle, but Young and Boesch both reached on singles. Bases loaded, no outs, and 22,000 screaming got the Bullpen Mafia into form. A three pitch strikeout got he first out, a grounder to first got Fielder out at the plate and saved a run, then the inning closed with a full count swinging strikeout. At some point I realized I had already screamed myself hoarse, but more to come...

Jason Kipnis went 3 for 4 with singles in the 1st, 6th, & 8th -- undoubtedly the result of a pre-game offering of sacrificial rum to Jobu. In the 8th Kipnis broke the tie when he came around to score on a fielder's choice and a bad throw from the Tiger's mammoth first baseman and Cabby scored an insurance run on a Santana sacrifice.

Enter Chris Perez in the 9th, who has been nothing but class since his comments last week about negativity and poor attendance. The highlight of the night, for me, was after his last pitch when he saw the ball pop up he just walked straight off the mound toward Santana at the plate. Pure class and confidence.

This may have been the best game I've ever seen. Not just for the excitement of a nail-biter, but because the crowd was engaged. The people around me knew their baseball and were behind the players -- far better than nights when I'm surrounded by the bros who catch SportsCenter every now and then and check with the batting averages on the scoreboard before insulting the players.

Now all we can do is hold on and go for the sweep.

Of Many "What If"s

Last years' Cleveland Indians “What If?” advertising campaign was well received by many of us, to say the least. The short commercial managed to capture the scope and depth of so much of what we celebrate and enjoy about baseball and its history in Cleveland.

And, as someone who always thinks that if you can't be at a game, baseball is best watched on the radio, I thought the radio versions were even better than the video. The simple and unanswered question “What if it never happened?” reminded us of a long history at League Park, Municipal Stadium, and Jacobs' Field. It connected us with Tris Speaker, Lou Boudreau, Rocky Colivato, and the great and recently passed Bob Feller. It reminded us that our history included the pioneering activities of the first Larry Doby as African-American player in the AL and Frank Robinson as the first African-American manager. Most of all, it connected all these together into a single thread.

Perhaps, then, we should reconsider one of the questions it posed last year: “What if the 90's were just the 90's?”

I first came to Cleveland and became a fan of the Indians in the 90's, yet the connection to that longer history is more important than just recalling a brief period of sellouts and division titles. In fact, knowing I may be approaching blasphemy with his statement, in many ways the 90's were not the end-all-be-all of baseball. We were winning, true. There was excitement, also true. 455 sellouts. But I also saw a team eventually move from building a championship group of players to maintaining the status quo. Instead of developing a generation of players, we now had to pay the same outrageous payrolls and trade for star power. The ill-fated trade to bring John Rocker to Cleveland really made me reconsider if this was a team worth cheering for, or just another baseball business meeting financial success.

Thus I'm a bit disturbed by this year's continuation of the “What If” spots. Unlike last year's evocative and emotional ad connecting us with a longer past, this year seems more concerned with the idea of bringing back the 90's.

Thome was great – Thome came back. Alomar was great – Alomar came back. Lofton! Back in some capacity. 455 sellouts … please come back?

 The 90's were a good time for baseball in Cleveland. But for me, they were great not because of our victories. The real greatness came from sharing seasons in a good town for baseball. Many others hav written about the unique set of conditions we had at the time: the Cavs didn't matter, the Browns were gone, the Jake was novel, etc.

 What no one can account for is the difference between then and now in terms of the fans I met and how fluently and insightfully everyone was talking about baseball. I remember talking to older fans on the train who told me about the starting rotations they grew up with. I remember listening to Herb Score call games, sometimes forgetting who was playing, and my coworkers forgiving him and telling me why they loved listening to him. (I'm almost certain one game in 1997 he called a play where Feller was pitching to Mickey Mantle.) What I miss most about the 90's isn't the players whose memories I still cherish, nor the sellout streak that meant I almost never got to go to a game. What I miss is that this was a great town for baseball, with fans who knew and loved the game.

 So what if the 90's were just the 90's? What if it we lost the world series in 1995? What if 1997 was a heartbreaking year? It's part of our history, and what if it's just one more part of a long tradition?

Pure Rage

Chris “Pure Rage” Perez gave one of the best closes I've seen in Saturday's 2-0 win over the Miami Marlins. 10 pitches. 3 called strikeouts. 1-2-3: ballgame. The only recent close I've enjoyed more was the bottom of the 10th save in KC on April 14 where the game ended on a 2-0 pitch that Chris Getz batted right back to CP's own glove. That was a fitting, dramatic end to a wild game (how else can you top Hannahan taking on the entire KC bench?), but Saturday's 10-pitch shutdown was just filthy good pitching.

But to be honest, his comments after the game pissed me off.

“I’m tired of getting booed at home,” Perez said. “So I figured I’d throw some strikes today. You can quote that.”

I'm not angry at him. I'm not angry at what he said. I'm angry because he is right. I was at that game, Thursday May 17. Tied at 4-4 in the ninth, Sipp struck out Seager for the first out, then Perez came in to face Smoak, Wells, and Jaso. His control seemed off. Smoak singled to left on a 3-1 pitch, the crowd groaned. Then Wells drew a walk on 4 pitches and the crowd booed our closer.

It was a beautiful day, pretty good attendance given most of our recent day games, probably about 6 or 7 thousand in the seats. I was pretty shocked to hear the home crowd booing, and with a small crowd it was that much louder.

Jordan Bastian responded to the heckling over twitter,

Hitters have a .182 average vs. Chris Perez in tie games, .191 average in non-save situations throughout his career. Calm down, folks.

Perez then got Jaso to hit a 2-1 pitch to Damon for the 2nd out, and struck out Montero to end the inning. Got the job done. I stood and cheered. Unfortunately, it probably blended in with the Bronx Cheer of the loudmouths who were heckling him.
Perez's comments and his follow-ups since are dead on. Right now, this is not a good town for baseball. It isn't a good environment. Following up on his comments, Perez explained,

It’s not a good atmosphere. It’s not fun to be here. Especially when you’re not playing well or not getting that many hits or you’re not pitching well. Baseball is supposed to be fun. At the end of the day, this is a game. It’s a child’s game, I understand that. But if you have the choice to go an atmosphere where it’s fun every day, like Philadelphia or some place like that where every day it’s fun just to go there, that helps you get through some seasons sometimes, some games.

He's right. And we should all be angry. Not at him, but at the fact that a city with such a long history in baseball has become such a bad place for the game. People will respond, as they often do, “Too bad, this is Browns Town.” That's not helpful. Nor is it an intelligent nor even logical response. Seriously: I don't care about the Browns. I really don't care about football. I don't have the slightest interest whatsoever. But I will not jump into a conversation about the Brown's draft picks and just shout “Hey! I don't care, listen to me talk about the Tribe!”

Historically, this has been a great town for baseball when baseball did well. Everyone looks back to the very brief span of Bill Veeck's ownership as the golden age, but attendance only flared for a few years. People talk about the 90's and venerate Dick Jacobs while excoriating Larry Dolan, but they have no idea what they're talking about. Quite seriously, in a town I once found the best baseball fans, fans who followed and understood the game, we now have people who just shout, as loudly as they can, the most idiotic and ignorant things possible.

I've tried to argue with them. I've met people who say “You know why we lost opening day? Because Perez sucks!” I point out the percentage of saves he converted, his success in shutting the door, the numbers and statistics to support that. The response, “Bull----, he just sucks!” I've compared his performance with other closers, again, the response, “Bull----, he just sucks!” Clearly we have a very well spoken braintrust as our “fan” base.

I heard a father explain to his kids – at a game! – that in the 90's we had the highest payroll in all of baseball, and now the owners pay next to nothing and pocket millions of dollars a year. After three innings of this (and much more, it was a family of four generations spouting ignorance and whining the entire game), I finally pointed out that, no, in fact, Cleveland never had the highest payroll. In the 90's we had fairly low payrolls with players locked into long term contracts, and the highest payrolls in Cleveland history were during the Dolans' ownership. Not surprisingly, the response followed the same insightful and analytic profanity-laced pattern described above. Along with the accusation that I must, clearly, be part of the Dolan family. This must involve very high order logic, were I related to the owners, why would I sit in the cheapest upper reserve seats? But neither fact nor reality seem to interfere. I can call up the payrolls for the last 20 years on my smartphone, only to hear the same profanities shouted back at me.

When I think of the best games I've seen in my life, I really can't remember if we won or lost. I remember some of the plays I've seen. I remember some of the pitching performances, some unexpected and amazing plate appearances. But the best and worst games I remember have more to do with us, the fans, at the games. The worst games I'm surrounded by idiots who are shouting nonsense, like the attendees last Thursday who booed Perez. The best games I'm sharing in an experience I love with thousands of others.

Pure Rage Perez spoke the truth, Cleveland.
It's entirely up to us to step up and be the kind of town we all deserve.
Learn the game, learn to watch the game, learn to love the game.

Gate A

Baseball is full of intangibles, both on and off the field. Why a given pitcher is unpredictable, how a team can manage to play above or below expectations, how or why it can evoke utterly irrational behavior and arguments.

One of these intangibles will always be the excitement of going to a game, and no matter how many games I make it to or how many different ballparks I visit, walking in to a game in Cleveland remains one of my favorite experiences.

I don't really remember the first time I went to a ballgame. It was probably 1980 or 1981 and my dad took me to an Oriole's game. Apparently it was kid's hat day or something; he still has my diminutive O's hat from that game hanging in his office. I remember it was blazing hot and I remember thinking that the scorching bleachers at old Memorial Stadium were going to burn my legs off. But I don't remember going to the game itself. 

There's a certain unique quality to every ballpark. I think of the days I lived outside of NYC and the swell of traffic sweeping you along into Shea Stadium for a Mets game. Going to Wrigley for a Cubs game means walking through the ever denser crows at the bars and on the sidewalks in Wrigleyville. Oriole's Park at Camden Yards takes you into Eutaw Street and the buzzing, fair-like atmosphere full of cheap food and souvenirs: almost like a gradual transition from the traffic of the Inner Harbor to the excitement of the ballpark. And going to most minor league parks feels a little too well organized and business-like, hardly worth mentioning. 

But going to an Indians' game...

I avoid, whenever possible, driving to a ballpark. It tends to be necessary for minor league games, but even when I go to other Major League cities I try to spend the day in town and either walk or take public transit to the game. Once in Chicago I rode a bike and parked right at 1060 W. Addison, but again, I prefer to take transit. 

The first time I lived in Cleveland I was on the East side, now I'm on the West side, so it's always been a simple matter of riding the red line train to Tower City. Given how much time I spend away from Cleveland, and how I always notice strangers wearing a Tribe hat and make sure to go talk with them, I love getting on a train full of fans heading to the game. Especially day games, when I often go alone and invariably end up sitting with some older fan who tells me his (and increasingly, her) stories of Indians baseball long ago. A few weeks ago, after my 8th or 9th revision to this year's scorecard, I took my newly-minted 2012 scorecard with me and ended up next to a fan who was making the final pre-game tweaks to his own new score-keeping program on his iPad. Not only does it thrill me to have this time with fellow Tribe fans, but it's a great reminder that amid all the talk-radio and comment-thread negativity, most of us just enjoy going out and taking in a game. 

One year after I moved away from Cleveland the first time, my sister got me a little desktop replica sculpture of (then) Jacob's Field. When I try to explain the delight of going to a game, it usually means I pick up the model and make my unfortunate listener pretend they can see the perspective of walking south on Ontario and turning on Eagle Ave alongside the ticket office. While Camden Yards and even the approaches to Wrigley and Shea felt like being pulled into a growing excitement, for me there's nothing like the overwhelming feeling of coming up Eagle Ave to Gate A and suddenly seeing the entire stadium open up. Walking towards the gate suddenly the seating bowl opens up through the fence. Sometimes full of people and the noise of pre-game activities, sometimes empty and awesome in its size and capacity. Instead of the slow crescendo of other parks, the approach to Gate A is like a sudden and overwhelming explosion. 

I don't think my demonstration with the 6" model of the stadium ever quite manages to convey this. But on a recent trip downtown before a game I was trying to describe this to a young couple going to their first game, and the smiles and interjections of the other passengers on the train suggested that I'm not the only one who feels overwhelmed and excited at that approach, walking up Eagle Avenue and seeing the field spread out, and the seats rising up and around. Even if I can't remember the excitement of the first game I saw as a child, every trip through Gate A leaves me with child-like delight.