Citizens Bank Park-Philadelphia, PA: 8.19.06

I suppose it’s lucky that I went to Philadelphia early on in my stadium tour. In 2006, I didn’t yet have the hatred for the Phillies that I would soon develop. Sure, they had a strong core of players, such as all-star second baseman Chase Utley, shortstop Jimmy Rollins, rising star Shane Victorino, rookie pitcher Cole Hamels and that year’s National League MVP, first baseman Ryan Howard.  But for a Mets fan, the only division rival that had mattered for the last decade was Atlanta. And in 2006, the Mets were doing all they could to ensure that they were now the beasts in the NL East. On the day of my trip to Citizens Bank Park, the Phillies were 3 games under .500, and 14 games behind my Mets (a cushion the Metropolitans would all but hold onto for the rest of the season). The Phils would go on a bit of a tear and finish 8 games over .500, but they’d still end up 12 games back in the division, and 3 out of the Wild Card, while the Mets would end the season one bad Aaron Heilman pitch short of a World Series appearance. Of course, I didn’t know any of that yet.

I also didn’t know that the next season, the aforementioned Jimmy Rollins would declare that the Phillies were “the team to beat” in the NL East during Spring Training. Nor did I know that Mets would lose 12 of the last 17 games in 2007 and blow a 7-game lead to give the Phillies their first NL East title in 13 years. And I certainly didn’t know that the Mets would blow it again in 2008, missing the playoffs again. And I really didn’t know that Philly would win 5 straight NL East titles, that they’d even manage to win a damn World Series, that Cole Hamels would call the Mets “Choke Artists” on late night television, that they’d go to a second straight World Series (and actually leave some Mets fans happy when the Yankees of all teams won the World Series). I had no idea that they’d eventually compile arguably the most dominant pitching rotation in the history of the modern game. I didn’t know that one of their fans would intentionally vomit on an 11-year old girl. I wasn’t yet aware that I’d soon grow to detest them more than any professional sports team that isn’t the Miami Dolphins (I sure do hate the Miami Dolphins). But I suppose I’m getting a little worked up. This is supposed to be about the ballpark, not about how much I now dislike the team that plays there because their success has coincided with my team’s heartbreak for half a decade now. So I’ll try for a moment to put that all aside, and see if I can avoid letting that distaste color my memories of their ballpark. I’m not gonna lie, it might be a tough task. But while I hate its baseball team, I do love the City of Brotherly Love itself. So perhaps that will help my ability to remain somewhat impartial.

My cousin Hillary met her now-husband Doug when they were undergrads at Villanova. After graduation, they stayed in the Philadelphia area for a few years before moving to NYC. Doug is a lifelong Mets fan, and like me, he didn’t really like the Phillies since they were our division rival, but he didn’t yet hate them yet. And living in Philadelphia and working in sports management at the time, he was always up for going to a game. Hillary is also an avid sports fan, and shares Doug’s love for the Metsies. So when I told them about my west coast trip and how I’d started to think about seeing all the parks in baseball, I was extended an open invitation to come to Philly anytime for a game. I had done the obvious math earlier in that summer, and determined that to see all the parks before 2015, I should shoot to get to 3 parks a year. And with Hillsy and Doug being a relatively short train ride from New York, Philadelphia was an obvious choice to round out to my first full season of touring and Citizens Bank Park was added to the calendar as my seventh Major League ballpark.

I’d never even been to Philadelphia before, so the weekend was a bit of a whirlwind. Friday night involved a night of fun out on the town in their neighborhood of Manayunk, and Saturday was filled with the requisite sightseeing: The Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, the Statue of William Penn atop City Hall, Franklin Court, etc. We drove past the Art Museum to see Rocky’s stairsteps. And, as luck would have it, it was the second-to-last day for an exhibit celebrating Philadelphia Sports history at the National Constitution Center (which was a really great exhibit). So we certainly got our exercise in as they took me around to see the sights.

As we headed down to South Philly, we made the trek to Pat’s King of Steaks, where I put my lactose intolerance on hold for a night and got a “provolone wit’” [cheesesteak with provolone & onions]. They told me Pat’s is the original, and I don’t even need to bother with Geno’s if and when I go back. That sandwich was everything I ever imagined it would be.

Unless you count the beer on the bus on the way to Camden Yards, Citizens Bank Park provided me with my first Major League tailgate. Granted, the 3 of us basically washed down our cheesesteaks by splitting a sixer, so it’s not we’re not talking about a rager of any sort. But it’s still fun to sit and have a brewski while watching the various types of fans that pour into a stadium. I must say, on this night, I didn’t see any types of activities that might earn the dubious reputation that’s often cast upon Philadelphia sports fans. Everyone around us in the parking lot and in our section were nothing if not well behaved. I have seen some fans get pretty rowdy at Phillies/Mets games in New York. I was a bit weary of what I might be getting myself into as I entered the belly of the beast, especially since Doug and I agreed that we’d be rooting for Washington, so he was wearing a Nationals hat and I was wearing my retro Expos hat. But for my money, I almost wish I had more colorful stories to tell, since Philly fans have more than once been declared “the worst fans in sports” by major publications. I saw none of the darker side on that night. And the few Phillies fans I know personally are all excellent people and are just as passionate about their team as I am, which I do respect. And we can all agree on Tug McGraw and Lenny Dykstra (and Richie Ashburn was an original Met). So I’ll leave my commentary on the Phils’ fan base to that.

Speaking of Richie Ashburn, we entered the park into Ashburn Alley, as our seats were out in Left Field. I was so impressed by the view of the park from this large outfield promenade. One could spend the entire game watching from there and be perfectly happy without ever taking his or her seat. And I’m sure many Phillies fans take advantage of the fact that they can heckle the opposing team’s bullpen, which is a mere stone’s throw below the alley in right center. From the Ashburn statue and the Phillies Wall of Fame, to gift and memorabilia shops, to various games for kids young and old, Ashburn Alley provides an exciting, fan-friendly atmosphere. And I was blown away by the variety of local, seemingly authentic, Philadelphia establishments that had food stands in the alley and throughout the park. To this day, I can still taste the Old Bay from the Chickie and Pete’s Crab Fries, which was the only thing I could even contemplate eating after having Pat’s.

I didn’t walk much around the exterior of the park, which would become part of my ballpark tradition in years to come, but Citizens Bank Park was the first park I ever visited where I was able to walk the full interior perimeter of the park, without retracing my steps. While it seems simple, after coming from Shea (where one could easily miss innings at a time while waiting in line for food or restrooms) I still remember that it was a novel (and excellent) experience to be able to immerse myself in the stadium’s atmosphere and still be able to actually watch the game through the wide concourses and numerous open areas throughout the park.  And once the game became a blowout (which I’ll get to in a moment), Hillsy, Doug and I did some exploring to see what the game looked like from different vantage points throughout the park, which was a lot of fun.

The victims, er… visitors, on this night were the Washington Nationals. In their second season of existence since moving to the Nation’s Capitol from Quebec, the Nationals were still showing signs of being depleted during the Expos years (in which they were nearly contracted entirely and were eventually owned and operated by Major League Baseball). Outfielder Alfonso Soriano was an All-Star starter that year, and third baseman Ryan Zimmerman was in the midst of an excellent rookie season, and would end up finishing just short of the Rookie of the Year award. But the Nationals had a number of obvious holes, and were 15 games under the .500 mark.  Being a fan of the underdog, and knowing that a Nationals win would widen the Mets’ gap (not that it needed widening that season), our crew rooted for the visitors. This is one of the few times I’ve chosen to do that on the tour. Traditionally, unless the Mets are the visitors, I’ll root for the home team at a stadium. After all, I’m buying their hat as a souvenir: might as well wear it for the full nine. So that was one of the little details that made this park unique for me. Not that it did any good.

Philly did irreparable damage in the 2^nd inning, putting the game away before many had even made it to their seats. Washington’s starting pitcher, Ramon Ortiz, walked two batters, gave up 3 singles (one of which was by the opposing pitcher, Hamels), a double and hit a batter to create a quick 5-run hole. He then hit Chase Utley with a pitch, creating a near-confrontation, as Utley thought about charging the mound before finally taking his base. Ortiz then gave up a 3-run homer to Ryan Howard, and he was ejected 2 batters later when he hit Aaron Rowand with a pitch for his second HBP in an inning. Ortiz threw 71 pitches in less than 2 innings, and took his 11^th loss in his first 20 decisions, Ortiz’s stat line read as follows: 1.2 innings pitched, 5 hits, 8 runs (all earned), 3 walks, 1 home run, 1 strike out, an ERA of 43.19 and a WHIP of 4.80. Just about the only thing he didn’t do was give up a triple. 

The Phillies brought 13 batters to the plate in the 2^nd, and they got the full order up again in the 5^th, as they scored 3 more runs off of relief pitcher Travis Hughes. The Nationals got on the board in the top of that 5^th, with solo Home Runs from Alex Escobar and Alfonso Soriano, but that would be all the damage they could muster up in an 11-2 loss.

One of the drawbacks of sitting in the outfield at Citizens Bank Park is that we weren’t able to see the state-of-the-art scoreboard directly behind us. But at a park that’s notorious for being a “Band Box,” the excitement of knowing that a home run could come your way at any time makes up for it. In the park’s first 2 years of existence, more than 200 homers were hit in each season, many towards left field. The walls were adjusted before the 2006 season, but we still had 3 taters come towards us in our outfield seats-the aforementioned Soriano shot landed a few rows away from where we were sitting. And when one of those long balls is sent over the wall by a Phightin’ Phil, the giant Liberty Bell in center field lights up Red, White and Blue, and swings to the left and right as it “rings” in celebration. This stadium feature is an awesome touch, and even a devout Philly hater such as myself can acknowledge that it’s one of the most unique and fun celebrations in all of baseball.

And, speaking of unique, no discussion of the game in Philadelphia is complete without mentioning the Phillie Phanatic, arguably the most recognizable mascot in the game. I’m pretty sure he’s a giant muppet, although I’m not entirely sure. If not that, I couldn’t tell you what he is. I have no idea why he’s green. I think the fact that he came to being in the late 70’s (just as I did) can explain most of the questions. But he causes a good deal of mischief and mayhem, and the fans in Philly sure do love him. I’d bet Mr. Met could take him down in a fistfight though.

I had a great time at my Phillies game, and I have fond memories of that night: a chance to spend time with family who I love, the early stages of shaping some traditions that I still carry out with each new stadium, some great food, and an exciting, if not necessarily well-played, baseball game. What more can a guy ask for? Other than another 10,000 losses for the Phillies franchise, of course.

Dodger Stadium-Los Angeles, CA: 2 trips- 6.25.06, 7.25.10

While the great cathedrals of baseball are Fenway Park and the friendly confines of Wrigley Field, now that the old “House That Ruth Built” is no more, the ballpark in Chavez Ravine, Los Angeles brings a history of a different sort. It is a symbol of baseball’s manifest destiny and taking a trip inside feels like going back in time 50 years.

It’s a ballpark that was built solely for baseball-just before the idea to build multi-purpose football/baseball stadiums became the fad (and yes, Shea, while I loved you very much, I’m talking about you). The wavy metal roof over the outfield seats reminds me of the carport in my grandparents’ retirement community. While the video boards over the outfield have been replaced numerous times since the stadium’s inception, they still maintain an older style-the orange pixels on the right field scoreboard feel like an 80’s video game, which can feel somewhat ancient especially when contrasted with screens such as that at the new Yankee Stadium. The pale yellow and sky blue of the seats, walls and façade are colors that wouldn’t be chosen by HOK Sport/Populus in the design of a new retro-style park. The “THINK BLUE” sign on the hill over left field reminds you instantly that you’re right near the Hollywood hills. The pictures of Dodger greats, past and present, displayed around the ballpark are like a Hall of Fame exhibit. The Dodgers are the only team who’ve retired Jackie Robinson’s number for his exploits on the field, and not just for his amazing impact on the game. But to see Koufax, Campanella and others up there in the outfield is equally impressive. There is a wonderful, almost simple, feel about the whole place. And in this era where many cities build a new ballpark every few decades, it’s a comfort to know that some of the great old parks are preserved, but won’t be replaced.


As I mentioned earlier, my first Dodger home game came the afternoon after my trip to Petco in San Diego. The Dodgers faced off against the abysmal Pittsburgh Pirates. L.A. had a pretty good team at that point, 5 games over .500, and they would eventually go on to take the National League Wild Card. The Pirates, on the other hand, were already 25 games under .500, having started that season 0-6. They would actually have a winning record after the All-Star Break that season, in part thanks to the trade with the Mets that sent Xavier Nady over to the Steel City. They also had an All-Star starter on the roster in Jason Bay and an All-Star reserve with Freddy Sanchez, both of whom had decent games on this day. However, they also had players such as two-time Mets bust Jeromy Burnitz, and at this point in the season, this game didn’t even seem fair on paper.

The Dodgers went up 4-1 in the 4th inning, and ended up taking the final by that same 3-run margin. My sister, who before the Padres game the night before had only been to 1 MLB game, was kind enough to indulge me and stay through the whole thing. She was rewarded by seeing Nomar Garciaparra (one of her all-time favorite names to say aloud) score a run in the 5th and hit a Home Run in the 7th inning.

I’m someone who likes to be at the park for player introductions, and often even batting practice when I go to a new stadium. If nothing else, it gives me a chance to walk the perimeter of the park, take some pictures of the details that make each park unique, and check out the smorgasbord of regional beer and food options I might not find at other parks. In L.A., there’s only one food option I’ve ever bothered with: From the moment you step inside, the smell of Dodger Dogs fills the air. I’m still a bit mad at myself that I didn’t try out the “All You Can Eat” section either time I made the trip to Chavez Ravine-although I’m sure my gall bladder is grateful.
But getting to Dodger Stadium early –and doing so twice-also confirmed a rumor I’d heard about for years: No one gets to a Dodger game before the 3rd inning. Coming from a city where a majority of the fans take public transportation, it’s not uncommon to see a park nearly full by the time the first pitch is thrown, especially if it’s a rivalry game or important in the standings. In both my trips to Dodger Stadium, the stands look like batting practice well after first pitch. I imagine the legendary Southern California traffic may play a part in that and navigating the Dodgers’ parking lots can feel like a trip through purgatory, but I also wonder whether people traveling to the game may just be spending as much time as they can in their cars or in the parking lot, just so they can listen to a few more moments of Vin Scully.


As a New Yorker for over a decade, and a history nut, I’ve tried to immerse myself in the culture, history and heritage of the city I call home in myriad ways: books, documentaries, museums, etc. The irony is that a legendary piece of New York sports history has been living in Los Angeles for over 60 years. When I’m in L.A., if there’s a Dodger game on the radio, I’ll tune in just to hear that man speak. And I’ve been known to use my MLB.com At Bat subscription to catch an afternoon Dodger game during a monotonous workday for that beautiful experience. I think back to watching the early-90’s TV show “Brooklyn Bridge,” one of my mother’s all-time favorite shows, and it’s not hard to picture myself as a kid of a different era listening to a ballgame on the radio and letting mere words and sounds make you feel like you’re a part of the action. That simplicity and connection to the past is one of the reasons I love baseball so.

For the same reason, the Dodgers themselves have always fascinated me. I’ve read countless books on Jackie Robinson, on the great Dodger teams of the 40’s and 50’s and the team’s eventual move to the greener pastures of California after Robert Moses denied the team a chance to set up shop over the Atlantic Yards. I thought Spike Lee’s Jackie Robinson jersey was the epitome of cool the first time I saw “Do The Right Thing,” even though I wasn’t yet old or wise enough to comprehend the deeper meanings of New York City race relations. And I’ve always loved that my favorite hat has an orange NY Giants logo placed smack in the middle of a Dodger Blue cap-and that the Dodgers and Giants run right through the bloodlines of my beloved Mets. I have friends who root for L.A. because their dads rooted for Brooklyn. Mets fans aren’t quick to forget ’88 (and I also have vivid memories of Game 1 of the 2009 NLDS, where Paul Lo Duca made a double play at home to keep the Dodgers from scoring). But the Dodgers are in many ways our cousins-right up to the Jackie Robinson rotunda at Citi Field. So traveling across the country for 2 Dodgers games has also helped bring me closer to my baseball home.

Which seems like a perfect segue to discuss my second Dodgers game. My return trip to Chavez Ravine was on the first full day of my Great West Coast Adventure during the summer of 2010. I’ll get much more into the journey as a whole when I get to the stadiums I visited for the first time later in this blog. But I spent 2 weeks driving from San Diego to Seattle that summer, and as my luck would have it, my Mets were in L.A. my first weekend out West. So my second trip to Dodger Stadium also provided me the second opportunity to see the Mets on the road (the first was in D.C., which I’ll tackle a few posts from now). To look up and see Vin Scully in the press box next to Mets broadcasters Ron Darling and Gary Cohen was worth the price of admission alone.

The R.A. Dickey/Clayton Kershaw pitching matchup was also a doozy. Kershaw was coming off the game where he hit Aaron Rowand of San Francisco, which would ultimately result in a 5-game suspension. But since he was still in the midst of an appeal with MLB, he was able to make this start. Dickey was a huge surprise for the Mets, having found his groove as a knuckleball starter in New York. Dickey was 6-3, Kershaw 9-5, and both pitchers brought their A-game.
Dickey had a two-hitter going in the 6th Inning, when he landed awkwardly after delivering a pitch to Russell Martin and was removed from the game (but not before he gave his coaches and the umpire quite the earful about being taken out). Kershaw went 8 innings, and while he gave up 7 hits, he kept the Mets from ever being able to round third. Russell Martin doubled in the 8th inning, scoring Casey Blake for the game’s sole run. While my team came up short, a 1-0 pitcher’s duel is my favorite kind of ballgame, as I love the nuances of baseball that don’t show up on a box score.

I couldn’t have asked for a better travelling companion than my little sister for both of my Dodger games. At the Mets/Dodgers, she borrowed my Brooklyn Dodgers hat, and we did our best to represent our East Coast roots. And while people of my parents and grandparents’ generation may not like it, I’m happy that the Bums moved out West, as the experience of a Dodger game in the Los Angeles hills is an unforgettable one.

Petco Park-San Diego, CA: 6.24.06

As I alluded to briefly in my Yankee Stadium post, I realized before the 2006 baseball season that there were only 9 MLB teams I hadn’t yet seen in person. Living in a city with both an American League and National League team, it wasn’t particularly difficult to put those 9 teams on my calendar and knock them all out in one six-month season. It conveniently happened that 2006 was also my first full summer at a job in which I had free nights, weekends and vacation days. All told, I ended up going to 30 baseball games at 5 different ballparks that year (which was certainly helped by the fact that my Mets came within one game of going to the World Series). The excitement (unquestionably the best baseball year of my life) led me to officially state my quest to get to every ballpark in baseball within the next decade. After all, I’d now seen every team play on the road (except the Mets, which I did the next season). It was now time to try and see each of them at home.

The touring aspect really began in a roundabout way. A close friend of my family was getting married in Montana that summer, and my sister and I (at the stellar advice of our dad) decided that we’d fly into Jackson Hole and drive through the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone en route to the wedding in Pray, MT. As we began planning this trip, I started thinking about other destinations I could add on, seeing as how I had the aforementioned vacation days to spare. My sister, Miranda, had moved to San Diego in the fall of 2003, and while my family had already gone out to visit for 3 Christmases, I’d never been to California in any months other than December or January. So I looked at the baseball schedules in Southern California for the days leading up to our trip, as the Padres and Dodgers were 2 of the 9 teams I had left on my baseball bucket list. Wouldn’t you know it, they were both on homestands! So, I decided to fly out west a few days early and drag my kid sister to a couple ballparks in addition to our pair of National Parks (a tradition that future posts will continue to explore: we’ve now seen 4 of both kinds of “parks” together).

The first game of our night/day SoCal Doubleheader was at the ballpark in my sister’s transplanted home. Having only seen stadiums on the east coast up until now, I marveled at what a different feel Petco Park had. To say that its sandstone and stucco façade is reminiscent of the architecture of the nearby Spanish missions that inspired the Padres name might be a bit of a stretch, but it certainly has its own unique feel. At the very least, it felt like it belonged just a stone’s throw from the beach. The palm trees all over the grounds might have had something to do with that, too.



Just beyond the outfield wall is a sandbox, where kids can dig in the dirt while their parents watch the game. Beyond that is a “Park at the Park”-a wide open hill with a wiffleball field that conducts games while the Big League game is going on- and it serves as a city park open to the public at times when games are not going on. (I’ve since spent more than one December afternoon reading a book in the endless sunshine while sitting under the shadow of Tony Gwynn’s statue and feeling so at home just beyond the outfield fence).


But the piece de resistance of the park is the Western Metal Supply Company building. While the trend of using existing architecture to supplement the stadium experience began with the B. & O. warehouse in Baltimore, the Western Metal Supply Co. warehouse, which was originally earmarked for demolition in Petco’s construction plans, was incorporated directly into the physical structure of the stadium out near left field. The interior of the building was gutted and turned into a team store and luxury suites. But the exterior maintains the feel of the surrounding Gaslamp District, and is as unique a structural feature as any I’ve seen at a baseball stadium so far.

Our game at Petco was an Interleague matchup between the Padres and the Seattle Mariners. Like Shea, Petco is a notorious pitcher’s park, with deep outfield walls. Yet, surprisingly, this game was a slugfest. The 2 teams combined for 8 home runs (all of them solo shots). Seattle also managed to score some runs in a more old-fashioned method, and thus took the contest by a score of 9-5. Jamie Moyer pitched for the Mariners, during the last season of his 10-year stint with Seattle (and the season he became the oldest active American Leaguer and the oldest MLB player to record a win).

This game also marked the last time I ever saw Mike Piazza swing a bat in person. After seeing my favorite Met of all time in Orange and Blue 15 times, it was strange for me to see him in “Midnight Blue” and “Sand.” But the Home Run he put over the outfield fence in the bottom of the 2nd left no doubt that it was the same guy.


Also playing for the Padres that night was former Met Mike Cameron, who suffered a gruesome facial fracture the season before (in the very same ballpark while wearing a different uniform). For me, it was nice to see Cammy back out on the field, especially against one of his old teams (If you haven’t yet figured out, I’m a geek for that kind of stuff). Since my sister had worked at the hospital where he was treated, she was excited that she was able to identify a ballplayer!

The fans weren't complacent by any means, but as a guy who had become used to New York baseball, the feel of the crowd was definitely a bit more laid back than what I’m accustomed to. There was a real family-friendly attitude. The Swinging Friar mascot spent a lot of time near our section and there were lots of kids around us eager to get an autograph or catch a foul ball. I’m not sure I heard a single obscenity all night, and most people didn’t seem to care whether the team won or lost. They were just enjoying yet another beautiful San Diego evening. One person in our row (who may or may not have come to the game with us) even spent about 4 innings reading a book. Try that in New York and you’ll understand the true meaning of “Bronx Cheer.”

As my first “official” stop on the Stadium Tour, Petco was where I started a few traditions that have followed me along the way since: It was the first game I ever brought my camera to. Since I’d been sightseeing in SD all day, that was more of an accident. But I now have hard drives full of sporting photography and a real passion was all but discovered that night. (Shameless plug, all the photos you'll see on this blog and many more can be seen on my Flickr page: http://www.flickr.com/photos/mattbritt00/).

Petco was also the first stadium where I bought a hat of the home team (which I initially did more because my sister was now a San Diegan and I wanted to support her than for any greater significance). Years later, I take some heat from some of my friends, since my hat collection takes up more than half of my closet-but for a bald guy, that’s just self preservation during the summer months anyway. And it helps bring back great memories every time I look at it. (Even if it does mean that I eventually had to spend hard-earned money on a Phillies hat).


While it’s very different from where I grew up, and worlds away from where I live, in many ways, San Diego has become a second home to me. And if the Friars and I ever find ourselves in town at the same time, you’d better bet I’ll happily find my way back to Petco Park.

Oriole Park at Camden Yards- Baltimore, MD: 7.9.05

Someday, I'll take a mulligan on Camden Yards. It's not to say I didn't have a great time there- of course I did. It was a baseball game. But I certainly didn't give it the attention I’ve given to other ballparks since I didn't yet realize that my visit would soon hold more personal importance.

Erika is one of my closest friends from High School. After a few years in Boston (where she also went to college) and a few more here in New York after college, she moved to just outside Washington D.C., where her then boyfriend, later fiancé, now husband had been living since graduation. Knowing that I enjoy baseball as much as I do and also knowing that I hadn't yet come to visit them in Maryland, she invited me to join them on a D.C-Area/B.C. alumni bus tour up to Baltimore to see the Red Sox take on the Orioles. Needless to say, I jumped at the opportunity to visit some great friends and take in a game at another stadium.

The only trouble was that I didn't yet realize that I was officially on the stadium tour- heck, I didn't even bring a camera. I have vivid memories of the chartered bus that we took from Washington to Baltimore- tentatively chugging a beer that was thrown at me at 11:30 in the morning with Leland (who isn't really the chugging type), hearing a bus load of B.C. alums sing "Dirty Water," and listening to the lone Oriole fan on the bus in a debate about how there was no way that either Rafael Palmiero or Miguel Tejada were on steroids (they either tested positive or were implicated that season). Everyone on the bus was also seated together inside the park, in the upper deck near right field, so my entire fan experience that day had a Massachusetts feel. I was even called "Mookie" all day by one of the guys in our group for wearing my Mets hat. Understandably, even the euphoria of being the defending World Champs hadn't made them forget the ball through Buckner's legs in '86.

My memories of the transportation greatly outweigh my memories of the stadium itself. I do have a couple vivid memories of the game (with some statistical refreshers from baseball-almanac.com): Palmiero was very close to his 3,000th hit. He went 2 for 3 in this game, bringing him to 2,997, and one of those was a Home Run (his 565th). When he collected his 3,000th 6 days later, he joined Hank Aaron, Willie Mays and Eddie Murray as the only 4 players in history to have 3,000 hits of which at least 500 were Home Runs. As he hadn't yet tested positive for steroids, each of his at bats brought a feeling of Cooperstown with it. Tejada also had a great day- he went 5 for 5 and was a Home Run short of the cycle. The Orioles ended up as a mediocre team (74-88) in 2005, but on this Saturday afternoon, they were still 6 games over .500 and stuck it to the defending champs 9-1.

I do remember that the ballpark wasn't like any other I'd been to thus far. I remember all the hype that surrounded Camden Yards when it opened, and could tell immediately why it had started a trend to build new "retro-style" ballparks. Everything was new and clean and there were great sightlines. Yet, it felt much more like you were in an old-tyme ballpark. Sure, the Polo Grounds wouldn't have had giant light stanchions on the top of the renovated B&O Railroad warehouse next-door. But still, all the brick and wrought iron were quite a contrast from the concrete I'd become accustomed to at Olympic Stadium, Shea or Yankee. I do regret that I did absolutely no exploring of this trendsetting ballpark. I didn't make it out to Eutaw Street to see all that goes on in the alley between the park and the warehouse. I didn't see the statue of Babe Ruth as a child. I walked in through the gate, walked up to my seat, left it to get a hot dog and soda, returned to watch the rest of the game, and then left through the same gate I came in through.

I assure you that this post will be the only one like this. I wish I could tell you more about Camden Yards. On that day, it was just a chance to sit outside in the sunshine and enjoy the company of some great friends. Although I suppose that days like that can't ever be taken for granted, regardless of their setting. And since Erika did think to bring a camera, I at least have proof that I was there.


More than any other ballpark I’ve visited so far, I'm itching to get back.

Yankee Stadium- Bronx, NY: 19 trips- First visit 5.5.02

The first time I physically set foot inside "The House That Ruth Built" was not the joyous occasion it should have been. I first entered its gates on 9.23.01 for the "Prayer For America" after the September 11th attacks on the World Trade Center. Even in its post-1976 renovation state, the building felt as if it was from another time. I remember being awestruck in its presence. And experiencing it for the first time as a place of worship, remembrance, mourning and healing is an moment I'll never forget as long as I'm on this earth.

The next spring, I vowed to actually get up to the Bronx for the building's stated purpose and see my first Yankees game. Despite the fact that I was now identifying myself more and more as a Mets fan, it was silly that I'd been in NYC for 20 months and although I'd already been to 10 Mets games, I still hadn't made it to a Bombers game. After all, growing up where I did most other kids I knew took in their first ever ballgame in the Bronx. It's just sort of the way it is up there. I'd seen the exhaust pipe shaped like a large bat from the Amtrak the first time I ever came to visit New York in 6th Grade and I remember being in awe, knowing that Babe Ruth AND Don Mattingly had both played there (Donnie's 1987 Topps All-Star card with the wooden borders was one that the kids in the neighborhood all wanted, and was one of the few good cards I actually had back then).

Shortly into the 2002 season, I got a call from my friend Jon and was on my way to E. 161st St. and River Ave to see the Yankees take on the Seattle Mariners. Jon was one of my college roommates my Sophomore and Junior years of college (the years before I lived with Joe) and he was born and raised in Brooklyn. He all but introduced me to Hip-Hop (and it was always East Coast stuff: Biggie, DMX, Jay-Z, Big Pun); he allowed me to find appreciation for Steven Seagal movies; he taught me the joys of having a deep fat fryer in a college apartment; and along with his 2 other counterparts he demonstrated a propensity for playing pranks that may be unparalleled (often times with me as the victim). Jon is a huge Yankee fan. It was with him, in our small upstate college town, that I watched the Yankees win it all in '96 and '98. Once I moved to Queens and was first finding my way here in the city, it was Jon who helped me develop what little street cred I may have picked up along the way (which is admittedly very little). So it was fitting that he was the first to bring me to the Stadium for my first game.

I believe 2002 was Jon's first year with season tickets at Yankee Stadium. And his seats that year were in a location it was impossible to be ambivalent about- Jon was a "Bleacher Creature." I was incognito, as I still owned a Yankees shirt at the time. But a poor sucker wearing a hat supporting Seattle or (heaven forbid) the Red Sox was heckled mercilessly with some of the most offensive vulgarities I've ever been privy to. People were pulling airplane bottles of booze out of secret pockets in their windbreakers (the bleachers were completely disconnected from the rest of the park and strictly Alcohol Free back then). I experienced firsthand the player "roll call" at the beginning of the game (including a chant for pitcher David Wells who was one of the few pitchers who ever got that treatment). I remember hearing what I must assume were vulgarities in Japanese being launched at Right Fielder Ichiro Suzuki, and repeated cheers of "Box seats suck!" aimed at the rest of the Stadium. It's not to say it was all bad- not by a long shot. It was bright and sunny and fairly warm for May. The lines for bathrooms and Italian Sausages were much shorter since they only served a very small section of the park. But most importantly, the sense of community and camaraderie out there was unmatched. These were people who spent at least 81 days (more with all those World Series rings) sitting together on these hot metal benches year after year. They knew each other like family and I'm certain that many of the dads had been out there in the same section since they were kids themselves. I returned to the bleachers a few more times, including for a Playoff game that 2002 season with Jon, and while I never felt like I belonged out there, there may have been no better place to experience Yankee fans in their purest form.

Another thing that struck me was the life around the stadium. At Shea, you'd go to the game and then hurry to the train to return to civilization. A post-game dinner or drink happened in Jackson Heights or Woodside or Sunnyside. It certainly didn't happen at the Holiday Inn bar on the other side of the Grand Central Parkway (okay, maybe it did once). In the Bronx, however, there were bars, souvenir shops, parks, little league fields. People got there hours before the game and stayed well into the night. On game days and nights, the complexion of this rough-and-tumble neighborhood changed into a carnival-type atmosphere. Sure, it was more Coney Island than Disney World, but that was a large part of its appeal. I've since found similar vibes at Fenway and even walking around Wrigleyville on a day when there wasn't even a Cubs game. But this was here in New York, and at the time I'd never seen anything like it.


Looking back with hindsight, I find it noteworthy that the first Yankee at bat I heard Bob Sheppard announce was "Now batting for the Yankees, numbuh 12, Alfonso Soriano, the Second Baseman, Numbuh 12." Mr. Sheppard was still years away from his health problems and subsequent retirement. It's hard to believe today's generation will only know him as a recorded voice announcing "Numbuh 2, Derek Jeetuh, Numbuh 2." I mean no disrespect to Alex Anthony (who probably wasn't even anouncing Mets games back then), but the Yankees certainly beat the Mets in the P.A. announcer competition.

The music selection may be another story. While I marveled that first afternoon at the choice of Bobby Darin's "Sunday in New York" and still remember the time that half my section sang along to the organ rendition of The Spiral Starecase's "More Today Than Yesterday," I just can't get behind being subjected to 2 Unlimited's "Get Ready For This," Rednex's "Cotton Eye Joe" or The Village People's Y.M.C.A each and every time I go to a ballgame (Although of all the jobs in baseball, I'm probably most qualified to be member of a dancing grounds crew). Even a guy with cheesy tastes in music has to draw the line somewhere. But I do always find myself singing along with Frankie's "New York, New York" when I leave the Bronx (and I swear I once heard them play Liza's rendition after a particularly bad loss to the Devil Rays).

My first Yankees home game ended up 10-6 in favor of the Mariners. It was former Yankee Lou Pinella's last season as the Seattle manager, and despite being in the other uniform, I remember the warm reception he received when announced. Bernie Williams hit 2 Home Runs and batted in half of the Yankees' runs by himself. Former Met John Olerud (who was part of that '99 Mets team that stole my heart) started at first for the M's and Robin Ventura (ditto) was at 3rd for the Yanks. Ichiro led off the game with a hit and scored a few batters later (he also scored a couple more as the game went on). There aren't too many more memories of the game itself that still tug on my heartstrings 8 years later, but it was a good game. Jon was pissed that they lost though.


"The Stadium" was the site of many special baseball memories during my first decade living in New York. I took my sister to her first baseball game a couple months after that first game (she's since joined me on a couple stops on the stadium tour, with more to come this summer). I saw my first (aforementioned) MLB playoff game in the Bronx, as the Yankees lost to the eventual World Series Champion Anaheim Angels. I spent an afternoon of my friend Paul's bachelor party taking in a Yanks/Indians game (Paul is the same guy from the Expos post, and is a big Mets fan as well-by way of the Houston Astros-so it's a bit funny that our second game together was a Yankees game). I've attended 2 Yankees/Red Sox games and experienced first-hand the most intense rivalry in American sports. I was there the night Derek Jeter got his 2,000th hit, which proved to be a surprisingly sentimental moment as I vividly remembered his first full rookie season of '96.

In the summer of 2006, just before I officially embarked on the Stadium Tour, I vowed to attend games of the 9 MLB teams I still hadn't seen in person. As a fan of a National League team, 6 of those 9 remaining teams played in the American League. So I went to Yankee Stadium as many times that season as I had in all of the 4 seasons before that, taking in games against the Devil Rays, Rangers, Royals, White Sox, Tigers and Twins. During those games I lost a favorite sweatshirt, learned about the merits of BBQ Sauce from an obnoxious fan behind me, saw future Yanks Mark Teixeira as a Ranger, Ivan Rodriguez and Curtis Granderson as Tigers and, on a rainy day in early September, I completed the goal of seeing every team in baseball in a rain-shortened game against the Twins (the only game I've ever seen that didn't go the full nine).

Just after the All-Star Game in 2008, in the last game I ever attended at the old Yankee Stadium, I saw a kid from my High School start at Shortstop for the Twins and score a run at Yankee Stadium. He and I weren't friends, but he was always a stand-up guy. During his second at-bat, the fun-fact on the scoreboard was that Brendan Harris had attended HS at Queensbury in Upstate NY. It was the smallest of things, but it stands as probably my favorite memory of the old place. I remember wondering if Brendan had ever seen the bat from the Amtrak and felt the same way that I did whenever he set foot inside (of course on a good night, he also gets to run the bases). He came from the same world that I did, yet there he was on the biggest stage in sports.



I'm sad that it's gone. It was an icon-perhaps as close as our country could ever get to the Coliseum in Rome. Honestly, it seemed to me that part of the ownership's motivation was only to build a new park the same year the Mets did, so that they couldn't be outdone (and with that came an All-Star Game, a Sports Illustrated cover dedicated to the building, etc.). I realize that it was never quite the same after the facelift in the '70s (and wish I had been able to see it in its original glory). I realize it was structurally impossible to add additional luxury boxes, let alone a Hard Rock Café, to a structure built in 1923. But there was nothing like a game in that old stadium. You could leave there with vertigo, a headache and indigestion and still wonder if life ever got any better than this.

Shea Stadium-Flushing, NY: 69 trips- First visit 4.23.00

I'm not sure there are enough words in the lexicon to say all that I'd like to say about Shea Stadium. In my first eight years living in New York City, I attended 69 Mets games at Shea-including an Opening Day, a playoff win, a heartbreaking playoff loss and a Stadium finale- with a number of amazing and miserable games thrown in the mix. It was Shea that made me truly fall in love with the game of baseball and the team that played there- at times early on, it felt more like home than my Queens apartment did.

Allow me to set the stage for my first visit by going back a few months earlier, during the fall months of 1999. My roommate Joe (who was my roommate during my senior year of college, and still is my roommate to this day) is as die-hard a Mets fan as they come. While I was a fairly casual baseball fan back then (and a Yankee fan to boot), Joe could be a roller coaster of emotions- even in the apartment, he'd be on his feet clapping with 2 strikes and 2 outs. He was known to throw his hat or jump up on the couch and his energy and passion for the game were contagious. Thanks mostly to living with Joe, my most vivid memories of the 1999 Postseason are not of the Yankees sweeping the Braves in the World Series, but of the Mets/Braves NLCS. I found myself rooting against the team I used to follow in that series, no less. Step one of my transformation was officially complete.

While the Mets didn't ultimately go as far in that postseason as anyone had hoped, the buzz they created was not to be ignored. Sports Illustrated said they had "The Greatest Infield Ever." From the one-game playoff against the Reds, to Todd Pratt's HR against the Diamondbacks in the NLDS (which my roomie was at Shea for), to Robin Ventura's Grand Slam Single (which despite the fact that I was 300 miles away is one of the most memorable baseball games of my life and may warrant a separate post sometime) the '99 Mets were really fun to watch. After that postseason, the Mets had found their way onto my own radar for probably the first time since the '88 playoffs against the Dodgers.

In April of 2000, towards the end of my senior year in college, I went to Long Island with Joe and his girlfriend for the Easter weekend. During a visit to the King Kullen supermarket on Saturday night to do some shopping for the next day's dinner, Joe's father asked us if we wanted to go to the Mets game against the Cubs the next day. Conveniently, King Kullens had kiosks which sold Mets tickets right on the spot, so within 5 minutes of us emphatically answering 'yes,' Joe's dad had bought tickets for my first baseball game in New York.

I think I'd only driven past Shea 1 or 2 times before that day. This was actually my first trip to Long Island, and I'd only flown out of JFK a couple times. So I wasn't really prepared for how blue it actually was. Or how silly the four-story tall neon outlines of ballplayers adorning the sides were. It was a bit dreary and cold, and I'm not only describing the weather that day. A big apple (how creative) rose up out of a top hat every time a ball went over the wall. The orange dot matrix DJ on the scoreboard was spinning "Sir Duke" by Stevie Wonder and "You Dropped a Bomb On Me" by the Gap Band and I first experienced the glory of Lou Monte's rendition of "Lazy Mary" during the 7th Inning Stretch. The planes taking off from LaGuardia created one of the more unique home field advantages in baseball. In the concrete pits along the exit ramps were piles of old scorecards, ticket stubs and other assorted rubbish from seasons past. The place smelled like hot dogs and garbage and popcorn and stale beer and things not to be mentioned in polite company. I'm certain it goes without saying that I was immediately infatuated with all of it.

In contrast to my first two games up in Quebec, this one was a high scoring affair: 15-8 Mets. (which in hindsight might be a fitting testament to some of the ways the game had changed during my 6 year break between live ballgames). Derek Bell went 4 for 4 with a Homer. Mike Piazza and Edgardo Alfonso were also among those who hit Home Runs for the Metropolitans, while Sammy Sosa (who was still one of the biggest stars in baseball at the time) knocked one out of the park for the Cubs. Future Hall-of-Famer Rickey Henderson led off for the Mets. The Mets jumped out to a three-run lead in the first inning and had both a seven-run 4th inning and a five-run 5th. The Mets themselves scored almost as many runs in this game as I'd seen combined in the two games I attended before this one.

In a Borough as diverse as Queens, the Easter holiday had little effect on the crowd- the attendance at Shea was at least double that of my first Expos game (which I realize isn't saying much). People from all backgrounds and walks of life had come together on this Sunday afternoon to take in a ballgame. It was on this day more than any other (as I was still months away from being a New Yorker myself) where I marveled at the "melting pot" that is New York City. The fans were loud and often crass, but they really knew their baseball and all its subtleties. They cheered loudly when their team did something exciting. They hollered even louder when they sarcastically congratulated a pitcher for throwing a strike after three straight balls. And loudest of all was the "HOO!" that followed the cheer of "Let's Go Mets!" At times when a Met hit a Home Run, the crowd made the upper decks shake like they were in the midst of an earthquake (a phenomenon I wouldn't experience until later on, as my first seats were in the Loge near first base thanks to Joe's dad and King Kullen). They loved to do the wave. They rose to their feet en masse on a 2-strike count with 2 outs. It was on this day that I first considered NYC as a possible destination for myself after graduation. The energy in this big, bad city was contagious. Riding in the back seat of the car in traffic on our way back east for dinner and then back upstate the next day, I began to realize how much I'd just felt "at home." Four months later, I moved to Queens, six stops away from Shea on the 7 train.

What an autumn that was to be living in New York. The 2000 Mets moved past the Giants in the Divisional Series thanks in part to an extra innings HR by Benny Agbayani and a complete game one-hit shutout by Bobby J. Jones to go to the NLCS. In the Championship Series, underscored by the glorious tones of the Baha Men classic "Who Let the Dogs Out?" and the corresponding local parody "Who Let the Mets Out?," we watched Cardinals' pitcher Rick Ankiel forget how to throw a strike, both as a starter in Game 2 and a reliever in the clinching Game 5, and with Mike Hampton pitching brilliantly in that Game 5 (another game that Joe was at Shea for), the Mets were heading to the World Series. The next night, the crosstown Yankees clinched their own Championship Series, and the stage was set for the first Subway Series in 44 years. I'll never forget being in Times Square at the moment the Yankees won the ALCS. Seeing them win on the outdoor TV screen, as the heart of the city realized all at once that we were getting a Subway Series, is one of the single greatest moments of my New York experience.

Then came the ad campaign for that Subway Series: "Pledge Your Allegiance." With the logos of the two New York baseball teams, the logos of the 4 and 7 train lines that lead to their respective ballparks, and the white Helvetica font on a black background reminiscent of the station signs hanging over the city's Subway tracks, this campaign immediately caught my eye. It also forced my hand, proving to be step two in my transformation. Thanks to this ad campaign, Joe's emphatic support and my newfound love for that ballpark in Flushing Meadows, I pledged my allegiance for the New York Metropolitan Baseball Club of the National League that October. The Mets lost the World Series in 2000. But they won me over completely that year. Sure, I still owned a Yankee shirt for a few years before I sold it on ebay. Sure, I still go to a few Yankees games every year- it's baseball after all, and I simply love baseball. But from that World Series on, I've been a fan of the Amazins. I've Gotta Believe.

I was there on Opening Day 2002 (April Fool's Day), when the Mets didn't look nearly as terrible as they would the rest of the season. I was there when Shawn Estes took a perfect game into the 7th Inning against the Brewers, eventually giving up only one hit and one walk. I was there the day Bob Murphy announced his retirement, on Murphy/Kiner Bobblehead Day, when Bob didn't get to give a "Happy Recap" that day. I was there, with my arm resting on the Mets' dugout, when Kaz Matsui's 2 HRs and Richard Hidalgo's 3 for 4 with a dinger helped spank the Yankees 11-2. I was there for Pedro Martinez's 200th Win. I was there with my new co-workers in the Pepsi Picnic Area when the Brewers walked in the winning run in the 11th inning of an 8-8 game. I was there when David Wright launched a walk-off single over Johnny Damon's head to beat the Yankees in a game where they were down 4-0 in the 1st. I was there for Carlos Delgado and David Wright Grand Slams, as well as Grand Slams by opposing pitchers Dontrelle Willis of the Marlins and Felix Hernandez of the Mariners. When I was there, Xavier Nady had 15 hits (5 of them HRs) in 31 At Bats. I was there when José Valentin's two HRs agains the Marlins clinched the 2006 NL East title. I was there when Paul LoDuca turned a double play at home against the Dodgers in the NLDS. I was there, with my head painted orange and my beard dyed blue, when Endy Chavez made "The Catch," only to watch the Cardinals celebrate on our field a short time later.


I was there in the best seats in the house. I was there in the worst seats in the house. I was there, on a date, for John Maine's only career HR to date. I was there when I finally got in that first ballgame with my dad. I was there the night the Mets increased their lead in the NL East to 7 games with 17 to go in 2007, the night before "The Collapse" officially began. I was there when the Texas Rangers played slip-n-slide on the tarp after the officials called the game for rain. I was there for Irish Night, Asian Night, Jewish Heritage Day, Fiesta Latino. I was there to see Billy Joel the night he didn't bring out McCartney, Daltrey, Steven Tyler or Garth Brooks, but gave us John Mayer, Don Henley, John Mellencamp and, mercifully, Tony Bennett instead.



I was there the day they shut it down after a crappy, rainy loss against the Marlins with a ceremony where not even Maz, Kid, Mex, HoJo, Koos, Fonzie, El Sid, Le Grand Orange, Nails, Doc, Yogi, the Franchise or The Say-Hey Kid could make us believe that day. And I was there two days before they tore the last piece down- and got my own little piece of blue concrete rubble.




And I miss it all the time.