Myers wants to 'stick it' to Phillies

I go back and forth on Brett Myers. I've met the guy a couple of times, and he was decent, cordial, and didn't come off as a prick -- which he certainly can sometimes in the media. He can be a tough pitcher when he's healthy and focused, but he has had injury issues the past few years and, at times, it appears his emotions get in the way of his talent. When the Phillies decided to let him walk in free agency, it didn't really register with me. And I certainly didn't have much of a desire to see him end up with the Mets.

But after the Astros made it official yesterday and before I saw his comments as reported by The AP, I had one pang of regret that the Mets didn't consider him: I had a hunch that he was pissed at the Phillies and would be gunning for them when he faces them. As reported by The AP:

"I wanted to go back to Philadelphia, but they didn't show an interest, they had other obligations, which is fine with me," Myers said. He then promised to "stick it" to the Phillies every time he faces them.

With the Astros, he'll get just two chances (the clubs play April 9-11 in Houston and Aug. 23-26 in Philly), and if he's in the top three slots in the rotation, which it sounds like he will be, he won't pitch against them in that April series -- the second of the season -- in Houston. But with the Mets, he would've had perhaps four or five chances to "stick it" to the Phillies over the course of the season in the NL East.

For the heck of it, I went back into the archives -- literally, the brown accordion folder kept in a cabinet -- and dug up a short piece I wrote on Myers when I was working at the Asbury Park Press and he was with Double-A Reading. I didn't come up with the headline (it was a narrow two columns in a big font), but here it is:

Making major minor strides

Pitcher Brett Myers, a year removed from Greg Legg and the Sally League, has his sights set on the Phillies.

This time last year, Brett Myers was riding buses around the South Atlantic League with his Piedmont Boll Weevils teammates and manager Greg Legg.

Now with the Reading Phillies of the Eastern League, Myers is on a fast track through the Philadelphia system, with Veterans Stadium that much closer.

But heading into spring training, the 6-4, 215-pound, hard-throwing right-hander was just looking to make a little progress.

"I had no clue," Myers said last week at Mercer County Waterfront Park before a game against the Trenton Thunder. "I was hoping to move up at least one level. Of course, I would've liked to be here (with Reading). That's what I was shooting for, but I was hoping for at least another level."

He took two steps from low-Class A Piedmont to Class AA Reading, and now stands just two steps from replacing the "R" on his cap with a "P." But Myers did not realize he would be this close to Broad Street until spring training was nearly over.

"About a week before we broke camp, when they put up the rosters," Myers said, he realized he had a good chance of playing for Reading. "But even then it wasn't set. I guess it didn't really hit me until I got on the plane."

The move has paid off for both the Phillies and the 20-year-old Floridian. Through Wednesday's 7-2 win over Akron, Myers is 5-1 with a 2.57 ERA in nine starts. He's struck out 50 in 56 innings, allowing 54 hits for a .250 average against. The numbers are good for 10th in the league in ERA, second in wins, ninth in innings pitched and 10th in strikeouts.

"It's still the same game," Myers said. "It never changes. The people around you change. They get better. And hopefully I do too, or get better than them and stay ahead. Hopefully I can keep it up."

Drafted in the first round in 1999 (12th overall), Myers went 2-1 with a 2.33 ERA in the Gulf Coast League. Last year at Piedmont under Legg and current Lakewood BlueClaws pitching coach Rod Nichols, Myers weathered his first full season with a 15-8 record and a 3.07 ERA.

"I learned how to pitch, how to develop my pitches a little better," Myers said of his year in the South Atlantic League. "I learned how to work hard to prepare for a full season. I found it not as tough as I thought it would be. I prepared for it well. If I hadn't, it would've been a lot tougher." With a fastball consistently reaching 92 or 93 mph and a hard-breaking curveball, Myers is considered by many to be the top prospect in the Phillies organization and the pitcher most likely to assume the power-pitcher, No.1 starter slot once held by Curt Schilling.

"Ultimately, everyone playing this game wants to get to the big leagues," Myers said. "That's why you play this game. And once you get there, it's staying there. I just have to take it one game at a time, keep progressing and keep learning, and I'll be OK."

Unimaginative fans let the Braves down

From the top in Atlanta.

This is the tenth in a series. Previous posts are:
Tiger Stadium
Atlantic City Surf
Trenton Thunder
Cape Fear Crocs
Newark Bears
New Jersey Cardinals
New Jersey Jackals
Staten Island Yankees
Somerset Patriots

Keep in mind that this was written five years before the Braves had to offer free tickets for Game 2 of the NLDS to anyone who bought tickets to Game 1.

Oct. 17, 1999

Atlanta does not deserve the Braves.

The people down there are not worthy of the so-called “Team of the ’90s,” which has won eight divisional titles but just one World Series.

It’s not as much of a baseball town as it might seem. They mask it well, those Atlantans, with their tomahawk chopping and Jane and Ted in their box seat beside the Braves dugout. They try to make you believe they cherish Braves history. Hank Aaron Drive lies nearby, and the spot where Aaron’s record-setting 715th career home run landed is marked on a wall that designates the outline of former Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium. But if they really cared, the new stadium would be named for him.

True baseball fans notice the differences, most of which are subtle.

Watching the Braves in Atlanta is a painful experience for a Mets fan, and I had my teeth clenched and my lip curled throughout Game 1 of the National League Championship Series Tuesday.

I loathe the Tomahawk Chop, a demeaning ritual stolen from Florida State football fans. I despise John Rocker and his fist-pumping, vein-popping outbursts as he leaves the field. I can’t stand Chipper Jones and his arrogance, as good as he is.

Despite all that, I hit the road for Georgia early Tuesday, making the 26-hour round trip in a span of 46-hours. On the way, I picked up Matt Loughran, a college buddy now living in Bethesda, Md. We spent most of our time either on or within 100 yards of I-85, and nine of our 17 hours in Atlanta were spent sleeping.

But I saw enough of what Atlanta Braves baseball is all about in that short time. My observations are obviously sweeping generalizations, but do reflect the atmosphere down there.

To begin, the Braves haven’t sold out a game yet this postseason. Entire sections were empty Tuesday night, as they had been for the first-round series against Houston. Part of the reason I went to Atlanta to see the Mets in the playoffs was because I knew I’d have a tough time trying to get tickets for any of the games at Shea Stadium. Of the eight teams in the postseason this year, the Braves had the best record, and probably the most tickets available.

For most people, a night at a Braves game seems to be a social event more than anything else. They head out to the game so they can go to work the next day, free foam tomahawk in hand, and say they were there.

Between innings, the huge video screen shows nothing but fans in the crowd, some of whom do take the time to make signs. A few referred to a Subway Series, saying it would derail in Atlanta, or this was the end of the line. One woman, though, caught the camera’s attention with a Braves message on one side, then turned it over to reveal, Eat Slop Piazza, N.Y.” The first letter of each line was written in red to highlight “ESPN.” Apparently she didn’t check her TV listings: The game was on NBC.

Those red tomahawks you see on television are distributed to anyone walking in the gates – even those wearing Mets jerseys. As Matt and I worked our way through the stadium, a high school-aged girl exclaimed to her friends as we passed, “Hey, that Mets fan had a tomahawk!”

When the annoying chant music blares through the stadium, the Braves fans rise, waving their tomahawks (never in unison) and moaning. The few times they tried to start the chop themselves, there was nowhere near enough support. And as soon as the music stops, so does the chop.

In the fifth inning of Game 1, Gerald Williams’ double brought Walt Weiss around for a 2-1 Braves lead. The fans were on their feet, cheering and chopping … until Bret Boone lined out to right field – that was Roger Cedeno’s brilliant Ron Swoboda-like diving play – for the second out of the inning. Two outs, a runner on second and an intentional walk to Chipper turned out to be a cheer-killer in Atlanta. Without the organ telling them what to do, the fans took their seats again as Pat Mahomes came into the game and retired Brian Jordan on a fly ball to center.

Mets fans made a good showing in Atlanta. Two guys sitting in front of us made the drive up from Florida for Games 1 and 2, and another originally from Brooklyn drove in from Alabama, where he is stationed in the Army. One section away from our seats, several fans began cheers of “Let’s go Mets!” at times during the game.

There is something to be said for southern hospitality, though. After Matt and I spent much of the game chatting with two Braves fans next to us, they offered to let us stay at their place that night.

But that would have been too much Braves for one night.

Tiger Stadium is baseball's greatest loss

The Corner: Michigan and Trumbull, Detroit.

This is the ninth in a series. Previous posts are:

Atlantic City Surf
Trenton Thunder
Cape Fear Crocs
Newark Bears
New Jersey Cardinals
New Jersey Jackals
Staten Island Yankees
Somerset Patriots

October 3, 1999

The San Francisco Giants finished their stay in Candlestick Park Thursday, and the Houston Astros conclude their tenure beneath the painted ceiling of the Astrodome today.

In July, the Seattle Mariners moved across the street from the Kingdome to Safeco Field, and, were it not for the accident that killed three ironworkers in the summer, the Milwaukee Brewers would probably be playing their last game in County Stadium this afternoon. As it is, the Brew Crew plans to move to Miller Park, just beyond County Stadium's right–field wall, in 2001.

Major league teams are building stadiums as frequently as the National Hockey League awards expansion franchises. But this season's greatest loss was Tiger Stadium. The old park at Michigan and Trumbull avenues – the Corner – was retired Monday with an 8–2 Detroit victory over the Kansas City Royals. Opened in 1912, Tiger Stadium sat up there with the remaining grand ballfields, which now number just three – Boston's Fenway Park, Chicago's Wrigley Field and Yankee Stadium.

Walking into Tiger Stadium is like stepping into 1912. Just like walking around the grounds of Monticello puts you in 1783 or a trip to Gettysburg somehow feels like 1863. Tiger Stadium is a time machine of sorts, and in your mind's eye, the scene before you is not of peeling blue paint from one renovation or another, but a living black–and–white photograph.

I managed to make a trip to Detroit in July, not wanting to make the same mistake after having been unable to get to Chicago before the original Comiskey Park closed. I dread a farewell visit to Fenway. I was there in Detroit the day the wind blew some of the panels off the press box, perhaps a reminder of why this 87–year–old building had to go.

Columns supporting the upper deck obstruct views. Fans in the back rows of the lower deck lose sight of the ball on towering home runs or cloud–scraping pop–ups. The concourses are narrow and crowded on high–attendance days. To get to sections in the upper deck, fans walk up a ramp to the concourse -- "hallway" is more like it -- then cross a catwalk to get outside again and find their seats.

But every view of the field, obstructed or not, is a great view. The fans are on top of the action, close enough to hear players communicate or the ball hit the bat. Both the upper and lower decks encircle the field, allowing those who come in from outside to forget where they are for an afternoon or evening.

Tiger Stadium exudes a strong feeling of history. Part of the reason is its location in Detroit's Corktown section, across Interstate 75 from the downtown skyscrapers. Fenway has Kenmore Square and the Massachusetts Turnpike nearly within reach of a Mark McGwire home run. Wrigley has the houses on Waveland Avenue right outside, and the Sears Tower visible from the bleachers. And anyone who drives to Yankee Stadium is not going to confuse today's traffic with that of the Roaring '20s.

Inside Fenway, the view from behind home plate might fool you, but one look up at the glass–enclosed boxes reminds you of recent changes. And as historic as Yankee Stadium is, the 1970s renovations get in the way of some time–traveling of the mind.

Tiger Stadium has few of these modern reminders, with the exception of Tiger Plaza, visible only from the street in the right–field corner where home plate was before the current structure was erected. That's where the team shop is, selling jerseys and backup catcher Bill Haselman's cracked batting–practice bat for $60. That's where you'll find Little Caesar's in the food court.

And that's where it becomes apparent that the Corner is no longer suitable for baseball. Fans of the future will not tolerate restrooms built in the 1950s, or seats behind a post. Hot dogs and peanuts are not always enough to satisfy a ballpark appetite. Baseball alone cannot draw the crowds the modern sport demands. Attending a ball game is an event, and the cost reflects it.

As sad as it is to see a venue with so much history fall to the wrecking ball, it is obviously necessary. With Tiger Stadium's first game on April 20, 1912, back when it was known as Navin Field, there were no lights, no television monitors, no Little Caesar's in right field. There was no electronic scoreboard or electronic public address system. The Tigers have to move.

They're not going far – not to Pontiac, as the Lions did in 1975, nor across town. The 21st century Tigers will play within a mile of the Corner, a 50–second (barring traffic), two–exit jaunt on the freeway to Comerica Park, with the Detroit skyline beyond the outfield fence. Comerica Bank, an older Detroit fixture than the Tigers, bought naming rights for the new stadium, and already the less–than–flattering nicknames have arisen: Commercial Park, and the CoPa.

But it won't be the same spot where the Tigers first played as a minor–league team in 1896, where Ty Cobb dragged bunts and slid into bases with his sharpened spikes glistening in the sun. It will not be where Lou Gehrig sat out what would have been his 2,131st consecutive game in 1939 or Mickey Cochrane scored the series–winning run in the ninth inning of Game 6 in 1935 World Series.

If Ken Griffey Jr. hits home run No.700, he won't have a chance to hit it in the same park where Babe Ruth launched his in 1934.

It won't be the Corner, and Michigan and Trumbull won't be quite the same.

Traveling to Atlantic City for baseball is worth the gamble

Warming up in the Atlantic City Surf bullpen.

This is the eighth in a series. Previous posts are:

Trenton Thunder
Cape Fear Crocs
Newark Bears
New Jersey Cardinals
New Jersey Jackals
Staten Island Yankees
Somerset Patriots

August 22, 1999

The Surf is always up at the Sandcastle.

The name is a bit misleading, but nonetheless, a trip to The Sandcastle is like a night at the beach.

The home of the Atlantic City Surf sits between a highway and an airfield – not the boardwalk and the shoreline – and, well, it’s not actually made out of sand. But it is an attractive, nostalgia-inspiring place. There’s a certain Boys of Summer feeling about it.

Arrive early and walk around the outside of the park – the outfield corners provide a close view of each team’s bullpen as the players prepare for the game during batting practice. Most likely you’ll find a small gathering of children – more like a chain-link gang than a knothole gang – chasing each baseball that clears the fence.

The steps leading up to the main entrance are decorated on each side by baseball murals depicting Babe Ruth, Jackie Robinson, Honus Wagner, Ty Cobb and generic feel-good scenes of sandlot games and barnstorming teams.

Inside, the wide concourse makes for easy access to seats, via the Monopoly-named rows – from Baltic Avenue in left field to Mediterranean Avenue in right. The closer the seats to home plate, the more prestigious the names. The two lower sections behind home are Boardwalk and Park Place.

The 5,836 seats share the same color scheme as the Surf uniforms, a soothing complement of aqua and blue – the color we all would like the Atlantic Ocean to be along the Jersey Shore.

Like any minor league park – and increasingly the major league venues as well – the outfield is one panoramic billboard mosaic. Missing from the various advertisements, though, is Donald Trump’s collection of hotels and casinos. There’s no need, though – Trump Plaza and the Taj Mahal dominate the Atlantic City skyline that serves as the backdrop to the field.

Arriving close to two hours before the 7:05 p.m. game on Wednesday, I bought a $9 box seat that put me in the front row behind the Surf dugout on the third-base side.

From there, you have a great view of the game, plenty of leg room and a dugout roof that can be used as a footrest or a place to set your dinner. You also get a front-row center orchestra seat for the fifth-inning “YMCA” dance, featuring as many kids as can fit safely on the roof.

Such a close seat also allows for a close view of Surf catcher Hector Villanueva, the former Chicago Cub who could have been the origin of the term “backstop” to refer to a pitcher’s batterymate.

The 6-1, 220-pound catcher took the ceremonial first pitches from two guests, then handled the ceremonial first bag of peanuts tossed out by a peanut vendor because it was his birthday. The vendor took the bag back before Hector had a chance to eat the peanuts.

Atlantic City owner Frank Boulton is the founder of the independent Atlantic League, which will expand to eight teams next summer.

Boulton, a Long Island resident, will also own the Long Island Ducks.

The Surf nickname works well so close to the ocean, but makes for some puns that get old fast. The public-address announcer begins the bottom of each inning with, “Ladies and gentlemen, Surrrrrrrrrrf’s up!” Each new pitcher was introduced with a different name for the mound – from sandhill to sand dune.

Before entering the game, instead of warming up in the bullpen, the relievers get loose in the Sandbox. OK, that one I kind of liked.

The Surf, in their second year at A.C., won the game, completing a three-game sweep of the Somerset Patriots. Former Met Chuck E. Carr homered and scored twice for the “Beach Boys,” (another one thought up by the P.A. guy) the 1998 Atlantic League champions.

Former major league all-star Ruben Sierra went 1-for-4 with a single, and Villanueva walked twice but never made it around to score. Kerry Taylor went 7 1/3 innings to improve to 2-2 on the season.

It was fireworks night after the game, so I put my feet up on the dugout as each light tower was shut down for the show. While the pyrotechnic display exploded beyond the scoreboard in left field and the patriotic music came through the speakers, I thought how nice it was for the Surf to end my eight-week summer odyssey at minor league ballparks with such flair.

Now I might have a chance to catch the Mets at Shea.

Thunder covers all the bases

Where minor league baseball returned to New Jersey.

This is the seventh in a series. Previous posts are:

Cape Fear Crocs
Newark Bears
New Jersey Cardinals
New Jersey Jackals
Staten Island Yankees
Somerset Patriots

August 8, 1999

Something sets Mercer County Waterfront Park aside from the rest of New Jersey's minor league baseball scene.

It might be the setting – on one side, rows of houses on the outskirts of Trenton; on the other, the flowing water of the Delaware River, at this point still respectably high despite the lack of rain.

It could be the tenure – only in its sixth season, Waterfront Park and the Trenton Thunder are the senior members of New Jersey's collection of minor league baseball teams.

Or maybe it just comes down to the players and the level of baseball being played before 6,000 fans every night. As the Boston Red Sox's Class AA franchise – only two rungs from Fenway Park on the organizational ladder – the Thunder players are among the best of Red Sox future. There's the chance one of the players can take the field as a member of the Thunder and walk back into the dugout to be told he's got to pack his bags for Pawtucket or Boston.

Some names on the back of those Boston road jerseys are still familiar to loyal Thunder fans – Lou Merloni, Brian Rose and Nomar Garciaparra. Bret Saberhagen even made some starts for Trenton while rehabilitating his arm on the way back to the majors.

Now there are new players making their names known. By this time next summer we could be reading about Rafael Betancourt, Andy Hazlett (it should be noted here at the Shore that the Oregon native pronounces it Hays–lett), David Gibralter or Nate Tebbs starring on Yawkey Way. Tomokazu Ohka, the first native of Japan to play in the Red Sox organization, can still be found in this year's Thunder yearbook, and I saw him get rocked by the Tigers in Detroit two weeks ago.

Trenton does it all. The ticket prices and between–inning entertainment are minor league, the pinstripes and four different hats (one each for home, away, Sunday home and away on cloudless weeknights or something) are major league. The players for both teams are young and aggressive, flashy when they can be and resourceful when they need to be. You can't help but enjoy yourself in a packed stadium on a summer night with the breeze blowing off the river.

I drove out to Waterfront Park on Tuesday with my sister, Jessica, and we met a family friend and Notre Dame classmate, Liz Petruska, who had a considerably shorter drive from Hopewell. It took us an hour from the Shore. Regular readers of this column may notice that every park but Skylands in Sussex County has taken 45 to 75 minutes to reach. Even with the construction closing Route 29, the traffic off the interstate was bearable. As a result, we took Cass Road, also named Thunder Road, which is certainly appropriate considering Mr. Springsteen's current run at the Meadowlands. Couldn't find Roy Orbison singing for the lonely, though.

Unlike any of the previous parks I've visited, I called ahead for Thunder tickets, but only on one day's notice. Still, we had good seats just to the first–base side of home plate in the last row, right in front of the reclining chairs set up on the concourse for the Stevens Furniture "Best Seat In The House" promotion.

As they've done all season – forgive me, but it's hard not to use this one here – the Thunder rolled. Second baseman David Eckstein led off the game with a triple and finished with four hits in five at–bats, only a home run short of the cycle. The New Haven Ravens – the Mariners' affiliate – put four runs up in the fourth for a 4–2 lead, but the Thunder stormed back (sorry again) and held on for a 5–4 win.

After the game, the stadium announcer mentioned that Trenton's magic number now stood at 20. Magic number! That's not a phrase you usually hear two days into August unless you're talking about the 1998 Yankees. But this team is blowing through the Eastern League with a 151/2–game lead late last week on the Norwich Navigators, the second–place team in the Northern Division. The entire South Division is within eight games of first place.

You may have noticed from other ballparks, but the concession prices are always the same. In Trenton, the rather hard cheeseburger cost $3.25 and a helmet full of fries was $4. A huge soda, probably a liter, was $4.25 in a souvenir cup. A glance at the board told me water costs $2.25, juice $2.75, glasses of chardonnay and white zinfandel $3.25 and beer (Miller Lite, Coors Light, Michelob, Yuengling Black and Tan, River Horse Ale) anywhere from $3.50 to $5. Jessica, Liz and I kept talking about getting cotton candy – and how none of us could remember ever seeing it come in purple – but we settled for Carvel ice cream that was perfect for the warm night.

The success of the Thunder in Trenton has happened all over America with teams in similar cities sparking a rebirth, drawing people back from the suburbs. They're roaring down Thunder Road, and it looks like this year it will end in a championship.

Lakewood's minor league team is a major loss for Cape Fear

Uh ... "welcome" to J.P. Riddle Stadium.

This is the sixth in a series. Previous posts are:

Newark Bears
New Jersey Cardinals
New Jersey Jackals
Staten Island Yankees
Somerset Patriots

August 15, 1999

It's sad, really.

In the spring of 2001, Lakewood will join six other New Jersey towns and cities on the minor league baseball map. Many people along the Shore are already excited about the team coming to Lakewood, but it comes at the expense of fans in the Sandhills region of southeastern North Carolina.

As excited as New Jersey fans will be to welcome the franchise to Lakewood, that's how sad the fans down Interstate 95 will feel when they say goodbye to their Cape Fear Crocs.

The Class A Crocs will finish this South Atlantic League season and the next in 11–year–old J.P. Riddle Stadium in Fayetteville, N.C., a city of 75,000 that lies halfway between New York and Miami on I–95. Then the organization will leave, re–emerging at the start of the 2001 season in Lakewood, with a new nickname.

After a two–game visit to Riddle Stadium, I can see why Crocs owner Greg Padgett decided to sell his team to the American Baseball Co., the same group that owns the Class AA Eastern League Trenton Thunder and Reading Phillies. It's a small stadium with metal stands, seats and bleachers. There is no covering over the seats, no concourse, no concession or souvenir stands other than separate, free–standing sheds behind the stands. The six–person Crocs staff has a trailer set up at the end of one building to use as its office.

The scoreboard has no video screen and lists only the bare essentials – line score, pitch count and batter's uniform number.

It's minor league baseball like it used to be, really. Just like in "Bull Durham," only without the big bull beyond the outfield wall. But not even that landmark stadium could avoid the progress of the wrecking ball, and now the Class AAA Bulls – in a higher classification – play in a new park.

These days, no–frills baseball does not cut it for a public that expects to be entertained wherever it goes. In fact, we prefer to be entertained while waiting to be entertained. A mere baseball game is not going to be enough to satisfy a culture that produced a demand for minivans with videocassette recorders and video screens. Seems the journey is no longer half the fun, we just want to get there.

The journey to Carolina's Cape Fear region covers a little more than 500 miles and takes nine to 10 hours, depending on speed and stops. I spent the entire trip down with Bruce Springsteen – someone who knows about small communities hitting hard times – in the tape deck. I later checked how far his entire roster of albums would take you – easily from here to Miami, with 19 hours of Boss music from the start of "Greetings from Asbury Park" to the end of "Tracks."

City on the rebound

I toured Fayetteville on Tuesday before that night's game with the Delmarva Shorebirds. It's an old city, established in 1783 and one of many U.S. cities named for the Revolutionary War hero the Marquis de Lafayette. Before establishing Raleigh as the state capital, the North Carolina Legislature met in Fayetteville, and it was there in 1789 that it ratified the U.S. Constitution and chartered the University of North Carolina, the oldest state university in America.

Dozens of miles from the ocean, Fayetteville is North Carolina's most inland port, thanks to the Cape Fear River that lends its name to businesses all over the state's southeastern corner. The actual Cape Fear lies about 80 miles south, which would make a long ride for Robert DeNiro holding onto the bottom of a car.

Eight historic churches are scattered about town, along with other significant buildings and landmarks. The Old Market House now occupies the site of the old State House, where the Legislature ratified the Constitution and founded UNC. The Market House is a national landmark, centered in a traffic circle at the intersection of four downtown streets. It's a bittersweet picture with such an elegant building sitting among abandoned storefronts.

Leading west from the Market House is Hay Street, a cobblestone, tree–lined avenue with storefronts along either side. It's the type of street that should be blocked off on weekends with hordes of people shopping, eating, sightseeing, but there are only a few stores to attract any crowd; one of every three buildings is occupied, with the others whitewashed and boarded.

But Fayetteville is making a comeback. I had watched a city–produced tourism pitch on television and recognized many of the projects under way or about to start. Storefronts and entire buildings are under renovation. The only problem is the city may not have baseball to help with the rebound, the way Trenton and Newark are pulling themselves up with the help of America's pastime.

Still fighting

If baseball does not return to Fayetteville for some time after the Crocs leave, it won't be because of a lack of effort by team management.

General manager Brad Taylor and the director of media and military special events, Buck Rogers, know they need to make a push for baseball in the region. Every home date left on the 1999 Crocs schedule has some promotion attached to it, and there's certainly going to be a lot planned for next season.

But despite their efforts, the Crocs rank last in Sally League attendance. Through 52 home dates, Cape Fear was averaging 1,202 fans with a total of 62,523. The Shorebirds, an Orioles affiliate playing in Salisbury, Md., led the league with 236,068, an average of 4,216 for their 56 home dates.

"We have 55,000 people stationed at Ft. Bragg," Rogers said. "Every Monday home game is Military Monday, where anyone with any kind of military ID gets in free. But we had only 620 people here last (Monday)."

That's about all the Crocs got for each of the three games on last week's homestand – 620 to 670 people per game. After winning Monday's game 7–3, Cape Fear dropped the second game 6–1 to fall into a three–way tie atop the standings with Delmarva and the Hagerstown (Md.) Suns. The Shorebirds won Wednesday's game 8–3, sending the Crocs to third place.

It seems that the record on the field has nothing to do with it.

"The bottom line is, a facility will make or break baseball in Fayetteville," Rogers said. "No team will even remotely consider coming here without ground being broken and ongoing construction."

A little more than a mile up the road, back toward the city, the new $55 million Crown Coliseum draws 3,000 for Fayetteville Force ice hockey games, and sells out the 10,000–seat arena for professional wrestling.

"Around here, if it's not NASCAR or All–Star wrestling, they don't care," Rogers said.

So next summer, while we watch the progress on Lakewood's 6,500–seat park, baseball fans in Cape Fear will be counting the days until J.P. Riddle Stadium finally falls silent for good. Just don't call the Crocs lame.

"People are saying we're going to be a lame–duck team next year," Taylor said. "It's only lame duck if you make it that. If the fans make it, if the community makes it, if we as a staff let it. But if we don't give a push at the end and show people that we want baseball here, it could be 10 years before anyone looks at this region again."

Newark delivers history lesson

The Bears' den in Newark.

August 1, 1999

New Jersey's baseball history is rooted in Newark. Sure, one of the first organized professional games was played in Hoboken, but Newark's involvement with the national pastime lasted much longer.

However, in 1949, it all disappeared. The old Newark Bears, at times a Class AAA affiliate of the Brooklyn Dodgers and then the New York Yankees, were sold to the Chicago Cubs and moved to Springfield, Mass. In 1937, the Bears won the pennant by 251/2 games, went on to win the "Little World Series" and are considered one of the best minor league teams of all time.

The Eagles, Newark's franchise in the Negro Leagues back when too many people felt separation was necessary, also left town, and it took 50 years to bring baseball back.

Baseball's back in Newark with the new Bears playing in the independent Atlantic League at their unfinished park along McCarter Highway and the Passaic River. Officially, it's called Riverfront Stadium, but everyone considers it "The Den." They are the Bears, after all.

Attending a Newark Bears game does have a feeling of history to it, knowing that these players are, in a way, descendants of baseball back in the day when the uniforms were flannel and never included the color teal. My mother came with me on this trip because her family history dates back to Newark's Italian north side, where her grandmother's house was torn down to make way for Interstate 280.

Riverfront Stadium actually borders the McCarter Highway, which runs along the Passaic River. The $34 million park, which makes it one of the most expensive minor league parks in America, is finished enough to play baseball – the concourse and all the seats are complete, as are the clubhouses down the left field line. But the second level – what will become the press and broadcast booths and luxury boxes – is still under construction. A drawing in the program shows what the place will look like, with landscaping and a courtyard surrounding it, when construction is complete. Parking is conveniently close for $4.

These young Bears – who played last season in Bridgeport, Conn., and the first part of 1999 at Skylands Park in Augusta – are owned by former Yankees and Mets catcher Rick Cerone, who was at the turnstiles when the gates opened. Cerone spent much of the game in the stands, signing autographs and even dancing between innings at one point.

Whether or not current players, such as former Yankee Hensley "Bam Bam" Meulens, know anything about Newark's history, the game program does a fine job of reminding the fans. Old photos of both the Bears and Eagles appear on the cover and throughout the magazine, along with an article on the history of the current stadium's site as well as team history. It's the best program I've seen after visiting five parks, with detailed player profiles and lots of information about the team history and how Newark got baseball back.

Even the mascot, Rip 'N Ruppert, gets his name from the past – Ruppert Stadium, where those Bears and Eagles used to play in a park named for one–time Yankee owner Col. Jacob Ruppert.

Mom and I settled into our $8 seats just beyond first base, and the first few innings of Tuesday's game went quickly. The Bears' Tim Cain and the Bridgeport Bluefish's Al Sontag battled to a 2–1 Bridgeport lead after four innings. In the fifth, shortstop Cesar Morillo and third baseman Meulens sent back–to–back home runs toward McCarter Highway for a 3–2 Bears lead. Cain couldn't hold it, though, and Bridgeport scored two in the eighth and one in the ninth for a 5–3 victory.

Morillo's homer, because it was the Bears' first of the night, won the couple next to me a free dinner. Later in the night, two more couples competed for Great Adventure tickets. The men tossed up water balloons and the ladies had to hit the balloons with bats. It certainly cooled them off. If you're interested in winning, be sure to sign up for the promotions along the concourse.

As far as food – when it's not under– or over–cooked, it basically tastes the same at all ballparks, with slight differences in selection. I had a decent $2.25 hamburger (again, like the Jackals' game, no cheese) and a great $2 pretzel. Beer – Coors, Coors Light, Sam Adams, Killian's – cost $3.25 to $4. Mom said the hot dogs were good and hot, and the service was very nice. Chicken sandwiches and bags of chips were also available.

The attendance Tuesday was announced at 2,623, but there was a sense that it went way beyond the 6,100 capacity of the Den. With the Bears back in town, Newark has 50 years of baseball to catch up on.

DIRECTIONS: Take the New Jersey Turnplike to Exit 15W. Get on I–280 West to Exit 15A (Route21) Follow signs for Route 21 South– also McCarter Highway. Turn right onto Route 21. At the second light, turn right onto Bridge Street. The stadium will be on the right.

Skylands Park made for fans

July 25, 1999

Skylands Park is New Jersey’s Field of Dreams.

Take the barn-style architecture, add the rolling hills and countryside, and throw in 32 eager, aspiring ballplayers wearing those classic – and classy – Cardinal uniforms, and people will come, Ray.

I went to a town called Augusta Monday, just a little early, and spent some time walking the trails of Stokes State Forest, just seven miles form the ballpark off Route 206 north. I passed the Appalachian Trail getting there, too. You might want to make a day of it, in part because it is a one-hour, 45-minute drive up that way from the Little Silver/Red Bank area.

You’ll know you are getting closer to Skylands park when Route 15 goes from four lanes down to two and you start seeing the neatly rolled hay bales dotting the fields around you. Then you’ll get to the intersection with Route 206 and a gas station on the corner. Make a right there, and you’ll see Skylands Park on your left – across the cornfield. It’s a big complex, with a batting cage, karate school and a small sporting goods store that serves as the New Jersey Cardinals gift shop.

I flew solo on this trip and bought an $8 box seat at about 5:30 for a 7:15 game. I sat in the first row, just five seats from the third-base dugout, and have never felt so close to a baseball game in which I was not playing. The on-deck hitters for the Hudson Valley Renegades, the Tampa Bay Devil Rays’ New York-Penn League affiliate, were so close I could have offered them some last-minute tips before they walked to the batter’s box. I could see the wrinkles in their jerseys. When Andy Diaz, the former Florida State star I recognized from last month’s College World Series, came out and warmed up for each at bat, the breeze picked up. He whipped his Louisville Slugger around so fast with one hand loosening up, I just hoped he did not lose his grip.

Skylands Park and New Jersey Cardinals games are for real baseball fans. You have to be willing to drive nearly two hours to watch two teams with maybe two or three recognizable names between them. There were not nearly as many contests and giveaways between innings – no advertising the giant Cardinal mascot, and only a few appearances by the roving microphone guy in the stands. The T-shirt slingshot came out a couple of times, and it was autograph bat night, so about 50 fans selected by their seat numbers won wooden bats which they could have autographed after the game. There was no karaoke on top of the dugout, which was music to my ears. Other than the fried dough and fresh-cut French fries, the menu selection is small and basic. It was more laid back and I loved it.

The first two innings were scoreless. The Cardinals’ B.R. Cook allowed leadoff doubles in each inning, but exciting plays by shortstop Damon Thames and centerfielder Tim Lemon – who threw Diaz out at home – kept the Renegades off the scoreboard. Hudson Valley starter Cody Getz – a lanky 6-foot-8 lefty – imitated David Cone for five batters, striking out four of them, but then got drilled on the right arm by a Lemon line drive. Getz went five innings, striking out seven, but allowed four runs on six hits in New Jersey’s 7-2 win.

Skylands came alive in the third when the Cards took a 2-0 lead on three consecutive hits, including two towering doubles. It seemed louder than any of the minor league crowds I’d heard so far this summer, but that may have been because I sat so close to the action. Fly balls do not seem to carry at Skylands, and I do not know if it was the weather, the pitchers, the hitters or the park. As a result, the two teams combined for five doubles, a triple, and a lot of long flyball outs to the warning track. But doubles and triples keep the crowd cheering longer anyway.

Without anyone to help with the food testing, I could only muster an appetite for the nachos grande and a huge Pepsi in a $2.75 Cardinals souvenir cup. The nachos ($4.25) came with plenty of cheese and salsa, and the jalapenos added the spice. Pretzels are $2.25, peanuts and popcorn $3.25. Bottled water is $2.50 and beers (Coors, Coors Light, Sam Adams among the choices) cost $3.25 for 16 ounces and $3.75 for 20.

After the game, the Cardinals players were given autograph pens and the fans who had won bats were allowed onto the field to get signatures from any of the players. I imagine the autograph book giveaway on Aug. 16 will be handled in a similar manner.

I enjoyed the scene for a little while, then made my way to the parking lot. It took only five minutes to exit the lot, then about three more to get back to Route 15. The field lights illuminated Skylands Park, which stood out in the night of that Sussex County cornfield. I turned onto Route 15 and the traffic disappeared, and I was swallowed by the country darkness.

It ain’t over till it’s over at Yogi Berra Stadium

Sunset at Yogi Berra Stadium, Montclair.

July 18, 1999

The beautiful thing about baseball is that from April through September there’s always a game.

While the major league All-Stars slugged it out in the Home Run Derby in Boston on Monday, my father, my friend Dave and I traveled to Yogi Berra Stadium on the campus of Montclair State University to watch the independent New Jersey Jackals host the Massachusetts Mad Dogs in a Northern League contest.

Last season, the Jackals won the Northeast League, which then took its eight teams and merged with the powerful Northern League – made up of teams from Wisconsin, Illinois and the Dakotas. The Northern League Central (the original Northern League) includes the St. Paul Saints, which has featured Rey Ordonez, Darryl Strawberry, J.D. Drew and currently Matt Nokes on the roster.

The Northern League East, in which the Jackals had the best record at 23-19 heading into Friday, keeps to itself in Pennsylvania, New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, New Jersey and Quebec. The two sides will not meet until the third and final round of the playoffs when the Central and East champions compete in a best-of-5 series for the Northern League championship.

But if the Jackals play like they did in Monday’s 18-7 loss to the Mad Dogs, they won’t be making any trips to the Midwest come September.

First pitch for Jackals’ home games is 7:10, so plan some extra time for traffic. It took us 70 minutes to get to Yogi Berra Stadium. Unfortunately, it did not leave enough time to visit the Yogi Berra Museum, which sits above the field on the first-base side with Yogi and Yankees memorabilia – including the Yankees World Series trophy on loan.

It was at the museum where Berra reconciled with Yankees owner George Steinbrenner, and the team is honoring Yogi with Yogi Berra Day today at the Stadium.

The field is built into a hill, which gave me the sensation of looking down on the players in a different sense from the one you get climbing into the bleachers at other parks. It’s more of a feeling of actually watching from a hill than a man-made rise of cement and steel.

Our $8 box seats were on the third-base side, just off home plate, in the higher section of boxes. All the lower boxes are reserved for season-ticket holders. Reserved-seat bleachers are down the lines beyond the boxes, and out in the right-field foul area is a picnic area and grass hill. Four dollars gets you in there, where you can bring your own chairs or blankets. Also bring a glove and be ready to run. Most of the foul balls were run down by kids out on the lawn. Parking is free.

It was not a good day for New Jersey starting pitcher Pete Terrana, who gave up six runs on two hits and five walks in just 2 1/3 innings. All but one Massachusetts starter scored, and only two did not drive in at least one run. Left fielder Tony Mitchell homered twice and scored four runs. Speedy and exciting right fielder Juan Polanco drove in six runs with two triples to right-center field and a towering home run into the left-field darkness.

The Jackals roster includes two familiar names from the major leagues. Mark Lemke, a former second baseman for the Boston Red Sox and Atlanta Braves, is in his rookie season as a knuckleball pitcher. He came off the disabled list Wednesday, so I missed him on the mound.

Batting third is designated hitter “P.J.” Rose, which is a weak disguise for a player who lists his residence as Cincinnati and highest level of experience as “MLB.” The game program confirmed my suspicions: It’s Pete Rose Jr., the Hit King’s son who made a token appearance with the Reds last year after bouncing around in the minor leagues for most of the 90s.

P.J. doubled in two runs in the third, and he looked like Charlie No Hustle coasting into second while the right fielder misplayed the ball in the corner. After reading the games notes, though, I gave him and his sore hamstring the benefit of the doubt.

Dad gave the $2.50 hot dogs an OK – they were hot, but rather small. Dave was disappointed with his Jackals souvenir cup – for $4, he did get a lot of soda, but it came in an uninspiring clear, plastic beaker. It looked like something we used for chemistry labs at Red Bank Regional.

Yogi Berra Stadium had something I’ve not yet seen at minor league parks: the “combo meal.” Chicken, hot dogs and burgers (though no cheese) are all available with fries and a small soda for about $5.50.

The beer selection was again your basic ballpark fare (Bud, Bud Lite, Miller Lite, Michelob) with the pleasant addition of Molson Canadian. And for $6, you can get it in a plastic half-yard “glass” with the Jackals logo, a wonderful way to enjoy minor league ball as long as someone else is driving.

It turned out to be a comfortable night to enjoy a game, with the overcast sky keeping temperatures cool all night. There was some rain during the last inning, but by that time there were so few people left the public-address announcer could have leaned out of the press box and shouted the batters’ names.

Maybe some of Mark McGwire’s moon shots up in Boston brought the rain down.

Holy cow! It’s mini-Yankees

Shad Whiteley delivers a pitch.

Second in a series.

July 11, 1999

The Pittsfield (Mass.) Mets were in town Tuesday, so the Staten Island Yankees billed it as the “Subway Series of Tomorrow.”

But how many of these players will actually make it to “The Show” and play against each other in a New York battle? Despite the lack of a subway that can get you from Staten Island to Pittsfield, Mass., I thought of it as the “Mini-Subway Series.”

It took 50 minutes to get to the College of Staten Island from Marlboro, where I went to pick up Uncle Paul – not really an uncle of mine, just one of those family friends you call “uncle” because that’s what your parents said. I owed it to him. He and Aunt Sandy took me to my first baseball game when I was 7 years old. It was Yankee Stadium in 1983, but I was more excited to see Reggie Jackson, who was with the California Angels then. Reggie was the only player I knew by name on either team. I still have a Yankee pennant from that day – yellowed from spending 16 years on the walls of my room – though I followed my parents’ influence and became a Mets fan.

The Staten Island Yankees, part of the Class A New York-Penn League that includes the New Jersey Cardinals, will play at the college through the 2000 season while their park is built out by the ferry terminal in St. George. It’s a nice campus, and the parking was free (maybe because we got there two hours before the 7 p.m. game). But for someone who has seen a lot of college baseball games, the setting was not that impressive.

The Yankees do a spectacular job with what they’ve got, though. A huge section of bleachers runs from the right-field foul line into right-center. They’ve also added grandstands past both first and third base to increase the seating capacity to more than 4,500. All the food stands and souvenir tents are lined up behind the first-base grandstand, along with a Port-o-John subdivision that serves as restrooms. It felt like walking along a carnival midway with Nat King Cole’s “Lazy, Hazy Days of Summer,” Sinatra’s “Strangers In The Night” – Paul’s favorite – and contemporary music for the kids coming through the speakers.

Our $8 tickets put us in the third base grandstand, right where the outfield grass meets the infield dirt. We had a perfect view of the field, and – take note – were in the shade of the trees as the sun set behind us. At 6 p.m., the outfield clock showed 101 degrees. And it was humid. By the time the game ended just before 10 p.m., it had cooled down to 89. Beware: It is a college stadium, and every seat is a metal bleacher bench. You get sore. Bring a seat cushion in case you do not catch a free one thrown into the stands.

On the field, the Staten Islanders truly look like Mini-Yankees (Mini-Michael Kaye impression here): “The Yankees are wearing their button-down white home uniforms with the blue pinstripes, the blue interlocking ‘NY’ on the chest and blue numbers – no names – on the back. Blue socks and blue caps, but no white interlocking ‘NY.’ Instead the lids have the Yankees’ famous bat and top hat logo, with ‘Staten Island’ written in the ribbon underneath.”

They even played “New York, New York” when the game was over.

Pittsfield wore black jerseys – somehow black is a traditional Mets color after little more than a season – and gray pants like the ones worn in Flushing in the 80s, with the blue-and-orange stripe down the legs. Also black caps with a “P” and blue bills.

With the Mini-Mets in town, the fans got into the New York rivalry. Throughout the game, the cheers were as loud for the visitors as they were for the home team. Maybe because the Mets provided all the excitement. Yankees starter Shad Whiteley struck out 11 in five innings, but gave up three runs. The Mets went on to win 6-0, but went down in order in the ninth when Marlboro’s Jason Faigin came on to pitch.

The Yankees make sure everyone gets involved, with contests each inning and about a dozen giveaways with signatures on advertisements in the program. The mascot – Scooter, the Holy Cow – and other spent the game in the stands tossing free stuff to the 4,100 sweaty fans.

Paul loved his job as the hot dog taster, going back a few times during the game for the $1.75 franks, which were “nice and soft, bigger than the roll.” Bottled Pepsi and water were $2. I had a couple of slices of (“Staten Island’s own”) Bario’s pizza, $2 each, with whole pies available for the entire family. Most snacks were brought through the stands by vendors, but you’ll have to walk (not far, though) to get any beer. Vendors stationed near the entrances to the stands sell Corona, Coors Light, Beck’s and Rolling Rock for $2.50 to $3.50.

As Nat King Cole sang while we filed out of the park, “You’ll wish that summer could always be here.”

A visit to Bridgewater the Patriotic thing to do

Behind the plate in Bridgewater.

Pitchers and catchers begin reporting to spring training on Feb. 16, 2005. That's a little more than nine weeks from now. So starting today, with these 10 Fridays we have between now and then, I've decided to post some columns I wrote a few years ago when I was covering the minor leagues. I've wanted to include them in an electronic archive for posterity, and I figured the offseason was as good a time as any. Actual print dates are listed, but I take no responsibility for the headlines editors gave the columns. They appear as the titles to each entry.

July 4, 1999

Six years ago, New Jersey had no professional baseball teams. Now there are six in the Garden State, with another just over on Staten Island and one coming to Lakewood in 2001. Staff writer Dan [Lastname] will spend a night out at the ballpark each week this summer in search of the best baseball experience this side of Flushing or the Bronx.

Welcome to my dream.

It did not take much for my editors to convince me to take this assignment. In fact, they barely had to ask, and I eagerly accepted. By the end of August, I’ll have visited all six minor league teams in New Jersey, as well as the new Yankees affiliate on Staten Island and one other franchise yet to be determined. Eight weeks, eight parks, eight columns relating my experiences.

It begins with our newest diamond, Bridgewater’s Somerset Ballpark, home of the Somerset Patriots of the independent Atlantic League, a six-team organization with thre of the franchises in New Jersey. All last season and the first month of the 1999 campaign, the Patriots played all their games on the road – 125 straight – while the new brick-faced park was built in Bridgewater.

Certainly, it was a burden to the players to live in motels and ride buses everywhere, but for the fans it was worth the wait.

Getting to the park was no problem; my friend Dave got us the 41 miles from Little Silver (Exit 109) to the parking lot in 45 minutes on a Monday night for a game against the Atlantic City Surf (the third Atlantic League team in the state is the Newark Bears, who will open their stadium on July 16). There is also the convenience of New Jersey Transit’s Northeast Corridor line stopping just beyond the right field wall, if that interchange from the Parkway onto 287 just north of the Driscoll Bridge does not excite you as much as it does Dave and his BMW.

Without advance tickets I went to the window and asked for two of the best available seats.

“O.K.,” said the woman behind the glass, “how about Field Box? Behind home plate, front row?”

I took them.

For $8.50 apiece, Dave and I found ourselves tugging at the protective screen behind the plate, telling each other how cool this was. Put me in the front row at the ballpark, and I regress into immaturity. After the Hillsborough Royals took the field with the Patriots for the National Anthem, sung by the Parsons School Chorus, we settled in for the first pitch from lefthander Justin Jensen. It was a fastball – behind the plate, you see everything. Throughout the game, Dave called out the pitches (“Oh, what a curve!”) while I kept score.

The front-row seats magnified the entire ballpark experience in the cozy stadium with seats down both foul lines and billboards lending color to the outfield wall. The continuous murmur from the crowd provided background for the sounds on the field – the pop of a fastball in the catcher’s mitt, the crack of the bat, the call of the umpire and the communication among the players. Even the labels on the bats were legible from Row 1.

The problem with sitting right behind the plate is those foul balls that hit the screen, which gives at least 12 inches. Lean forward in your seat at the wrong moment, and a ball could still bounce off your face. And watch those drinks you place on top of the wall – a ball high into the screen took ours out; luckily we’d drunk most of them. You don’t think of these things in the upper deck at Shea.

Independent baseball teams usually have a varied group of athletes on the roster. Some are former all-stars or world champions, others are rookies you’ve never heard of.

The most recognizable name on the Somerset roster is Bobby Bonds Jr., the son of the former Giant and brother of three-time MVP Barry. Junior Bonds is a lanky (6-4, 185 pounds) version of his brother with an identical stance, only from the right side of the plate.

The Surf brought with them Ruben Sierra, the former Texas Rangers superstar who could not seem to find as much success in Oakland, the Bronx, Detroit or the Mets farm system as he did in Arlington. When Sierra, batting cleanup, walked in the eighth and trotted down to first base, he became part of the perfect picture of independent league baseball.

Leading off first was Sierra, a former all-star and MVP runner-up who, at 6-1 and 200 pounds, still looks like a major leaguer. Covering the bag for Somerset was Brian Traxler, a 5-10, 240-pound bulldozer who would not look out of place playing in your local firemen’s beer-ball league.

Speaking of beer, this is where Somerset goes big-league. The drafts on tap cover all the Lites – Miller, Bud, Coors and so on – but at heavy prices, $3.50 and $4.25. Sodas are $2, but for $3 you get a cup to keep. The fries and hot dogs (which Dave called, “pretty good”) cost $3. Our favorite were the tri-colored nachos, $3.25 with just a little spice to the cheese. Or if you feel like pizza, flag down one of the Domino’s vendors in the stands.

Next week I’ll cross the Outerbridge Crossing to the College of Staten Island, home – for now – of the Class A Staten Island Yankees.

Pawtucket Red Sox vs. Durham Bulls, June 12

I should be more diligent with posting here. It's not for a lack of interest; there's certainly plenty of baseball topics on which I'd love to pontificate, and many of them have nothing to do with my disdain for Barry Bonds or the Yankees.

I wanted to dissect the Mets' draft, how they took something like six pitchers among their first 10 picks, with four of them being college pitchers. Other thoughts included logging my game experiences. On Tuesday I went to my fifth Mets game this year -- at least one per homestand, so far, save the short four-game set against the Marlins at the beginning of the month while I was away. I'm now 5-for-5 in Mets games and Steve Trachsel starts, amazingly, and the team is 4-1 when I'm in attendance. I've also got a decent 3-2 upper deck-to-field level ratio as far as seat location goes. The July 3 Mets-Yankees game won't be too bad, either: mezzanine box. And, if the rotation holds, Trachsel will pitch the Friday night game on July 2.

There's so much more I planned to do with this site, but unfortunately I started it at a time when my responsibilities at work changed -- for the better -- and have led to much more work and much less free time in the office. I therefore have less free time to type away freely at work, and when I get home my time spent on the computer is often related to my renewed interest in The Sims. Otherwise, I'm playing some Xbox -- MVP Baseball 2004, naturally -- or watching baseball on the Extra Innings package. There are also shows like Reno 911 or Celebrity Poker Showdown that draw my attention as well.

But last Saturday, I got in the car and shot up I-95 to Providence, where I caught up with Neil Solondz, the first-year broadcaster for the Durham Bulls whom I got to know when he was doing the same job for the Lakewood BlueClaws their first three seasons. We met for lunch and talked baseball, along with his fiancee, at an Italian place up on Federal Hill, a short walk from their downtown Providence hotel. After lunch, Sari took Neil to the ballpark and I walked past the Dunkin' Donuts Center and the Westin Hotel to the Providence Place Mall, a giant three-level, carpeted feat of consumerism that was a pleasant and relaxing respite from the hot summer day, not to mention a good way to kill two hours before I could head to the ballpark.

Around 4, I traveled four exits on I-95 up to Pawtucket and arrived at McCoy Stadium, my first Triple-A ballpark. I've seen minor league games at Trenton's Double-A park and the Class A facilities in Lakewood, Kannapolis, Greensboro, South Bend, Augusta (New Jersey) and Staten Island. There have also been independent games in Newark, Bridgewater, Montclair and Atlantic City -- all in the Garden State. But our closest Triple-A club is the Phillies' affiliate in Scranton, Penn. Pawtucket is next, then Richmond, I think.

McCoy is a 62-year-old facility that seats just over 10,000, rather small for a AAA ballpark. They could sell more tickets if they had more room, this being the heart of Red Sox country. With the move two years ago of their AA affiliate from Trenton to Portland, Me., Boston now has three of its five top farm clubs within New England -- Pawtucket (AAA), Portland (AA) and Lowell (short-season A). Only Augusta, Ga. (low-Class A) and Sarasota (high-A) require a flight by the minor-league instructors who bounce from team to team.

McCoy has that 1940s minor-league charm in the 30 or so rows of seats that begin down at the field and climb up to the top of the grandstand, many beneath the roof supported by posts that obstruct views of a select few seats throughout the stadium. But the outfield is all 21st Century baseball innovation. The scoreboard features a video screen that, on June 12, showed the afternoon Fox broadcast of the Red Sox-Dodgers game, Joe Buck's play-by-play echoing throughout McCoy Stadium as the Durham Bulls took batting practice. Down the left-field line, a platform dotted with picnic tables and umbrellas provided a general-admission eating area and a concrete concourse ringed the outfield. Beyond the left-field fence is a grass seating area; center field features a concession stand available for pre-game group outings; and right field has bleacher seating, which, along with the concession stand, is opened to the general fans just before gametime.

During BP, I wandered out to left field, where families lounged on the grass as kids in Johnny Damon and Curt Schilling t-shirts scrambled for home run balls that made their way up to the berm. When they did, a scrum bolted en masse to the area, and the kids fell and climbed over one another until one jumped up with the souvenir. If a father caught it, he handed it to his son -- or to one of his son's friends, if it was his second or third catch of the afternoon. When a fatherless adult snagged the ball on the fly with a SMACK! in his mitt, the pre-pubescent boys flocked and cried like gulls -- "HERE! HERE! HERE!" They swarmed at the fence with the same high-pitched calls if an outfielder on the grass below retreated toward the warning track to track down a fly ball or pick up a screamer off the wall. Most of those, however, were returned to the bucket behind second base. Maybe one in five was tossed onto the berm, which sent the kids scrambling into a scrum again.

An hour before the game, I retreated to the will call window to get the ticket Neil had left for me. Earlier in the week, I purchased a general-admission ticket to ensure entrance; at lunch Neil told me he could leave one for me. I took him up on the request, simply for the better seat it was likely to provide. After finding my seat in row FF -- six rows up from the walkway, which was about five or six rows up from the field -- I descended to the area above the Red Sox' third-base dugout to snap some pictures and explore the grandstand.

McCoy Stadium is like Yankee Stadium in one way -- feel. It feels old, pre-Korean War, in some ways, but the renovated aspects stand out. The concourses -- the layers upon layers of paint on the tunnel walls, the tight spaces and fan logjams -- feel old, relics from the time before handicapped accessibility laws and families of four whose members have never met a McDonald's value meal they didn't devour. But the bright outfield walls, the newer seats, the electronic scoreboards scream post-60s renovation. Down the left-field line at McCoy, a tower containing staircases and an elevator stand out; later in the evening in the setting sun, the tower will cast a pointed shadow over third base and then the pitcher's mound. But the dugouts are built directly under the stands. Not in the way, at most ballparks, where people in the front row can rest their drinks or feet on the dugout roofs. Instead, those in the front row have a railing in front of them, then a 10-foot drop to the field. If they stamp their feet, the players beneath them hear it.

As a result, autograph hunters have to get innovative. Sure, they can yell to the players as they emerge suddenly from the dugout, then toss down a ball, a hat, a pen. But the regulars have a system. They create vessels to transport their programs and cards, attach them with string and lower them into the dugout. A two-liter soda bottle is a popular choice; others used shoe boxes with the string extending from four sides, meeting above the center, and extending back up. Some players simply pull the items out, sign them, then put them back, all without leaving the shade of the dugout. It's a grab bag for the fans who send their items down, then pull them up 20 minutes later to see which players took the bait.

My seat was in a good position to get some decent shots of the batter's box; if I pulled back into a wider view, I got the pitcher as well. For most of the two hours I was at the game, I took pictures and took in the atmosphere. I wondered what I'd want to eat, then a little after 7 (the game started at 6:05), I went down to the concourse and bought a cheeseburger from a small grill stand selling only burgers, dogs and bottled soda. Wanting more carbination for my buck, I chose not to pay $2.50 for 20 oz. and went to one of the main concession stands. One of two, I gathered. For 15 minutes I stood there in a line that did not seem to move. I finished my cheeseburger. I then decided, as I neared 20 minutes in line with at least four more people to go before I reached the counter, that I was wasting my time beneath the stands and returned to my seat.

With a three-hour drive back home ahead of me, my plan was to leave at 8 p.m. I saw six innings, with Durham taking a 9-1 lead. Matt Beech, whom the Red Sox signed earlier in the week, was the one the Bulls roughed up. Left fielder Johnny Gomes homered, as did Jared Sandberg, who's been up and down with the Devil Rays. Jorge Cantu went deep too, and superprospect B.J. Upton was 1-for-5 in the game, with his hit coming in his second at bat. Pawtucket had Trot Nixon leading off on a rehab assignment, going 1-for-4 ... with an error on a dropped fly ball in the setting sun. Another way to tell that this stadium was built some time ago: the sun sets over third base, which must make it rather difficult for the first baseman to see those throws from the shortstop when he ranges to his right to go deep into the hole. Pawtucket also had Brian Daubach batting third (he doubled) and former Trenton players Andy Dominique, Kelly Shoppach and Justin Sherrod -- pinch-running for Nixon, then playing right later in the game -- in the lineup. Sherrod spent is off-season chasing love, just like Jesse Palmer. He was one of the 25 bachelors vying for Meredith Phillips' heart on The Bachelorette. He didn't make the first cut.

I left a little after 8 to watch the end of the sixth. Then, in between innings, the fans stood and removed their caps as a recording of "God Bless America" played. But in a unique, hometown twist that brings more meaning to the song than, say, the Yankees trotting out some famous singer every ... single ... game, photos of local residents serving in the military flashed on the video screen. Such a display brings a more human element to a practice that has become as routine at a ballgame as the National Anthem. A nice touch.

From Pawtucket and through Providence, I listened to the local broadcast of the game on the radio, losing the signal roughly halfway between Providence and the Connecticut state line. Driving through the night on 95, I listened to Springsteen and counted down the exits until I crossed the Tappan Zee and made my way back down the Palisades into New Jersey.