While driving into Columbus we shared tales of ball games attended in the past, of major league stadiums visited, of childhood team loyalties gratified and betrayed. As a son of New York, I had been a Yankee fan in my youth. Others had grown up cheering for less successful teams, suffering with and for such squads as the Reds and the Pirates. We all had our stories to swap. And of course we talked of much else too. If you get a bunch of gabby seniors together, shaped by lifetimes of challenges and joys, there's an agenda for conversation that extends far beyond the temporal confines of drives to and from the ballpark.
One thing we hadn't reckoned on when we bought the tickets in advance: the day turned out to be hot. Hot as hell, some might say. And our seats were in the sun. Why hadn't we chosen a night game?, we wondered. And so even though we had our headgear, our light clothing, and our sunscreen, many of us chose to spend some of game standing in the shade of a stadium overhang or seeking out the comfort of a food stand.
Which brings me to an important point. One thing that hasn't changed is the scrumptiousness of ballpark food. Hotdogs (I skip the mustard, but many don't), French fries, ice cream confections - wow! And I shouldn't forget the ballpark staple of beer, although actually, since I was driving, I passed up on suds for a Coke float on this day. Still, in either case, the satisfaction of feeling a cold drink flowing down a dry throat on a hot afternoon is intense and memorable.
An oddity of the day of our visit was that all the middle schools of the Columbus suburb of Dublin had sent their students on a field trip to a baseball game, and so there were what seemed like thousands of 12-to-14-year-olds doing their thing in the ballpark. Out in the left field stands, for example, a large group of junior high girls cheered on the Clippers with what were probably adapted football chants, while along the promenade that circles the stadium some of the kids ignored baseball completely and just kept strolling. One thing for sure: this is an age group that likes food and can pack it in. And, in what will pass as my only sociological observation, this is an age group that travels in large packs – packs moreover that are single-gender in character. That, we can only presume, will soon change. The sight of this school gang prompted us in the Kendal crowd to summon up childhood memories of the rather more uplifting and sober sort of school field trips in our youths – visits to such sites as museums, concerts, presidential homes, and wildlife preserves. I guess the change is a sign of the times.
What about the ball game?, you may by now be asking. Well, it was a good one. The visitors jumped off to a big lead, aided by some incredibly sloppy fielding by the home team. Then the good guys staged a comeback. But in the end it wasn't enough, and the Clippers went down to a rare defeat. We saw home runs, a double play, some gutsy base running, and several players who seemed destined for the Bigs. By the end, I think the Kendal gang was glad it was over, but even if we were all rather sweaty, we weren't wilted, and our conversation on the drive home was as lively as our earlier one. I suspect we all were looking forward to taking showers before dinner; and it's likely that when we next head off for a baseball game in Columbus, we'll choose a night game. But we'll do it again. For going to a baseball game is, in the final analysis, a very enjoyable experience and an occasion for generating memories. And we all treasure our memories.
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