On Testing the Boundaries of Reality
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| Provident Bank Park, 2013 |
Quebec Les Capitales vs. Rockland Boulders
Provident Bank Park
Can Am (Independent)
Pomona, NY
2:00 PM
Outside the Game:
I loaded up on the slightly more posh breakfast buffet at the Holiday Inn in Binghamton before I set out for the day. Since it was an early afternoon game, and I had a good two and half hours to go, I needed to set out relatively early.
I was in the car and listening to a staticy "Talking Baseball" that got more and more clear as my drive went on. Outside of some minor construction congestion, my drive was mercifully without incident, and I managed to pull into the parking lot about twenty minutes before the opening of the gates, which was just enough time to take pictures of the outside of the stadium and get my ticket.
After the game, it was under an hour to get back home. As I had time and no agenda for the evening, I decided to just trust my TomTom when it took me down the Palisades Parkway to see how it would take me home, and even though it decided to use 1 & 9, by some miracle, there wasn't a backup and I got back to my garage at around 6 PM.
The Stadium & Fans:
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| Home plate to center field, Provident Bank Park |
Say what you want about Provident Bank Park, but it is easily the most ambitious indie league park I've ever seen. Most independent league parks seem to aspire to A or AA-level stadiums, but the Boulders clearly decided that their new digs were going to be AAA-level.
To start with, the seating and the walls went all around the field, and didn't just go from left field to right field like most low minors parks. The stadium had a rear facade by the back parking lot and open fencing surrounding most of the park. There were several gates on the shoulders of the building, though the main entrances were by home plate, and next to the team store and the luxury box entrance.
The main entrances led to the main promenade that led down to the seating bowl. The main seating area was fairly standard for a minor league park, with one area of seating extending from left field to right field, with luxury boxes overhead from first to third. But the promenade went all around the stadium, and there were special seating areas in the outfield. The Corona Short Porch was a bar with seating located at field level in right. On the promenade level in right field was the Boulder Berg kids area. Extending from right center to left center (though broken up by the batter's eye) were honest-to-god bleachers. The Coors Light Bridge Bar was out at field-level in left field, and on the promenade level was another building branded to a local radio station.
The Rockbird runs the show on the field along with the promotions team. There's the regular minor/indie fare, with a special focus on races, of which there were numerous examples throughout the afternoon. It was also "Bark at the Park" that day, so there were a lot of four-legged fans in attendance. The Rockbird ever had his own charge, and despite raising some Disney-esque questions of what is a pet and what is not, the pooch on the field was clearly over-excited by the amount of balls in his immediate area that he was not allowed to play with, and often made attempts to madly dash away from the over-taxed mascot.
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| The Rockbird doing The Bird: Birdception |
The fans were mostly a family affair, and decently into the game. Well, with one notable exception.
At the Game with Oogie:
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| Chicken fingers basket |
It is so very rare to have nearly everything in your life succinctly critiqued by an encounter with one individual.
When I got to the park, a good twenty minutes before the gates opened, there was already someone waiting in line to get in. He was in his late teens or early twenties by the look of it, in a personalized jersey, with unkempt long hair, and a bag of stuff. By the time I took all my photos and got on line, I was two or three people back from him, and I didn't think much of it at the time.
As per normal, I got the best seats behind the home dugout that were available. It put me four for five rows back of the dugout in the middle of the row, really close to home plate, because Provident Bank Park had the smallest foul ball fences I think I've ever seen on a ballpark. I was clearly in season ticket country, and the guy with the custom jersey was right behind the dugout in the next section over.
He brought out the cowbell pretty early. It was beat-up number that he hit with a similarly beat-up Boulders mini-bat, at every opportunity. Forgetting that there wasn't that much to cheer about early in the game, for the most part, all he was doing was hitting that cowbell and then texting or something on his phone. It was getting old pretty quick, especially for the sparse crowd sitting around him, and when one spoke up about saving the cowbell for when it was warranted, he said that he wouldn't stop cheering how he wanted to and how could you possibly tell someone to stop cheering at a sporting event? And then he furiously texted some more. You could hear the eyes rolling in the entire section.
It wasn't just the cowbell itself, but that he was clearly trying to mess with the opposing players with it. He would hit it right when the opposing pitcher was releasing the ball, or when an opposing batter was ready to swing. I figured that this was going to end pretty soon, as the opposing manager probably had something to say on the issue, but I wasn't paying particular attention to him, and he disappeared at some point.
As soon as he left, all of the regulars in the season tickets section starting talking about him. Apparently, not only is he always like that, but he is often tossed from the seating area for using untoward language around kids. The exasperated tones told you all you needed to know about this guy.
He inevitably re-appeared, and was immediately visited by an usher who wanted to see his ticket. He made a big stink about having to go to his actual seat, while texting away on his phone. To my great luck, his "real" seat was right next to me.
And he immediately started up with the cowbell again. Which he was ringing in his left hand, right by my ear. I felt I was magnanimous in letting him do it twice before I spoke up. I asked him, rather politely, if he wouldn't mind hitting the cowbell somewhere else besides my ear. He immediately started in on his right to cheer, and I told him, perhaps a little less politely, that he can bang the damn bell, but somewhere else besides my ear. Perhaps it was my demeanor, and perhaps it was because he was already in the cross-hairs of the ushers, but he, with extreme passive aggression, went up and to the right with his cowbell from now on, and I let the matter rest. He even more passive aggressively scooted two empty seats down eventually, muttering about what he has to do just to cheer on his team, and how unfair the world was clearly being to him, who was clearly within his rights.
While that could have been more than enough for the little man, it wasn't the end. Eventually one or two boys a few years shy of teenagedom apparently recognized him from his custom jersey. This keeper of the rulebook on cheering for baseball was not only a professional cheerer, but also the purveyor of a fan site (Twitter, Facebook, whatever the kids do these days) for the Rockland Boulders. All that texting on his phone was actually live-tweeting about the game. After being asked by the gushing boys if he would follow their Twitters, we learned that he also has rules about his important Twitter, in that he won't follow people he doesn't know, even if they follow him first.
The whole discussion was blowing my mind, as he sat there, bragging to pre-teens. He bragged about how he never cut his hair because he didn't have to anymore. He bragged about going to every Boulders game with season tickets his mom bought him, even though he lived fifteen minutes away. He bragged about getting to every game over an hour before the gates opened. He bragged about going to community college. I could perhaps bear it all in silence until he said this, largely verbatim, to the best of my memory: "I'm nineteen years old; I'm an adult." And then I could not quite completely smoother a laugh that I'm not sure he didn't hear.
So there was this nineteen year-old know-it-all, jealously guarding the little fiefdom that no one else wanted that he carved out in the world, petulantly going on about his "rights" and what he "could" and "couldn't" do according to his bizarre little code of laws, carefully guarding this misplaced image as a "rebel," being universally reviled by anyone that had to spend any time around him, and only being admired by those significantly younger than him -- but the fact remains that I was right there with him for most of it. Who, really, am I to judge? With today's technology and beginning my baseball obsession several years earlier, I might as well have ended up a worse version of him.
In other news, the Boulders had this thing where they put up pictures of "celebrity look-alikes" of fans on the scoreboard. Earlier in the game, it was someone who "looked" like John Goodman. They put me up there with Steven Speilberg, presumably because we were both wearing baseball caps and had beards and large noses. Because you know who no one has ever told me I look like? Steven Speilberg.
The Game:
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| First pitch, Capitales vs. Boulders |
Each game on this weekend trip was getting more and more ridiculous, to the point of not being able to expect anything weirder just by the limits of reality. And again I was proved wrong.
The Capitales got a single erased on a double-play in the top of the first, while the Boulders went in order. The Capitales went in order in the second, while the Boulders at least got a leadoff walk who stole two bases before being stranded on third. The Capitales had a bit of a rally in the third, with a leadoff walk (erased on the subsequent fielder's choice) and then another walk and a double-steal, to make it second and third with one out. But two strikeouts ended the inning with no one across. The Boulders went in order in the bottom of the third, as did everyone after until the top of the sixth.
Then the Capitales got a one-out double followed by a single that made it first and third with one out. But again, two outs followed with none coming across. The Boulders again went in order, as did the Capitales, facing a new Boulders pitcher. The Boulders got a two-out walk in the bottom of the seventh, but he was caught stealing to end the inning.
In the top of the eighth, the Capitales mounted a serious threat, with a leadoff single sacrificed to second, and then a walk made it first and second with one out. Pitchers were changed, an out was had, but another walk loaded the bases. But a clutch strikeout ended the game and kept it scoreless.
Things went pear-shaped in the bottom of the eighth, when the Capitales pulled their pitcher, who was still working on a no-hitter. That no-hitter lasted two more batters, as a solo home run to left ended the no-hitter and the scoreless tie. The next batter singled to center, and the next singled to right, making it first and third with one out. A passed ball scored a run and moved the runner on first to second. A productive fly out to right moved the runner on second over to third. A single brought him home, and a double brought him home. Not yet content, another single (the third straight hit) scored the runner from second, making it 5-0 Boulders, before a flyout by the ninth batter in the inning mercifully ended the onslaught.
At this point, we awaited the Boulder's closer to finish up the ninth, and the home crowd could go home happy.
Not so.
The closer for the Boulders was victimized by a first baseman who couldn't handle a throw, allowing a lead-off runner on first. A passed ball moved him to second, but it hardly mattered, as the batter then homered to right, to make it 5-2. No one was too worried at this point.
The next batter walked, and the batter after him got plunked. People started to get worried.
A groundout to the first baseman calmed everyone down a little, but the next batter went yard to right and tied it up 5-5. A pop to first and a grounder to third by the ninth man in the inning eventually ended it, but the deja vu was strong, and the home crowd was stunned.
Onto the bottom of the ninth, and unsurprisingly, a new pitcher for the Capitales.
He plunked the first batter.
He plunked the second batter.
The third batter, simply trying to bunt the ball, was nearly hit twice before he got a bunt down in front of the plate.
The catcher threw that bunt into left field trying to get the lead runner.
And the game ended on an E2.
Two walk-off wins on errors in two days.
Baseball. Am I right?
The Scorecard:
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| Les Capitales vs. Boulders, 05/26/13. Boulders win, 6-5. |
The scorecard was on nice cardstock paper in the center of the free program, but, as Derek Zoolander might say, it was a scorecard for ants. All of the boxes seemed to be shrunk down versions made to fit the smaller form factor, which made it difficult to scrunch in the scoring.
Taking a pitcher out when he has a no-hitter was inexplicable enough. Having the replacement pitcher face nine batters and give up five runs was more so. Having the new home pitcher then follow and do exactly the same thing buggers statistics. Having the new pitcher bean the first two runners and nearly hit the third breaks math. And the walk-off error on the catcher just needs a new universe to properly do it justice.
The Accommodations:
I drove back to Hoboken after the game, so I was back at home that night, wondering why I thought it a good idea to do this the weekend before I was leaving for a two-week vacation.
2013 Memorial Day
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