On Mishaps and Redemption and Mishaps
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| Sportpark De Slotbosse Toren, 2019 |
Amserfoort Quick vs. Oosterhaut Twins
Sportpark De Slotbosse Toren
Honkbal Hoofdklasse
Oosterhaut, The Netherlands
2:00 PM
Outside the Game:
It was another early morning for me to utilize the breakfast buffet that was included in my stay at the hotel. I filled myself with an unrecommendable amount of meat and cheese and went back to my room to organize my packing and take a quick nap before showering and heading out a little before noon.
This last trip, of course, would be the longest and most complicated of the trip, having to backtrack out to Oosterhaut (the furthest team from the big cities) after finding out they didn't play Thursday evening games there in my first attempt. The distance was so long that it was cheaper for me to buy a Netherlands Train Pass (good for free transit for the day in the entire country) than to purchase an individual return ticket to Oosterhaut from Sloterdijk. I grabbed a crowded train to Schilpol and was quickly able to get an Intercity Direct to Breda. So far, so good, and a celebratory nap was had.
After I woke up, the train had emptied at Rotterdam, and the rest of us had a more spacious ride out to Breda. The terminal WIFI was spotty, and I got my check-in email for my flight home, but I wasn't able to actually check in. It was mildly annoying, but not anything to worry about too much. After my last fiasco with the buses from Breda, I had fully planned out the correct bus time tables and schedules so there wouldn't be a repeat. I knew I had enough time to grab some kiosk food and then head to the bus terminal, where I was able to board my bus early and wait for us to head off.
What could go wrong?
Well, the super-helpful digital displays that showed the stops were down on the bus I was on, which again was a solvable problem. I had the entire route printed out after my last trip, so I just had to keep my eyes open. The trip went fine, until we had the stop at the Oosterhaut bus station. The driver stopped the bus and got out, and then nothing happened. The driver just abandoned us. After five minutes, I asked one of the few passengers on the bus with me what was up, and he said that they sometimes changed drivers here, so it wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
Okay, fine. I sat down and waited. And five minutes turned to fifteen. I asked the other passenger what was up, and he didn't know. I ventured out, and no one was around. Another bus pulled up, and I asked the driver where our driver was. And he said, essentially, that there's a strike, and the other driver would show up at some point.
And then I panicked. Because it might not even be a matter of being late to the game, despite all my planning. The word "strike" thrust fear into my soul of being stranded in a bus station in the furthest east part of the country. After twenty minutes total, another driver did show up and start us on our way, and I ended up getting to the park with fifteen minutes to spare instead of over a half-hour. But at least I was there.
After the game, I wasn't trusting public transportation at all. I googled up some taxi services and started calling, marking the first time this had ever worked right in my entire Dutch vacation. The first couple I called said they couldn't have anyone for an hour or so. The last one said they knew a guy who might be able to help, but that didn't sound promising. The next taxi place I tried said no problem and that they would have someone out shortly to pick me up. Great success! I got a called right after from the driver, and I explained where to pick me up and all was good.
I wasted some time watching the ongoing softball game and taking some more pictures when I got a text saying the car was here. I was greeted by a smiling taxi driver (no doubt seeing euros in his eyes at the prospect of a transit strike) who loaded me into his cab, and we were off to Breda.
We had a talk, and he said that there was going to be a full transit strike on Tuesday: No public transportation at all. This meant people at Sloterdijk station would have no choice but take cabs to get to the airport or to the city center and back, which would be a nightmare for anyone just starting their vacation. I was getting out just under the wire. The cab driver was a nice enough guy, though I wondered if he leaned a little right-leaning, because the way he kept talking about "the real Holland" and "those people" were striking me a little wrong.
About halfway through the trip, I got a call from the cab driver, which confused me because I was in the cab. It wasn't my driver, obviously, but the guy on the phone said he was here to pick me up. I asked him what he meant, because I was in a cab already. I apologized for any confusion, but I said I was already most of the way to Breda. The only thing I could figure is that the driver who called me the first time was the guy that other car service said might be able to help me and not this car service. I felt bad about it, but what are you going to do? He was way later than he said he'd be, for starters.
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| The only way to score |
One way or the other, I was back at Breda. With fifteen minutes until the next Intercity Direct to Schilpol, I stopped at the Julia's, an Italian chain place that I had been avoiding, but since it was my last day, why not? I got a box of pasta and a Pellegrino for the train ride back and went to the train, where I ate as I finished my last scorecard and caught up on my notes, then took a little nap.
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| Last damp look at Amsterdam |
Back in Amsterdam, I walked around a little bit as a light rain started to fall. I took one last run through the city down to the Dam and back up, stopping for "NY Pizza" for dinner, because, why not? I took the train back to the hotel as the rain really started to come down in earnest. I bought my ticket to the airport for the next day, tried to see if the news had changed on the transit strike, and then went back to the hotel to check into my flight, shower, and pack up all my crap before climbing into bed for the last time in the Netherlands.
The Stadium & Fans:
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| Home plate to center field, Sportpark De Slotbosse Toren |
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| Clubhouse |
The clubhouse was Dutch standard, with a bar/canteen serving cheap food and drinks, and filled with tables, trophies, and other baseball paraphernalia. The simple digital scoreboard sits near dead-center with just the basics, standing out against the uninterrupted background of trees standing over advertising draped on the chain-link outfield fence. While the park notably lacks lights, it did have Dutch flags flying, the only ones I saw in the rather un-jingoistic Netherlands. The dugouts and bullpens were within the confines of the chain-linked field, and two retired numbers for Martijn Meeuwis (33) and Patrick van Gool (23) stand on the outfield wall corners.
The crowd was the Dutch-standard 100-200 of humans and dogs, and the home team and visiting fans were among the most engaged I saw at any game in the Netherlands. Frills were at a minimum, of course, with the Seventh-Inning Stretch being the only bit of flair in the whole proceedings.
At the Game with Oogie:
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| Last scoring |
So, for the second time, I arrived at the Twins' park after a bad bus experience. This is not the sort of habit I wanted to fall into. This time at least, there was, in fact, a game on to watch. The softball field was in use for a game, and everyone was practicing up for the man honkbal game as well, so my first great victory.
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| Hello, darkness, my old friend |
I walked around and got my pictures, running into the man and wife and dog from my first two Dutch ballgames. This pretty definitively proved they were Quick fans, at least. The dog ran right up to me, sniffed, and then looked annoyed and trotted away. Love you too, buddy.
In walking around, I saw one of the two mothers I met on my first visit watching, I presume, her daughter's softball game. We smiled and waved at each other. I went into the clubhouse to get some food, but upon ordering, I found out that they didn't take cash and only took Dutch credit cards. I felt awful, but they only wasted one soda that they opened, so what can you do?
I took a seat behind home plate for the game. I ended up next to an older lady who asked me if I knew if the Japanese player was in the game. It turned out that he was, and she said she came to see him, as her friend had been his host for the year, and she hadn't seen him play yet. (There were actually two Japanese players in the game for the Twins, the starting pitcher, and the third baseman.)
With about a third left to play, I got up and went over to the smoking table for the last three innings. I was near a man who had a dog that was being naughty, and he imposed the standard, strict European discipline on him. To be fair, the dog straightened up pretty well after that.
The WIFI was spotty during most of the game, but it did come up afterwards, and I was able to have my cab fiasco as described previously. But mission accomplished: Another league under my belt.
The Game:
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| First pitch, Quick vs. Twins |
The last game in the Netherlands featured the Quick versus the Twins, finally, in a close-fought game of second-division teams that was ultimately decided in the eighth.
Things started slowly for the Quick, going in order in the first. Oosterhaut got a leadoff walk to second on a sacrifice, but he was caught stealing, wasting a single that followed and leaving it no score after one. Amserfoort went in order again in the second, while the Twins had a leadoff hit batsman erased on a double-play and managed to go in order. The third was repeat performance for the Quick in going in order, while Ootsterhaut was more successful in the bottom of the inning. A leadoff single was sacrificed to second and followed by a walk. A deep double brought both runs in, and two wild pitches brought in the runner from second, leaving the home team with a 3-0 lead after three.
In the top of the fourth, Amserfoort finally broke up the perfect game and got on the board. A leadoff walk was followed by a triple and a double, scoring two and closing the lead to 3-2. The Twins started their half with a homer to right, extending the lead back to 4-2. The Quick reverted to form and went in order in the fifth, while Oosterhaut turned a leadoff walk, a sacrifice, and two singles into another run, making it 5-2. Amersfoort was back on their game in the top of the sixth, as three singles and a walk with two outs got two runs in after loading the bases, closing the lead to one run at 5-4. In the bottom of the frame, the Twins loaded the bases with a hit batsman, a single, and a walk, but no one came across.
The Quick just had a walk and a single to show for the seventh, and Oosterhaut had their own solitary single. Things moved in the eighth, as Amersfoort got a run to tie it up on a single and a double. The Twins came right back with a leadoff double and a hit batsman that were sacrifice bunted up the basepaths. A grounder to first resulted in the runner from third getting gunned down at home, but a wild pitch on the next batter brought in the trailing runner for a 6-5 lead. The Quick managed a sole single in the top of the ninth, and Oosterhaut held on to win, 6-5.
The Scorecard:
Quick vs. Twins, 5/26/19. Twins win, 6-5.
As always in the Netherlands, I was using the BBWAA scorebook.
As with most Dutch games, there was some weirdness. There was a caught stealing at third in the first inning, which you usually don't see anymore. At the end of third inning, both benches cleared and charged, but there was no fight. I'm not even sure what the reason was, as there was nothing on the field that would cause offence, at least to my eye. It may just have been some trash talk that got out of hand. The bad umpiring moment of the game was in the top of the fourth. The batter hit a long drive between the left and center fielders for a legit double. He tried to extend it to a triple and was visibly out CS 8-5, but called safe. There was a lot of jawing from the managers on that play, but it stood, for some reason. There were also three wild pitches by Quick pitchers that led to two runs. Sloppy play gets you runs.
I was able to suss out all the Twins' players, but the Quick pitchers were all unknown to me except as uniform numbers, thanks to their Website not giving player numbers to the lineups.
The Accommodations:
I spent most of the evening in the hotel room packing up for the next day, as well as the extended time in the morning. It was the most time I spent in the room, and it was fine.
On Sad Returns
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| Schilphol Airport |
Monday, May 27, 2019
Jersey City, NJOutside the Game:
I woke up early for my last partial Dutch day, and I flailed around a while in bed before heading down to get a quick breakfast and coming back to shower and finish packing. After checking and double-checking the room, I went down to check out, and then dragged my stuff over to the train station for the short, but uncomfortable, ride to Schilphol.
It took a little bit of doing to find the entrance to the airport, but I was eventually inside and through security with minimal fuss. I had some time to kill, so I did some last-minute shopping and changed all my Euros to green stuff again. I went over to the gate, and there were little carts manned by staff doing pre-boarding checks, which was odd, but efficient.
Our actual plane was far enough away that we all had to get on shuttle buses to get over there. I boarded the second bus, and we drove over to the plane and lugged all our stuff up the stairs and in. I got to my seat, got my bag in the overhead, and then relaxed a little. I had the aisle seat, and my central seatmate would turn out to be an American with the smallest bladder in the world, who kept drinking beer. No kidding, he got up at least once an hour during the flight to go to the bathroom.
Beside that, the flight back in time went quickly. I spent most of it watching movies after the food service (Aquaman, Bohemian Rhapsody, and The Catcher Was a Spy--the Moe Berg biopic from last year). There was a nap or two in there as well. The flight went really quickly, and I got my exercise getting up repeatedly for Captain Tiny Bladder.
My real problem came after we landed. Bleary and jet-lagged, we were let out into the late morning in the US into a perfect storm of suck. A bunch of international flights let out at the same time just as customs was doing a shift change, and the lines got unbelievable quickly. When I walked into the area, the digital signs proclaimed a 15-20 minute wait. By the time I got through to a scanner and got on the line for screening, the wait was up to "over 60 minutes." It was a slow and painful slog made worse by the fact that the lines were now so long and doubling back into the scanner area that a good deal of scanning machines were being blocked by the line, thus making the lines grow longer, etc.
It was a mess, but there was nothing to do but wait. I eventually got to a disinterested customs agent who just asked what was in one bag I was carrying. I told her it was duty free, and as I was reaching to get the forms, she just waved me through. Past the worst of it, I called the car service to tell them I was through customs, and a short time later, I met my ride back to Jersey City. I called my parents to tell them I was back safe, and I reached my house with no traffic.
The rest of the day was laundry, organizing, and the metaphysical dread of going back to work the next day.
The Accommodations:
Jersey City, again and regretfully
Epilogue:
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| Honkbal Hoofdklasse |
With Europe hopefully covered in 2020, I'll have to make the effort to try and crack the world of beisbol after that.
2019 The Netherlands
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