Minor League Ball Silliness (56K safe-ish)
Posted: 2007-09-17 02:33am
As inspired by Patrick Degan's post about Minor League Baseball in the US, I thought I'd share some observations, memories, commentary and general nonsense from a game I saw at The Reading Phillies' FirstEnergy Stadium in July 2006 with my father.
Despite it being in use since 1951, the park is in real nice shape and it's a fantastic place to see a game. The Reading Phils lost to Boston's Portland Sea Dogs affiliate that night, but I still had a good time. If I lived closer, I'd go to games more often. There were enough goofy mascots, eating contests and other on-field diversions between half innings to make the poor play and crushing loss by the home team all the more bearable.
Lions' Club truck outside the gates. No, those are not real lions. They are in fact, stuffed toy lions.
Great seats! We were right behind Portland's dugout, which made it convenient to dispense both insults and beer upon them.
No hits, runs or errors. Of course, the game hadn't started yet.
Here's the tireless ground crew, hard at work. They turned the hose on each other after wetting down the infield. Only two of them were injured by the water pressure. But hey, all in good fun!
This fellow was a bit obsessive, though. After he started counting the blades of grass, the other two led him away to the equipment shed, after restraining him with the hose. It's understandable, though. He had a rough night. See Mr. Mushroom, below.
The boy on the end hadn't eaten this good since last night's game. It's America's collective shame, when a young child has to fight for scraps, only to be roughly elbowed aside by drunken adults! His father (back to the camera) was constantly berating him and the increasingly loud screaming to eat more and eat faster was highlighted by an uncomfortable moment: "Pig boy! You're a pig boy, aren't ya?!"
You too could've won this bike. If you had been there. Which you weren't. So you didn't. But then, neither did I. But I was. Was there, that is.
So, do you come here often? Want to see my Little Ducky?
Mr. Baseball head (the stuff of nightmares for the youngest on the right, to be sure) guides the game's future hurlers:
The exchanging of lineup cards and angry boasting completed, it's almost time to...
Play ball! Dad and I were 1 row back from the field, but we might as well have been sitting on the grass. Watch out for foul balls!
The third base tooth fairy uses her outlandishly-oversized base brush to tidy up. Though I'm not sure why she decided to scrub the bases at the same time Portland was batting. Remember, foul balls can kill! And yes, she was that cute.
Did anyone say frighteningly lethal-looking pneumatic hotdog launcher? And I hope you want it mounted on the back of a two-wheeled, faux caboose pulled by a lawn tractor gussied up as a little locomotive!
Back to the game! The R-Phils charge after... Oh who cares.
An unsuspecting Portland player is about to get the beating of his life. Those are seriously inebriated mascots. Actually, the dog mascot did most of the work. The beaver just egged him on.
This was a tug-of-war with two, brightly attired men, attached to each other with a big stretchy bungee cord. The competition was heightened because they had to scoop up balls and place them into a trash can.
Other than the mascots, the entire stadium staff was composed of hot women.
No, it's not nearly as humiliating as you think.
It's much worse. See, the mushroom costume is actually stored in a large tray of dirt, in a dark room. For some reason, the wearer has to stay in the costume for the duration, chained to the frame of the tray. That's what the one ground crew guy above had to do earlier in the week, and after awhile the pressure gets to be a bit much.
Anyway, I don't quite remember the intricacies of this strange ball-bat-ball-bat-ball-bat competition.
Sadly, after a foolish bet, this child's parents lost custody of her at the game. She's now a ward of the R-Phils and lives with the young woman in pink in the trash can storage area under the stands, learning how to earn her keep by training to become a replacement Trash Can Girl.
Despite it being in use since 1951, the park is in real nice shape and it's a fantastic place to see a game. The Reading Phils lost to Boston's Portland Sea Dogs affiliate that night, but I still had a good time. If I lived closer, I'd go to games more often. There were enough goofy mascots, eating contests and other on-field diversions between half innings to make the poor play and crushing loss by the home team all the more bearable.
Lions' Club truck outside the gates. No, those are not real lions. They are in fact, stuffed toy lions.
Great seats! We were right behind Portland's dugout, which made it convenient to dispense both insults and beer upon them.
No hits, runs or errors. Of course, the game hadn't started yet.
Here's the tireless ground crew, hard at work. They turned the hose on each other after wetting down the infield. Only two of them were injured by the water pressure. But hey, all in good fun!
This fellow was a bit obsessive, though. After he started counting the blades of grass, the other two led him away to the equipment shed, after restraining him with the hose. It's understandable, though. He had a rough night. See Mr. Mushroom, below.
The boy on the end hadn't eaten this good since last night's game. It's America's collective shame, when a young child has to fight for scraps, only to be roughly elbowed aside by drunken adults! His father (back to the camera) was constantly berating him and the increasingly loud screaming to eat more and eat faster was highlighted by an uncomfortable moment: "Pig boy! You're a pig boy, aren't ya?!"
You too could've won this bike. If you had been there. Which you weren't. So you didn't. But then, neither did I. But I was. Was there, that is.
So, do you come here often? Want to see my Little Ducky?
Mr. Baseball head (the stuff of nightmares for the youngest on the right, to be sure) guides the game's future hurlers:
The exchanging of lineup cards and angry boasting completed, it's almost time to...
Play ball! Dad and I were 1 row back from the field, but we might as well have been sitting on the grass. Watch out for foul balls!
The third base tooth fairy uses her outlandishly-oversized base brush to tidy up. Though I'm not sure why she decided to scrub the bases at the same time Portland was batting. Remember, foul balls can kill! And yes, she was that cute.
Did anyone say frighteningly lethal-looking pneumatic hotdog launcher? And I hope you want it mounted on the back of a two-wheeled, faux caboose pulled by a lawn tractor gussied up as a little locomotive!
Back to the game! The R-Phils charge after... Oh who cares.
An unsuspecting Portland player is about to get the beating of his life. Those are seriously inebriated mascots. Actually, the dog mascot did most of the work. The beaver just egged him on.
This was a tug-of-war with two, brightly attired men, attached to each other with a big stretchy bungee cord. The competition was heightened because they had to scoop up balls and place them into a trash can.
Other than the mascots, the entire stadium staff was composed of hot women.
No, it's not nearly as humiliating as you think.
It's much worse. See, the mushroom costume is actually stored in a large tray of dirt, in a dark room. For some reason, the wearer has to stay in the costume for the duration, chained to the frame of the tray. That's what the one ground crew guy above had to do earlier in the week, and after awhile the pressure gets to be a bit much.
Anyway, I don't quite remember the intricacies of this strange ball-bat-ball-bat-ball-bat competition.
Sadly, after a foolish bet, this child's parents lost custody of her at the game. She's now a ward of the R-Phils and lives with the young woman in pink in the trash can storage area under the stands, learning how to earn her keep by training to become a replacement Trash Can Girl.