Baseball is a beautiful game, if you can see through the throngs of people streaming in the aisle to and from the concession stands. “Did you come here to eat or watch baseball!?” is what I wanted to shout. I had taken Kirsten to her first major league game and my first trip to the Nats’ stadium and spent a tidy sum for third base side seats in section 15, row UU. Decent seats right on the aisle. But much of the game was impossible to see because apparently thousands of persons pay outrageous sums to eat in a stadium. Go figure that one. I can’t.

At one point I was able to point out how beautifully symmetrical baseball is. The design of the field, the equidistant base paths and the fact that each player has a unique and individual duty to carry out but does so for the greater good of the team and all of this set into motion by a pitch. Constrained by both the design of the field and the design of the game (the rules), actions and choices are made within that system so that the players have a certain amount of freedom and can exhibit either heroic action (like making a diving catch or hitting in a run) or failure, as in Zimmerman who struck out four times in the game.

We attended on one of the hottest days of the year and thankfully sat in shade for the entire game. Too bad the First base side of the stadium could not say the same. They sat in the sun which, I’m pretty sure, led to such metaphysical questions as “Why am I here?” and “When does this all end?” You know, quasi-religious questions.

After a game there is the painful challenge of packing tens of thousands of people into metro cars to ride the subway home. Factor into that dynamic the reality that the stadium is willing to sell you alcoholic beverages for outrageous prices (which didn’t seem to stop people from spending the day drinking) and you have a ready mix for a riot: heat, more heat, alcohol, testosterone and feelings of inferiority because we lost. Really, it is a wonder that a minor war doesn’t break out. And while I know nothing about recruiting for the armed forces, it seems to me that a stadium after a game with young men who are in various stages of inebriation and ready to fight, makes a perfect set up for signing people up to go to Iraq or Afghanistan. But maybe it is a salute to the integrity of our armed forces that they are not there recruiting. Instead, these people are crushed into subway cars and allowed to interact.

I’m glad I had the chance with my daughter on Father’s Day week-end to go to the ballpark. I stood up and sang during the Seventh Inning Stretch, “Take Me Out to the Ball game.” And I fondly remembered that my dad loved this game. But Yogi Berra pretty much sums up my feelings about going back. He reportedly said, “Nobody goes there anymore because it’s too crowded.” Yep, that’s my sentiment exactly even if it is self-contradictory.

See you Sunday or as they say at the park, Play Ball!

~Pstr

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