On impulse, I decided to go to Wednesday night's game, and I took notes in copious (and somewhat scattered) detail. I took the liberty of starting my own entry for this, since it goes on a bit. Hope you like it.
The best time to buy seats for a Jays game is on the first day of the hockey playoffs: since everybody in Toronto is in the grip of Budzmania, it's easy to buy good seats cheap. Ten minutes before game time, I score a front-row Value Game ticket in the 200 level outfield for $7. The hardest part of the ticket-buying process was trying to decide which of the six free ticket booths to choose. There are no scalpers out - obviously, they know when not to even bother trying.
When I get in, the place is yawningly empty. A few hundred people are seated in the arc between the dugouts, and a few lonely souls are perched in the fifth deck. Despite this, our section's usher asked to see the tickets of the people sitting in the front row. Where, exactly, would we be wandering from?
I love April: at game time, the top two batting averages in the National League belong to Alex Gonzalez and Mike Matheny.
A group of children from the Canadian Children's Opera Choir come out to sing the national anthem. They don't quite outnumber the fifth deck, but it's close. As they begin the U.S. anthem, a group of fans slowly files into their seats behind me. If they'd tried this in an American stadium, they would have been shunned, or worse, for Disrespecting A National Symbol.
The ceremonial first pitch was tossed out by Brandon McKibbon of James S. Bell Middle School, who won the honour by submitting the best essay on the topic of anti-bullying and conflict resolution in schools. Poor Brandon, who is a bit chubby, looks like he has considerable first-hand experience of bullying, from the victim's perspective. (Cheer up, Brandon: I don't know anybody creative or interesting whose junior high school days were anything other than a living hell.)
Tanyon Sturtze, tonight's starter for the Jays, is throwing strikes. He goes after Manny Ramirez, and strikes him out. Alas, this is like throwing chunks of red meat into a shark pool, stripping to one's shorts, and diving in while yelling "Look at me!" Retribution was to come later - but, for now, he's thrown 15 pitches, 11 for strikes.
Why, exactly, do the Jays have an in-game host? What, precisely, does Ryan Greer do? He only appeared twice all game. He's one of those annoying frat boys that people like Brandon (see above) spend their entire adolescence trying to avoid.
Casey Fossum, the Red Sox starter, looks good out there: no wonder the Hose didn't want to trade him for Colon. He's got three pitches: a zippy fastball, a nasty breaking pitch, and a slow bendy thing that forces batters to double-clutch; if they swing at it, they look hopelessly confused. Of his first 27 pitches, 20 are strikes.
Sturtze, after 2, is up to 23 pitches, 18 for strikes. He reminds me of Jack Morris, and he's much cheaper. It's so good to have marginally-competent third and fourth starters. The days of Mike Smith and Brandon Lyon are long, long gone.
The between-innings music tries to cover all demographic bases: in one break, they play "Sk8r Boi", and "Disco Inferno" in the next. Fans at the game appear to be mostly either under 20 or over 50. I feel like I'm part of the Lost Generation.
Two guys behind me have come all the way from Norfolk, England, to watch the game - they might actually be Jays fans. I feel sorry for them: they are seated in front of one of the most boring men in the universe, who feels compelled to lean in to them and explain the finer points of the game. The Englishmen endure this stoically, as Englishmen do.
One thing you can only discover at the ballpark is the Jays' hitters choice of pump-up music for their at-bats. Mike Bordick prefers loud grungy metal, Tom Wilson is partial to straight-ahead rock and roll, and Josh Phelps likes "Who Do You Love" by George Thorogood and the Destroyers.
During the fourth, the scoreboard chooses to display the Sox hitters' more obscure honours. I now know that Manny Ramirez was inducted into the New York Public Schools Hall of Fame in 1999, Trot Nixon was the 1993 High School Baseball Player of the Year, and Shea Hillenbrand was the 1993 High School Soccer Player of the Year. In this inning, Ramirez comes up with two on and first base open. Sturtze tries to pitch around him, but makes the mistake of throwing Ramirez a pitch near his socks, which is well within Ramirez's hitting zone (which extends from the top of his shoulders to the corner of King and John). Bam, and it's 3-0. Oh well.
After four innings, the scoreboard informs me that Fossum has thrown 55 strikes and -9 balls for a total of 46 pitches, but eventually corrects it to 36 strikes and 19 balls. With two out in the fifth, Fossum appears to be breezing along, but Chris Woodward fouls off several pitches and works him for a walk. (Somewhere, J.P. Ricciardi is quietly beaming.) Bordick doubles Woodward home, Stewart and Berg walk, and the Sox pull Fossum, which strikes me as a bit premature. Is Boston planning on changing pitchers every time the opponents score a run? Vernon Wells shows what he thinks of the tall foreheads in the Boston dugout by launching a long bomb off Ramiro Mendoza. The Jays are up 5-3. Earl Weaver was right all along: load 'em up with walks, and drive 'em home with Dr. Longball. Vernon ought to run for mayor. A little old lady two rows behind me exclaims, "This is more exciting now!"
The SkyDome is not exactly on the cutting edge when it comes to self-promotion. Its proclamation of itself as the "World's Greatest Entertainment Centre" is illustrated by a picture of Roger Clemens in a Blue Jays uniform. I hope they change the popcorn more often than they change their ads.
A note I wrote in the 6th, as Boston hangs Mendoza out to dry by letting him give up three more runs: "The Sox are not going to win this year." I am feeling warm and fuzzy.
The Hat Shuffle promotion is kind of cool: if a random fan guesses which hat a ball is under, his entire row wins submarine sandwiches. If he guesses wrong, the row behind him wins.
Comment from the little old ladies on Delgado: "He's stretching his legs now - he didn't used to." The response: "Anybody want more cookies?"
During the seventh inning stretch, nobody in my section got up. The old man three seats over starts coughing profusely. I try not to worry about this.
Now that the game is safely out of reach, Grady Little starts going nuts with his bullpen: he brings in Brandon Lyon in the seventh, and Fox in the eighth. When Fox gets into trouble, Little has another pitcher throwing. Save them for tomorrow, Grady, why don't you? Perhaps Boston is trying to sort through its 15-pitcher Bullpen By Committee. Lyon is throwing a little harder than he did when he was in Toronto (of course, I suspect several of the Zombie Like Cult probably could throw harder than Lyon was bringing it last year).
Aquilino Lopez, the Jays' Mythical Pitcher, comes on to face Nomar Garciaparra with one on and two out in the eighth. He throws Nomar four pitches: one wild fling, and three beautiful off-speed pitches. See you later, Nomar. This kid is going to be good, though maybe not until about 2005 or so. Wisely, Tosca pulls him after that: let's leave Manny to the grownups.
I can see the reason why Doug Creek exists. His ball moves about two feet to the left on the way to the plate. Left-handed hitters must soil themselves when they see that. With the bases loaded, the Sox pull Jeremy Giambi for Doug Mirabelli, who has started the season 0-for-10. No wonder managers love flip-flopping their relievers. That move pretty much ends the threat, and the game, right there.
On the way to the subway, it hits me: the Jays have won 5 in a row, and are now in second place. Good lord, what giddy heights they have reached! On the SkyDome ramp, an impromptu three-piece band is playing: two bagpipes and a set of bongo drums. Only in Toronto.
Thanks for reading. This almost made up for the freezing rain, snow, SARS scares, and general gloominess of Not-Spring. For the Jays to start the Terrible Twenty with a 6-14 record, they now have to go 1-11 in the next twelve. I think they'll do better than that.
The best time to buy seats for a Jays game is on the first day of the hockey playoffs: since everybody in Toronto is in the grip of Budzmania, it's easy to buy good seats cheap. Ten minutes before game time, I score a front-row Value Game ticket in the 200 level outfield for $7. The hardest part of the ticket-buying process was trying to decide which of the six free ticket booths to choose. There are no scalpers out - obviously, they know when not to even bother trying.
When I get in, the place is yawningly empty. A few hundred people are seated in the arc between the dugouts, and a few lonely souls are perched in the fifth deck. Despite this, our section's usher asked to see the tickets of the people sitting in the front row. Where, exactly, would we be wandering from?
I love April: at game time, the top two batting averages in the National League belong to Alex Gonzalez and Mike Matheny.
A group of children from the Canadian Children's Opera Choir come out to sing the national anthem. They don't quite outnumber the fifth deck, but it's close. As they begin the U.S. anthem, a group of fans slowly files into their seats behind me. If they'd tried this in an American stadium, they would have been shunned, or worse, for Disrespecting A National Symbol.
The ceremonial first pitch was tossed out by Brandon McKibbon of James S. Bell Middle School, who won the honour by submitting the best essay on the topic of anti-bullying and conflict resolution in schools. Poor Brandon, who is a bit chubby, looks like he has considerable first-hand experience of bullying, from the victim's perspective. (Cheer up, Brandon: I don't know anybody creative or interesting whose junior high school days were anything other than a living hell.)
Tanyon Sturtze, tonight's starter for the Jays, is throwing strikes. He goes after Manny Ramirez, and strikes him out. Alas, this is like throwing chunks of red meat into a shark pool, stripping to one's shorts, and diving in while yelling "Look at me!" Retribution was to come later - but, for now, he's thrown 15 pitches, 11 for strikes.
Why, exactly, do the Jays have an in-game host? What, precisely, does Ryan Greer do? He only appeared twice all game. He's one of those annoying frat boys that people like Brandon (see above) spend their entire adolescence trying to avoid.
Casey Fossum, the Red Sox starter, looks good out there: no wonder the Hose didn't want to trade him for Colon. He's got three pitches: a zippy fastball, a nasty breaking pitch, and a slow bendy thing that forces batters to double-clutch; if they swing at it, they look hopelessly confused. Of his first 27 pitches, 20 are strikes.
Sturtze, after 2, is up to 23 pitches, 18 for strikes. He reminds me of Jack Morris, and he's much cheaper. It's so good to have marginally-competent third and fourth starters. The days of Mike Smith and Brandon Lyon are long, long gone.
The between-innings music tries to cover all demographic bases: in one break, they play "Sk8r Boi", and "Disco Inferno" in the next. Fans at the game appear to be mostly either under 20 or over 50. I feel like I'm part of the Lost Generation.
Two guys behind me have come all the way from Norfolk, England, to watch the game - they might actually be Jays fans. I feel sorry for them: they are seated in front of one of the most boring men in the universe, who feels compelled to lean in to them and explain the finer points of the game. The Englishmen endure this stoically, as Englishmen do.
One thing you can only discover at the ballpark is the Jays' hitters choice of pump-up music for their at-bats. Mike Bordick prefers loud grungy metal, Tom Wilson is partial to straight-ahead rock and roll, and Josh Phelps likes "Who Do You Love" by George Thorogood and the Destroyers.
During the fourth, the scoreboard chooses to display the Sox hitters' more obscure honours. I now know that Manny Ramirez was inducted into the New York Public Schools Hall of Fame in 1999, Trot Nixon was the 1993 High School Baseball Player of the Year, and Shea Hillenbrand was the 1993 High School Soccer Player of the Year. In this inning, Ramirez comes up with two on and first base open. Sturtze tries to pitch around him, but makes the mistake of throwing Ramirez a pitch near his socks, which is well within Ramirez's hitting zone (which extends from the top of his shoulders to the corner of King and John). Bam, and it's 3-0. Oh well.
After four innings, the scoreboard informs me that Fossum has thrown 55 strikes and -9 balls for a total of 46 pitches, but eventually corrects it to 36 strikes and 19 balls. With two out in the fifth, Fossum appears to be breezing along, but Chris Woodward fouls off several pitches and works him for a walk. (Somewhere, J.P. Ricciardi is quietly beaming.) Bordick doubles Woodward home, Stewart and Berg walk, and the Sox pull Fossum, which strikes me as a bit premature. Is Boston planning on changing pitchers every time the opponents score a run? Vernon Wells shows what he thinks of the tall foreheads in the Boston dugout by launching a long bomb off Ramiro Mendoza. The Jays are up 5-3. Earl Weaver was right all along: load 'em up with walks, and drive 'em home with Dr. Longball. Vernon ought to run for mayor. A little old lady two rows behind me exclaims, "This is more exciting now!"
The SkyDome is not exactly on the cutting edge when it comes to self-promotion. Its proclamation of itself as the "World's Greatest Entertainment Centre" is illustrated by a picture of Roger Clemens in a Blue Jays uniform. I hope they change the popcorn more often than they change their ads.
A note I wrote in the 6th, as Boston hangs Mendoza out to dry by letting him give up three more runs: "The Sox are not going to win this year." I am feeling warm and fuzzy.
The Hat Shuffle promotion is kind of cool: if a random fan guesses which hat a ball is under, his entire row wins submarine sandwiches. If he guesses wrong, the row behind him wins.
Comment from the little old ladies on Delgado: "He's stretching his legs now - he didn't used to." The response: "Anybody want more cookies?"
During the seventh inning stretch, nobody in my section got up. The old man three seats over starts coughing profusely. I try not to worry about this.
Now that the game is safely out of reach, Grady Little starts going nuts with his bullpen: he brings in Brandon Lyon in the seventh, and Fox in the eighth. When Fox gets into trouble, Little has another pitcher throwing. Save them for tomorrow, Grady, why don't you? Perhaps Boston is trying to sort through its 15-pitcher Bullpen By Committee. Lyon is throwing a little harder than he did when he was in Toronto (of course, I suspect several of the Zombie Like Cult probably could throw harder than Lyon was bringing it last year).
Aquilino Lopez, the Jays' Mythical Pitcher, comes on to face Nomar Garciaparra with one on and two out in the eighth. He throws Nomar four pitches: one wild fling, and three beautiful off-speed pitches. See you later, Nomar. This kid is going to be good, though maybe not until about 2005 or so. Wisely, Tosca pulls him after that: let's leave Manny to the grownups.
I can see the reason why Doug Creek exists. His ball moves about two feet to the left on the way to the plate. Left-handed hitters must soil themselves when they see that. With the bases loaded, the Sox pull Jeremy Giambi for Doug Mirabelli, who has started the season 0-for-10. No wonder managers love flip-flopping their relievers. That move pretty much ends the threat, and the game, right there.
On the way to the subway, it hits me: the Jays have won 5 in a row, and are now in second place. Good lord, what giddy heights they have reached! On the SkyDome ramp, an impromptu three-piece band is playing: two bagpipes and a set of bongo drums. Only in Toronto.
Thanks for reading. This almost made up for the freezing rain, snow, SARS scares, and general gloominess of Not-Spring. For the Jays to start the Terrible Twenty with a 6-14 record, they now have to go 1-11 in the next twelve. I think they'll do better than that.
