August 22, 2003
MORE SCENES FROM A BALLPARK
Alan at Hudsonian sends along more photos from another recent jaunt to Vero Beach. (Al, if you attend any more games in August, they're going to take out a temporary restraining order.)
This gentleman was manning the ticket turnstile. Given that he's brought his trusty folding lawn chair, I'm guessing he doesn't think he'll have many tickets to tear tonight.
Another example of the high-tech security being employed at Dodgertown. Being busted by them would be like getting arrested by the two old guys in the balcony on the Muppet Show.
Note the gaggle of cheerleaders in the background. "The Vero Beach Cheerleaders held a practice and a Dodgers game broke out,'' Al says.
Minor league ball being what it is, you don't always get to view the best pitching in the world. Here, Al captures the precise moment that a wild pitch threatened the career of a sturdy batsman. If you look closely, you can see the ball has been deflected about 10-feet above the field, just above the third baseman.
Dodgertown doesn't even have dugouts, much less a clubhouse for players that is easily accessible from the field. Players have either the choice of a long metal bench or a well-groomed patch of field to sit on. That said, there are no amenities for players. These two felt the need for a batch of nachos, apparently, during the 7th Inning Stretch. The kid on the right has a look on his face that says, "Oh, shit, I hope that's not a scout."
On a different night at the park, Al arrived to find that the game had been rained out.
"I was there with a bunch of fans who waited to see if they called it around 7:30 p.m. When they announced the game was cancelled, they offered Dodger Dogs for a buck for the road -- and I indulged. A kid snagged three dogs and told me as he pumped mustard out of the big handle, 'This a great deal!' Amen, little man."
You can't imagine the consternation and frustration this engenders in a true ballpark stalker like Al.
It prompted him to write this short story:
Happiness amid the rain
It was about 30 minutes before game time when Jimmy Kerr reached for his Vero Beach Dodgers ball cap. It was sitting upside down on a coffee table, with his keys and wallet cradled inside. Jimmy was 67 years old and lived in a studio apartment on the arterial that cut the city of Vero Beach in northern and southern halves.
The ball cap was ragged. But Jimmy loved the worn, royal blue hat nonetheless. It had the Vero Beach Dodgers insignia of a grapefruit with the letters, "V" and "B," sticking out of the fruit like rabbit ears. He lifted the upside-down cap by the bill, then clutched the keys to his Pontiac Grand Am and stuffed his wallet loaded with Vero Beach Dodgers ticket stubs into the back pocket of his baggy, khaki shorts.
Jimmy lived by himself, and he enjoyed his independence. He grew up in north New Jersey and was left back a few grades because he couldn’t keep up with letters and numbers in grammar school. He was slow in class, but his happy demeanor made him popular with other kids. Even now, Jimmy is on a first-name basis with all the Vero Beach Dodgers staffers – Lou the ballpark public address announcer, Steve the general manager and Joey the marketing and promotions director.
While he drove to the ballpark at Dodgertown, which is sandwiched between the local airport and golf course, Jimmy thought about all the foul balls he retrieves in the stands during games. With a normal crowd of only several hundred people, it was easy for Jimmy to get foul balls batted into the stands and hand them to the little kids who would beg for the Florida State League-sanctioned ball like squirrels looking for handouts in a city park. He knew the batters so well that he would sit in the stands where he predicted they’d hit the foul balls. It was usually good for a half-dozen prizes for kids per game, courtesy of Jimmy.
On this night in early August, charcoal-colored clouds were rolling in from the west. It was about 6:45 p.m. and the clouds were interlocking into one giant ominous blanket in the sky. Jagged bolts of lightning were nature’s signal to the Vero Beach Dodgers that the game would be delayed, if not cancelled. It didn’t matter to Jimmy. He arrived at Holman Stadium at about 10 minutes of seven and hoped for the Single A Dodgers to play ball.
He parked his Pontiac in a grassy area along a fence outside the ballyard and strolled to the gate nearest the ticket booth. The ticket takers in blue pants and a blue shirt to match knew Jimmy by his shuffle-like gait.
Rain was drizzling at Holman, but they tried to play the game. Jimmy shuffled thought the turnstile and made his way to the wide concession area behind home plate.
“The usual,” Jimmy told Edna the hot dog lady, who was standing in the window of the food stand.
Edna grabbed two Dodger Dogs out of a metal box that kepted the hot dogs warm. The hot dogs were pre-wrapped in white paper, so it was hard to tell they were Dodger Dogs until Jimmy slowly unwrapped the paper and took a few sniffs like a wine taster smelling a Chardonay.
“Smells good Edna. Better keep a few more for me when I get hungry during the game,” Jimmy said, ignoring the steady rain.
He pumped the mustard handle sitting on the condiments shelf and dropped some chopped onions on to the hot dog.
“All these workers here – they’re my brothers and sisters,” said Jimmy, who actually might be younger than the ushers at Holman Stadium.
The rain intensified and it soon began pouring. It was a garden-variety Florida thunderstorm; that is, it felt like you were walking in a car wash. Jimmy found dry haven below a canopy off the concourse.
By now, only a dozen fans were left as team officials waited to see if the storm would end and the sun would shine.
Golf carts from the neighboring links sat on the edge of the nylon tarp that was covering the infield. Puddles of water began to collect in the outfield.
Around 7:30 p.m., Lou the stadium announcer declared the game was cancelled and that the contest with the Jupiter Hammerheads would not be made up.
Jimmy was among the last three fans to leave the stadium. The young team assistants were handing out blue “free game” coupons to fans. A ticket costs only four bucks.
Jimmy looked out at the field while slowly shuffling the concourse that sloped to the exits.
“At least I’m coming back Thursday – there’s a Gulf Coast game to watch.”