In 1993 country group Alabama had a hit titled “Cheap Seats” that touched upon the very fabric of our country that minor league baseball provides countless communities across this great of ours.
The game itself adds to the local sense of community during the summer months on par with the Friday night lights of high school football in the Fall and Winter, along with county fairs and other festivals throughout the year.
In the early 1990’s I’d spent more than a few evenings and way too much money at the minor league team in Prince William County, Virginia. This was the closest team to where I was living at the time. It was, and still is, a member of the Single-A Carolina League and over the years has been affiliated with the Pirates, the Yankees, the White Sox, and as of late, the Washington Nationals.
Those beautiful evenings watching the games with peanuts and hot dogs, burgers and beers, and the sun setting behind the left field wall was an amazing period of my life I wish I could relive!
I remember watching several future Major League players such as Chipper Jones and Trot Nixon as they worked their way through the ranks. There was the occasional firework show and the only game I’ve ever seen that was called due to fog. The visiting Salem Buccaneers turned the fog delay into a pick-up game of “grass hockey” with one side wearing hats and the other without, the local announcer doing play-by-play calls for this pick-up game. The memory itself still brings tears to my eyes!
While I am a die-hard introvert, I regularly went to the games alone. But on occasion I would have company … my brother, father, or a high school friend were the most frequent.
Of all the games I’ve watched, I’ve never grabbed a foul ball. Well, not in the purest sense of the word. While catching a foul ball may not be that much of a big deal, they occur often enough where I would love to say I’ve grabbed one.
Then, one Sunday afternoon, it happened
My brother and I were at a game and the stadium was only about half full. We grabbed seats in the back row that day, which may seem odd, the seats in the back row of the Prince William Complex were actually pretty good. Close enough to see the close plays and high enough to see the entire game … they were almost perfect!
That day’s game wasn’t unusual, but one thing occurred that day that I will never forget … we finally brought home a foul ball. The pitch, the crack of the bat, and the ball flew just over our heads, landing in the grassy area just outside. My brother and I saw it sitting in plain view, in a patch of deep grass, right next to a small tree.
As we stood there looking at that lone foul ball, a small group of kids ran up looking for it. For some reason I got it in my head to yell, “Sorry guys, someone already got it!”
“Really?” they called back.
“Sure did!” I replied. I didn’t think they’d fall for such a line, especially with the ball still setting there, apparently just out of their view, but well within ours. The poor kids gave a distraught shrug and walked away.
The next wave of kids approached, and my brother decided to take a turn, “Hey, you’re too late! Someone already got it!”
“Really?” they replied.
“Yeah, one of those other kids got it,” he responded. They too shrugged and walked away, the ball untouched.
My brother and I looked at each other, smiled, and had to laugh.
Then a third wave, the same lie, the same result.
“Think we can get it?” I asked. He shrugged. “Tell you what, you stay here lying to the kids, and I’ll walk out to see if it’s still there when I get outside.”
“Okay!” was all he said.
So I made my way down the bleachers, through the concourse, outside of the stadium, and headed to the area of the tree.
When I arrived, a group of kids were walking back. One of the kids piped up and said, “Too late, someone got the ball already.”
“That’s a bummer!” I replied. I then turned to my brother, still standing along the fence now well above. “Is it still there?” I asked.
He pointed to the tree and said, “Yeah, just to the right of the tree!”
When I walked over to look, there it was, untouched. I grabbed it, looked up at my brother, and we had a heck of a good laugh! Thirty years later, our mother still has that ball sitting in my brother’s old room, an unspoken monument to those games so long ago. Sometimes I feel bad about misleading those kids, but years later I’m sure they don’t remember. But to me that ball will always be a trigger for me as I cherish that Ball Park, those games, and those beautiful summer days that filled one of the most incredible periods of my life.