Not Quite Chicken Counting

As recommended, Kevin and I took the subway (separately) to yesterday's Game 2 of the National League Championship Series, between the Mets and Cubs.

A sick passenger fell exiting the Flushing Local at 40th Street-Lowry Street and I had to back-track to Queensboro Plaza to catch an express going around the out-of-service train. That was pretty much the last bad thing to happen, as the Mets would later go up two games to none in the seven-game series.

Washington Park Centennial

Today is the centennial anniversary of the final game at Washington Park—or, more specifically, the third incarnation of the base ball grounds at 4th Avenue and 3rd Street, in Brooklyn.

Raising the flag, opening day, Washington Park, April 10, 1915.
Image courtesy of the Library of Congress.

The Buffalo Blues and Brooklyn Tip-Tops opened and closed the 1915 season, the second and final year of the Federal League, at Washington Park. The Tip-Tops, named for owner Robert Ward's Tip Top Bakery, won the opening day contest, 13-9. One hundred years ago today, the Blues won 3-2 and then professional base ball was played no more at Washington Park. The teams finished six and seventh in the eight team circuit.

"Suicide Girls Sept 22"

As this post goes live, Suicide Girls are performing at the historic Babcock Theater, in Billings Montana. (In truth, the performance was over by the time I finished editing this, but I tried.)

The Babcock Theater, in The Babcock Building, Billings

Melvin and I were in Billings on Monday, August 10, having driven from Grand Junction, the first stop on our third itinerary of the year. We arrived in town just in time to see the Billings Mustangs beat the Idaho Chukars, 6-1.

Melvin and I headed downtown after the game for supper and to see the sights, including the 1907 Babcock Theater. And before? What about after? I will get to that. You knew I would and I know you knew. That's what makes this relationship special.

Four-Fifths of a Grand Junction

First pitch, through the net, at Grand Junction, 8/9/15

These trips are conditioned by luck in countless ways. The team schedules have to work right. Our schedules at work have to cooperate. The weather has to be nice, or at least nonfatal to playing baseball on the day we pass through. We have to make it to each stadium on time. And so on.

We're finally on the trip that I don't think we were ever sure we would take—seeing all the Montana teams—and stop number one is the team we have long said would be the hardest to get to: the Grand Junction Rockies. Astute geographers will note that Grand Junction is not one of the Montana teams. Indeed, it's a good (and it was good) 600 miles from Billings. Still, when in the West....

The Rain at Kane Falls Mainly on the Tarp

Someday, someway, baby, they'll play baseball here.

Watson and I always like to make it out to Kane County each year, and today was the anniversary of the last time we went. Decent food, a good array of beers, and pervious pavement, what more could you want?

Well, you could want for it not to rain, but it did, fiercely, in the middle of the fourth. Happily, the grounds crew was on the case, and they got the tarp on the field and the people out of the stands before the rain hit or anything tragic happened, which is more than you can say for a fair in an adjoining county. 

An hour after play was halted, they were back at it. Cougars starter Brad Keller—a huge kid (he just turned twenty) with a terrific fastball and dubious command—was supplanted by novelist and onetime newspaper preservationist Nicholson Baker, who... oh, no, that wasn't the author of The Mezzanine but a guy who wasn't even born when it was published. This Baker has a good record this year but less upside than Keller—when you're 23 and still at Low-A, you might want to at least keep a weather eye on the local educational offerings. 

We're dealing with a small sample size, of course, but Kane County seemed to be suffering from its dissociation over the off-season from the Chicago Cubs, who moved their Midwest League affiliation to South Bend. The SB Cubs set a local record for ticket sales in the spring, and big development plans around the stadium are now afoot. Meanwhile, the now-Arizona-affiliated Cougars had not even a half-full house on a mostly beautiful summer Sunday—you can't blame the rain for everything. 

Bubbles and Byways

Screen grab from The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit, via DVDBeaver.com

In late August 2001, Red and I were stuck in a bus on the tarmac at Logan Airport with about ten other people, waiting for quite a long time to board a tiny plane to Halifax. One middle-aged New Yorker became decidedly agitated about the delay. "When," he barked at one point, "will the passengers take precedence??" It was clear that this was a man who was used to taking precedence—though he mispronounced "precedence" as "pre-CEE-dence." While we waited, he regaled us with details about the economic and labor situation in Nova Scotia. Was he some sort of government minister? A high-flying analyst or researcher?

Beneath the Tile Floor, the Swamp

Yours for the purchasing at BB&T Park, Charlotte and, doubtless, elsewhere

Following on yesterday's visit to Pearl Fryer's purposeful and semi-visionary topiary garden—about which my only remaining question is, Where are the peacocks?—today we spent some time at the purposeful and semi-visionary village of Oyotunji, near Beaufort, South Carolina. This swampy, perplexing, but intriguing "sovereign land" is mildly like Arcosanti, in that it has been constructed and populated since 1970 by true believers trying to develop a way to live outside most conventional social, political, and cultural structures. The biggest difference between the two is that while Arcosanti is essentially populated by hippies with power tools, Oyotunji is suffused with a Yoruban (or perhaps we should say neo- or quasi-Yoruban) worldview that shapes the beliefs and actions of its perhaps 25 inhabitants. They can explain better than I can, though that's not saying much.

What this place is doing on former plantation land in South Carolina is only one of the many questions that were raised today.

Raison D'être (short form)

Now that you have, with Melvin's help, mastered Hawaiian language, certainly you can handle a phrase borrowed from the French. Seeing the Savannah Sand Gnats is the raison d'être—back of the throat—of this trip.

syntactically incorrect

Between the Charleston RiverDogs and the Daytona Cubs,we planned last year to see the the Savannah Sand Gnats at historic Grayson Stadium. Instead, we watched the Royals shut-out the Twins on Melvin's laptop while it monsooned outside.

So we have driven hours—or in my case hours and hours and hours—to see the Low-A affiliate of the Mets before the team departs next year for Columbia, South Carolina. Like most stadiums from early in the previous century, the grandstand is a delight but that is only worthy feature.

The Pearl Fryar Topiary Garden

We also ate poorly for the second day in a row and stopped to see formal garden elements in an informal built setting. Donut World for breakfast, passable barbecue for lunch and dollar hot dogs at Grayson for dinner. The Pearl Fryar Topiary Garden is certainly worth the detour,

We Begin Again

Hey, isn't this a baseball blog?

This day, the sixth anniversary of this blog (though the idea stretches back fourteen or perhaps eighteen years, depending on how you count), we're back on the road, once again in North Carolina. This is our second time here—the first was in 2007 to see the Carolina Mudcats, Asheville Tourists, and Durham Bulls—and it won't be the last. But I hope to hell those trips will be earlier in the year. We're told that what fearmongering weathermen call the "heat index" will reach 106 along our route tomorrow. In other news, colorless green ideas sleep furiously.

Anyway, this first day hit several of our buttons: a doubleheader, an intentional built environment, curious urban developments, and even the ghost of a downtown pedestrian mall. So, hunch over, put your chin in your lap, and let's begin:

Back to the Beginning

For many years, my ex-wife's family met annually in the "Triple Cities" of Binghamton, Johnson City, and Endicott, New York to wish her maternal grandmother a happy birthday. Our generation often griped afterwards about the poor ratio of travel to socializing.

A not so happy 91st birthday.

After several years of complaint, I proposed that we stay overnight together in a cabin in Chenango Valley State Park. Challenged to name something to do in the evening, I suggested we go see a Binghamton Mets game. That was the first of the now many minor league games I  have attended.

I recently returned to Binghamton to learn about the game we saw, watch the B-Mets again for the first time in almost two decades, and see the Elmira Pioneers—a collegiate summer league team—at historic Dunn Field.