NORTH SIDE, CHICAGO — A rain shower has come and gone, cool air has sliced through the humidity, the seats are just a little bit wet, and the sky lightens in what feels like elapsed time video. The outfield grass glistens green like it has just been colored by magic markers. The players begin to play catch. The Cubs aren’t good. Again. It doesn’t matter.
“Look at this,” comedian and Cubs fan Jeff Garlin shouts out. “It’s perfect. Look at the way the sky is in the background. Look at the ivy. Look at the scoreboard. There’s no other way to say it. It’s perfect.”
He looks around and then feels compelled to hold out his arms like he’s about to conduct an orchestra.
“It’s f——– perfect! Right?”
F——- perfect. Yes. One hundred years later.
The question is: Why?
So I’ve been to all thirty ballparks … and the thing that’s easy to forget is baseball has never had so many gorgeous ballparks. This is the golden age. I grew up in the 1970s and early 1980s, when the Big Red Machine rolled, when Mark Fidrych talked to baseballs, when Joe Charbonneau opened beer bottles with his eyelids and when ballparks were dumps. There were almost no exceptions.
Ballparks were such dumps that you could separate them into simple dumpy categories:
Category 1: Massive old stadiums that smelled like stale beer where your view would, almost without exception, be blocked by a steel girder or limited by giant overhangs (Cleveland Municipal, Old Yankee Stadium, Old Comiskey in Chicago, County Stadium in Milwaukee, etc).
Category 2: Round multi-use stadiums with soul-sucking sameness and Astroturf where grass was supposed to be (Riverfront Stadium in Cincinnati, Veteran’s Stadium in Philadelphia, Old Busch Stadium in St. Louis, etc).
Category 3: Domes. Just, ugh, domes (the Astrodome in Houston, the Kingdome in Seattle, the Metrodome in Minnesota, etc).
Don’t get me wrong – I loved these parks. I loved them madly. Why? They played baseball there, of course. Fulton-County Stadium in Atlanta lacked all charm but I saw Dale Murphy hit a home run there. I climbed about 493 ramps to get to my seats at the Astrodome and watched Jeff Bagwell hit two home runs. I could barely see the field from where I sat at Tigers Stadium in Detroit, but Al Kaline had played there and Ty Cobb had played there too. Shea Stadium was the pit of despair, but I liked that Big Apple that went up after I saw an aging Dwight Gooden give up a smash.