Ballpark franks

By John Pierce

Veteran baseball players pass along tips to younger players. It seems responsible for fans to the same. So here are seven frankly clear lessons for budding fans that will make the experience more enjoyable for them and others.

ONE: Leave and return to your seats between innings.

If nature’s call and a pitcher’s control problems collide at least make a quick exit between batters. But, in general, don’t crawl over other fans or clog the aisle when there’s a full count or runners on the corners with two outs.

TWO: Keep the interest of young fans by spreading out the snacks.

It builds anticipation, which is important to being a baseball fan. For example: a hot dog before first pitch; nachos after three and a half innings; popcorn during the top of the fifth; cotton candy during the seventh-inning stretch; and Pepto-Bismol on the drive home.

THREE: Cracker Jack is singular.

No matter how much you eat. Like ice cream and popcorn, there’s no “s” on the end. When it’s time to stretch, sing it right.

FOUR: Don’t boo intentional walks, throw-overs to first, or Bryce Harper.

It amateurish. Permissible booing should be limited to really bad umpiring such as Sam Holbrook’s infield fly rule debacle in 2012 and the consistently inconsistent behind-the-plate guesswork of C.B. Bucknor.

FIVE: Note the little things beyond hits, outs and final scores.

Like when the umpire brushes off a clean home plate to give the catcher, who is smarting from a foul ball that missed padding, time to recover. Or when the ump is the one hurting and the catcher goes out to the mound to discuss dinner plans with the pitcher.

SIX: Be nice to ticket takes, ushers, vendors, security and others who work at the stadium.

Most of them are really good people who endure more hassles than they deserve. And, unlike fans, they don’t get to leave during bad weather, blowouts or endless extra innings.

SEVEN: Observe Mets fans.

Then do the opposite; you’ll be classy.

How to be a baseball fan when your team stinks

By John D. Pierce

Suppose your team, though clearly rebuilding, has the chance to start the season 2-0 against a division rival’s best pitchers. But drops both games in the short series primarily because a veteran catcher (who was a bright spot in previous year’s dismal season) keeps dropping the ball.

This is purely hypothetical, of course, since the very designation of catcher implies one who catches the ball.

But since we're speculating, perhaps throw in a few more errors (costly, even if not technical ones) and a four-pitch walk from your closer. Then imagine both winnable games being flushed into the sewer of defeat. 

Suppose something far-fetched like that happened at the start of the season.

And what if the third game of the season — this time against a fine baseball franchise from the Midwest — gets off to a much better start: a 4-0 lead? But then falls apart when your pitcher starts offering up batting practice-style pitches that lead to a record three consecutive pinch-hit homers.

And suppose, therefore, your team remains winless.

What is a fan to do? The answer, of course, is to be a baseball fan.

Baseball is no place for the fair-weather or impatient fan. And while persistent fans suffer losses more deeply they also revel more in the victories than the band wagon that shows up after winning streaks.

But there are some specific ways to enjoy the glories of baseball even when one's favorite team is less than glorious. 

 

Here are a few suggestions:

Focus on various aspects of the game rather than just the final score. Celebrate a great catch or throw, a pick-off move, or a nice slide (assuming it fits the narrow definition of legal slides today). Be grateful that a school chorus sang the national anthem vigorously and quickly rather than having to listen to a wannabe recording artist drag the flag and us through an endless stretch of painful vocalization.

Enjoy the cast of characters. Ballparks are full of all kinds of interesting people beyond those on the field. Even the vendors and ushers can be entertaining if you get to know the right ones. And fellow fans can become friends with whom you sing Take Me Out To The Ballgame at the seventh-inning stretch as ritualistically as a congregation sings The Doxology after receiving the morning offering.

Take notice of the sights, sounds and smells. Baseball touches all the senses with its mix of manicured grass, acrobatic athletes, hot dogs and onions, cheers and jeers.

Check out the minors. Hope lives there. Struggling teams (unless they are swimming in money) see their future in the farm system. Take note of how the prospects are doing — and, even better, go see them play. Later it will be fun to say of an MLB all-star, “I watched him play in single A and could tell he’d be a star.” (No one will know that you actually booed the kid back then for throwing to the wrong base.)

Remember when. Nostalgia is a big part of baseball. Even franchises never known as dynasties have memorable histories. Most have displays of various sorts to remind stadium visitors of times of glory.

If all else fails, indulge. The heartburn from stadium fare such as the tater tot chop, the sausage sundae or the burgerizza can distract from the heartbreak of unfavorable final scores. If you can imagine.

Compliments improve with the source

By John D. Pierce

When working on the Georgia Tech campus in the early ’90s I’d encourage students to attend baseball games there with me — typically a lesser-appreciated college sport than football or basketball (sans Vanderbilt).

The students responded well, and many afternoons we’d walk over to Russ Chandler Stadium to watch this exceptionally good Yellow Jackets team.

Catcher Jason Varitek would likely bomb one toward the frat house beyond the right field fence and pick off an unsuspecting runner drifting from third base. Jay Payton played a sterling centerfield and several other players were quiet good as well.

I particularly enjoyed watching — and pointing out his skills to students — the then-skinny shortstop with the odd name: Nomar Garciaparra. (His fellow Tech students, who know a lot about all kinds of stuff, would note that “Nomar” is “Ramon” — his daddy’s name — spelled backward.)

Of course, Nomar went on to have a fine Major League career as did some of his Tech teammates of that era. Also, he married a talented soccer star from another ACC school (UNC) and kids followed as well as a broadcasting venture.

However, I didn’t expect Nomar’s name to surface over the holidays when reading David Halberstam’s 2003 bestseller, The Teammates. It traces the enduring friendships of four Boston Red Sox — Ted Williams, Johnny Pesky, Dom DiMaggio and Bobby Doerr — who played together before I was born.

Williams, of course, was one of the greatest hitters of all time — the last person to finish a season with a batting average above .400. That was in 1941, the same year Dom DiMaggio’s more famous brother, Joe, set a still-unbroken record with a 56-game hitting streak.

In the book, Halberstam recalled the aging Williams placing a call in 1996 to his old teammate and friend Doerr. Ted is watching Garciaparra who’d just come up with the Red Sox.

“Who does he remind you of?” asks the Splendid Splinter.

Doerr, writes Halberstam, paused — afraid of being wrong. So Ted answered his own question: “DiMaggio.”

“Dom?” asked Doerr, assuming Ted was referring to their mutual friend and longtime teammate who was quite a player.

“No, Bobby. Joe!” Ted responded.

Wow! What a compliment — to have one of the greatest hitters of all time compare you to one of the greatest hitters of all time.

I wonder if Nomar has that page from the book framed. Everybody appreciates compliments — but they carry more weight depending on the source.

It’s a good reminder to be generous with honest compliments toward one another, especially those who would be buoyed by our affirmation.