George and his son Hank live 150 miles from Pittsburgh, 150 miles from Baltimore, and 150 miles from DC — smack dab in West Virginia. And yet this father and son are lifelong Pirates fan. Through good and bad and worse, they’ve come to games (a full 3-game home stand at a time) to cheer on their team. These are the kind of fans a team like the Pirates depends on. This father/son duo lives and dies for the team, that one moment in the game when something amazing happens. Sure they’d love the Pirates to reclaim some of their glory from the early 70s, but that’s not really the point for this pair. “You know, I pushed my boys into baseball at an early age. Heck, baseball is American. My boys had to do it. And now we have to watch it.” And watch it they do. They used to have season tickets, but with Hank’s work schedule as it is and money not so bountiful this year, they dropped their tickets in favor of some select games. “It was a good compromise,” said Hank. Hank even has dreams of marrying his girlfriend at the ballpark. “How great would that be?! But it’s got to be expensive. But imagine having the wedding right on home plate and the reception right here [Hall of Fame Club overlooking PNC Park],” Hank shared looking around the room excitedly. For the Pirates, a team who has struggled with its identity for the last 40 years (in baseball’s early history the Pirates were a real force to be reckoned with), George and Hank are its lifeline. They are there to ooh and aah at every great play, to hang their heads when the team suffers, to shout “Go Bucs!” no matter what.
Bob and Cheryl are on the other end of the Pirates spectrum. While they live in West Virginia, they say they’re from Pittsburgh, but they were cheering for the Orioles. How that happened is unclear, but their shared love for the game is pretty obvious. Bob is a perennial business traveler, more interested in the elusive perks of a business trip than the business itself. And so he and his wife found themselves in Pittsburgh for a few nights and at PNC Park for one. Bob was surely a fan of the game before he is a fan of a specific team. He cheered for great plays on both sides of the field, called for warm-up balls, whooped it up with the best of them. He was impressed with our score keeping skills and remarked that only true fans kept score anymore. “I used to do that,” he said. I guess even the most devout get tired as they age.
Outside of the ballpark, Pittsburgh is filled with baseball history. Be it the history of the negro leagues (the Pittsburgh Crawfords and the Homestead Grays played in town) or the city’s undying love for Roberto Clemente or the site of the very first World Series, there is much to see and do in this baseball town. A visit is surely encouraged.
While Pittsburgh welcomed up with its jovial fans, a beautiful stadium, and cheap tickets, Cleveland was nice, but so vanilla we were (dare I say it) bored. Sure there were games between innings, and instant replays on the big screen, but the energy in the crowd was so bland, so ho-hum it was bizarre. Maybe it was a hot dog induced coma brought on by $1 hot dog night. Maybe it was the average age of the fan (it seemed like teens and college students swarmed the stadium). Maybe it was the lackluster performance by the Indians. Regardless, the game itself was unexceptional. BUT, once the game was over and the teams had dispersed, Cleveland proved its merits with one of the coolest fireworks shows I’ve ever seen. The stadium transformed into a sea of oohs and aahs, of people so excited for the night it was awesome. Where was this energy during the game? Where was this shared experience while the players were around? Maybe in Cleveland and other mid-market teams, it’s not about the game rather the extras, the $1 hot dogs and the free fireworks. It’s cheaper than the movies and much more fun. But for me, a fan of the game and the magic it promises, it’s hard to be around people who are in it for the extras rather than the spell the field induces.
I’ve become moderately obsessed with fans and their smartphones. HDTV and high ticket prices are not the real killer of baseball’s status in America; it’s smartphones. And they’re everywhere. I’ve seen both a mother and father on smartphones while the kids watch the game. People posting pictures to facebook only moments after taking them. Texting and IMing, it’s all over the stadium. A few people in front of me in Cleveland had their phones out the entire game just in case there was something to text or type or do. I do not agree with this. But I also do not own a smartphone. What’s the point of going to a game if you’re not going to watch it? I’m all about sharing the experience with people not at the game, but when fans text and IM and surf the web during a game, they remove themselves from the adventures of the ballpark.
Tonight is the eve of our biggest game to date: Cincinnati vs. Yankees. I call this the biggest game because it’s finally my chance to see my team. But what I’m experiencing for the first time ever (mainly because I’ve rarely seen the Yankees outside of New York) is the Yankees’ fan base that exists in the most obscure of locations. The family of five from Indiana. The husband and wife from Ohio. How are these people Yankees fans? And what are they fans of? Jamie says they are probably fans of what the Yankees represent (dynasty, legacy, history), but I am determined to find out more as we head to the stadium tomorrow.
Game stats
Hot dogs sold on $1 hot dog night: 60,153
Average number sold at a game: 8,000
Limit per person per visit to the hot dog vendor: 6
Never before seen act: Play (homerun) Under Review
What got the people fired up the most: 3 fans ejected from the upper deck
“Major League” moment: the drum dude still sits in the bleachers of every Indians’ home game
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