 Baseball
Tour Review by a Fan
Bleary-eyed we stumbled out of our cars and lined up to wait for the
bus. And although the sun hadn’t come up yet, our fearless leader Bill (www.billsbaseballtours.com)
cheerfully greeted us all. I was there with my parents and wife and I
looked around at the other folks. There were kids, moms and dads,
grandparents, couples and friends. Everyone looked tired but excited.
After the luggage was loaded, Bill talked about the trip, took a role
call, and we headed out of Asheville. Just before we got on the highway,
I watched a father and his young son sitting near the front of the bus
clink their plastic water bottles together in a “cheers” gesture, and we
were on our way. So, where were we going?
The first stop was Washington, DC, and then New York City for three
major league baseball games. “Three games in three days?” an incredulous
non-sports fan had asked my Mom before our trip. “You must be crazy.”
Perhaps we were.
There were many different affliations on that bus. Cub fans and Cardinal
fans. Supporters of the Braves, Yankees (of course), and even the Mets –
my Dad and me included in that bunch). But above all (with the possible
exception of two young women who may have been there to pick up
ballplayers), we were baseball fans.
On our way to DC, to get us in the mood, we were shown two
baseball-themed movies, the fun Sandlot and the inspirational
tear-jerker The Rookie, and we happily watched them as we munched on
crackers and granola bars.
After a mere eleven hours or so we arrived in our nation’s capital. The
bus driver, Phil, expertly maneuvered us through the thick traffic – we
were able to get glimpses of the Washington Monument and the Jefferson
Memorial along the way – and we got to the hotel a few hours before the
game.
We were close enough to walk and it was a warm, pleasant evening.
Nationals Stadium is a nice new ballpark and there was a party-like
atmosphere going on all around it. The Nats (for my money, not a great
nickname as it brings to mind those annoying little bugs), were playing
the Phillies. And although we (and probably everyone else) were hoping
to see the young phenom Stephen Strasburg pitch, or even Phillies ace
Roy Halladay, we had to settle for a couple of others.
It was bobble-head day and though none of us were Washington fans, or
even knew who the bobble-head was, we gladly took them to our seats. (We
ended up giving one away to an excited woman sitting behind us who was
sorry she hadn’t gotten there early enough).
It was a pretty full house and there might have been more Philadelphia
fans although perhaps, as Philly fans are wont to be, they were just
louder. The game was close – the Nats jumped out to an early lead and
the Phillies came back to tie it. Because we didn’t care too much about
the outcome, we left after the 8th inning and naturally missed the best
part of the game – a walk-off three-run homerun to win it.
The next morning we got up early again (but thankfully not as early) and
headed north to New York. There were several people who had never been
there before and once we had crossed through most of my home state of
New Jersey and the NYC skyline appeared, they eagerly began snapping
photos.
12-year-old Reed, on the trip with his parents, who up to this point had
been rather quiet, began chattering like a squirrel and taking pictures
of nearly every bridge and tall building he saw. We slowly made our way
through Staten Island, over the Verrazano Bridge, through Brooklyn, and
into Queens, passing loads of colorful graffiti and ads scrawled on the
sides of very old buildings (“Say No To Drugs, But Say Yes to Rugs!”).
Finally, after driving by Citi Field in congested Flushing, and having
to come back to it from another direction, we were able to find bus
parking. I was sad Shea Stadium was gone, but the new park is beautiful,
intentionally old-looking and reminiscent of Ebbet’s Field, where the
Brooklyn Dodgers used to play. It was cap day and after we got our caps
(and a rigorous pat-down from a tad over-zealous security guard), we
headed to our seats.
The best part of the game (aside from the cute drink vendor calling out
a Rosie Perez-like “Waw-duh!”) was that it was Mets Hall of Fame day,
and they were inducting two of my childhood heroes: Dwight “Doc” Gooden,
and Darryl Strawberry. There were speeches and highlights of that
magical year – 1986 – and for a few moments I felt like that 8-year-old
kid again.
As for the game itself, the Mets got shellacked 14-1. We spent a couple
innings sipping our great but expensive shakes from the well-renowned
Shake Shack and watching the Mets get hammered, and then towards the end
of the game perused gift shops.
The evening proved better however. After checking into the hotel across
the river in Newark, I met up with one of my oldest friends who still
lives in NJ. Of course we couldn’t help but reminisce about ’86 and past
great Mets teams; as long suffering fans it’s all we have to cling to.
The next morning the bus headed back into New York. With the third and
final game an evening affair at Yankee Stadium, we had time to spend in
the Big Apple. After we emerged in Manhattan from the Lincoln Tunnel,
Bill began to talk to us about the many food choices the city offered,
including some huge and tasty sandwiches at Roxy’s Deli, and I already
began looking forward to lunch.
While others went off to see Ellis Island and the Statue of Liberty, we
went to a museum in the Times Square area. They were displaying a King
Tut exhibit and although it was fascinating, I couldn’t help but keep
thinking of Steve Martin’s old song (“Born in Arizona, moved to
Babylonia, King Tut”) After a nice lunch at a little Italian restaurant
(I had a heaping bowl of capellini), we made our way back to the
meet-site to wait for Phil and the bus. Once back on board, Bill polled
us about where we had eaten (he himself having gone the thick sandwich
route at Roxy’s). Nearly everyone had decided against fast food/chain
restaurants for local fare. However, Reed admitted that he and his
parents had eaten at a McDonald’s. When Bill gave him grief for it, Reed
defended their choice: “But it was a two-story McDonald’s!”
The ride up to Yankee Stadium was a breeze, and once we’d reached the
Bronx we had hit all five boroughs in two days. My Mom, a life-long
Yankees fan, grew more excited as the stadium came in sight. We lined up
to get into Monument Park and she took a picture with Mickey Mantle’s
large plaque. (Mom later said that when she was little, she, like a lot
of people it turned out, believed all those Yankee greats were buried
there).
Once inside the stadium we inched as close to the field as the ushers
would allow for more photos and then went to find out seats. The new
stadium is very nice but, just like Shea, it was a shame the historic
one was gone. However, we discovered in one shop that for only $30 you
could get some dirt or piece of concrete from the old ballpark.
Except for a terrible inning where the Yankees did their best Mets
impression, it was a good game. Every time A-Rod came to the plate the
stadium was lit up with flash bulbs but alas, he didn’t hit his 600th
homerun that night. (We missed it by two games.)
With the game all but over, my wife and I snuck out to grab a slice of
pizza on the way back to the bus. After all, how do you come all the way
to New York City and not get a slice?
We got back to the hotel late but it probably would’ve been much later
if it hadn’t been for Phil’s shortcut, which earned him a round of
applause. We left early the next morning and on the ride home watched
several hours of Ken Burns’ baseball documentary. At one point “Take Me
Out to the Ballgame” began to play and the whole bus sang along
Bleary-eyed – it was around midnight when we got back to the bus
terminal in Asheville – we stumbled off the bus, gathered our stuff, and
headed for home. It was a hectic, albeit fun few days, and I’m sure a
lot of us were already thinking about taking the same trip next year.
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