When I walked out of my house on Saturday morning, the air was perfectly still and the sky was cloudless. It was a quiet Washington morning and I could practically smell baseball in the air. I had dreamt about baseball the night before... nothing specific, just that I was at the park with a wonderful sense of anticipation palpable even in my REM cycle.
As I walked to Starbucks that morning with a sense of euphoria that couldn't be contained, I knew that I would be able to enjoy at least one game over the weekend and was hoping for the chance to see two. But even if that didn't happen, the reality that baseball was back and back at a new ballpark was all I needed.
Thankfully it did happen, and for sixteen blissful hours over the course of one weekend, I roamed around Nationals Park, saw two games, and soaked up everything in sight. However, I couldn't even begin to describe it all, so instead, here are the ABC's of a very baseball weekend at Nationals Park.
Awesome
There are no other words to describe Nationals Park. When Dusty and I rounded the corner of M Street SE on Saturday and the navy blue seats came into view on, I actually choked up. I've been to some of the great parks and each holds a mystique that can't be put into words, but there's an unspeakable emotion that wells up inside when you step up to a brand new ballpark that's almost in your backyard. I've never lived so close to a baseball stadium in my life. I grew up looking forward to that one opportunity a year to see my favorites take the field, but this... this was a lot to take in. My eyes filled with tears as I walked through the turnstiles and beheld that bright green grass for what will surely be the first of many visits.
Boos for Bush
I did not vote for George W. Bush the first time or the second time. I refused to buy a Nationals hat with a curly "W" because of what "W" is a synonym for in this town. I'm counting down the days until he ships back to Crawford. But I'll admit I didn't boo him when he took the mound to throw out the first pitch at Nationals Park. Putting aside the fact that I could barely feel my lips because of the biting cold and that I was too focused on snapping blurry pictures, I just couldn't bring myself to boo him because of the moment. It transcended partisan differences and presidential stupidity. It wasn't Bush on the mound, but rather the symbol of our nation, for better or worse.
Cold
Did I mention how cold it was? I've had some chilly moments in my life and live in a house that is often too expensive to heat, but sitting in Section 401 of Nats Park in 30-something degree weather ranks high on the list of the coldest moments of my life. I knew from the exhibition game that it would be cold, especially since the opener was slated to start a full two hours later, so I made sure I was prepared. In order from skin to air, I was wearing a turtleneck, long-sleeve t-shirt, sweatshirt, Nationals ¾ length t-shirt, and my Lands' End coat. I dug out my old volleyball spandex shorts to keep my rear from freezing and wore two pairs of socks, one of which came to my knees. I even brought my fleece UConn blanket to wrap up in. And don't forget the scarf, earband, and gloves. I felt like Randy from The Christmas Story. I actually had a hard time bringing my phone to my ear because my arms were so bundled. It was a cold night as it was, but with my seat at the tippy-top corner of the park, I knew the wind would be my nemesis for the duration of the game.
Doubts
Ever since baseball landed back in the District, people have doubted its staying power and its ability to pack a house. When officials broke ground on the new ballpark, people doubted whether this state-of-the-art facility would live up to expectation without burdening the city with its price tag. The day Alfonso Soriano shipped out of town, people doubted whether the Nationals would ever have the star power to be contenders. But on the night of March 30, 2008, when the ball left the hand of Odalis Perez for the first time, it seemed that every one of those doubts evaporated. Washington loves baseball. Nationals Park is a wonder to behold. And the Nats are ready to take on the best of the best.
Embraces
I got three hugs and the warmest reception from every worker I encountered at the park. When I saw the security guard at the door of the team store, I said to him, "I remember you from RFK!" He looked at me for a moment and said, "You know... you look familiar to me too!" When I paused to make fun of this sign (because who has pizza and wine together?), another member of the staff put her arm around me and had a good chuckle also. It really did feel like I was being welcomed home.
Five Dollars
That's how much I paid for my Opening Day ticket. I was one of 400 people who stood in line on Sunday afternoon for a shot at being part of this historic event. Up until that morning, I wasn't 100% I would go. I knew from the previous night that it would be freezing and that once I bought the ticket, I had to go immediately into the park, which meant roughly 10 hours just hanging out and roaming around. But I also knew that I didn't have any plans and that I could either go stand in line or I could mope around my house all day because I wasn't at the park. I decided to take my chances, and I'm so glad I did. Now I'm the type of person who expects the worst and hopes for the best. Better to be prepared for disappointment than to be devastated by it... but I did have a feeling I would be there and my Mom had the same feeling, so who could argue with that?
Greatest Love Of All
That's the song the gentleman in line behind me at Starbucks was singing on Saturday morning before my blissful baseball weekend had even begun. I couldn't quite place the song at first, but then the little voice inside my head started singing along.
"Because the greeeeeat-est love of all is haaaaappening to meeee..."
I couldn't think of better song to begin the weekend.
Hot Dogs
Call me crazy, but I was hoping for an RFK-style hot dog... stale bun, cold dog, too much ketchup. It's all part of the experience, and on Sunday, I got just that. At work the next morning, a few people asked me, "So how was the food?" I knew they were expecting stories about Ben's Chili Bowl, Hard Times, and Red, Hot and Blue, but instead I regaled them with tales of my fabulously imperfect hot dog. They were disappointed, but I wasn't.
Images
The scoreboard at RFK was really the size of a postage stamp... well, at least in comparison to the behemoth of a building it sat in. Most of the cheap seats offered a pretty decent view of the miniature monitor, but if you sat anywhere from center to right-center, then you automatically forfeited your ability to see the score, the line-up, or an animated Abe Lincoln doing the hidden ball shuffle. It's a brand new world at Nats Park though. The scoreboard is the size of Rhode Island and has more pixels than there are people in China. It's almost hard to pay attention to the game because the electronic image is so crisp and clean. If men had remote controls on their seats instead of cup holders, they might actually be in the perfect world.
Jones
As in Larry Wayne, a.k.a. Chipper, a.k.a. a player I can't stand. He was the one who marred the scoreboard by hitting a solo shot out to the Red Porch area of the park. As he trotted around the bases, I had to wonder whether he was thinking about some Hooters wings. Old joke, but still a goodie.
Kelly Clarkson
The music in the park was your typical fare. Neil Diamond played during pitching changes. "Eye of the Tiger" blared at another point. Then there was the canned organ music that made the time between batters more energetic. But imagine my surprise when I heard not one, but two Kelly Clarkson tunes floating from the speakers before the start of the Opening Night game. I was psyched when I caught an earful of "Behind These Hazel Eyes," but then two songs later I heard the familiar opening beats of "Since U Been Gone" and I was downright giddy. In the middle of the song, my phone buzzed with a text message. When I flipped it open, I had a note from Chase. He wrote, "Ha ha Kelly Clarkson is on." My friends know me so well.Lines
The Secret Service and Ben's Chili Bowl conspired to make many a fan's experience just a little irksome, but thanks to my early arrival at the park and my distaste for chili, I didn't have to deal with either. The only line I had to contend with was the one that had formed outside the Nationals ticket office on Sunday morning. The Nats organization had made it abundantly clear that no one would be allowed to form a line for the $5 tickets before 3:30, but I didn't quite believe that and I was right. When I arrived, I found roughly 250-300 people ahead of me. I was crestfallen, but determined. The line itself wasn't unbearable, but the people around me were. In front were representatives from the Class of 2010. I didn't mind their mini radio or the discussion of their study schedules, but when the boys literally started climbing the walls of the stadium, I had a hard time containing my annoyance. In front of the frat boys was a man who looked like a cross between Randy Johnson and Jed Clampett. His scraggly hair hung down the center of his back and he was wearing a cap that said, "Two Dogs." Huh? His common-law wife looked like she might pull a corn cob pipe out of her overcoat at any second. The best crew was behind me though. Picture three paunchy guys in homemade, white, crewneck sweatshirts who looked like they had been playing too many video games in the basement of their mother's house. But they thought they were cool, which was the worst part. Every other word out of their mouth was modified by an expletive that only thinly disguised just how badly they wanted tickets to this game. If they didn't swear, they probably would have cried. These were my linemates and I was praying that they wouldn't be my seatmates. Apparently I used up all my prayers on actually getting a ticket.
Metro
For months, everyone and their uncle who had any connection to the building of the new park encouraged people to take the Metro to and from Nats Park. I figured I'd sample the Navy Yard station on my way home from the opener, so after weaving my way through the crowd filing out with their free rally towels, I rushed right into a bottleneck at the escalators. So much for Metro renovations.
National Pastime in the Nation's Capital
It was the 6th inning before I noticed the phrase spinning around the top of the Red Porch. It said, "The Official Home of the National Pastime in the Nation's Capitol." When I walk to the Metro every morning on the way to work, the magnificent white dome less than a mile ahead of me disappears in a haze of thoughts for the upcoming day. I tend to forget that I live in the nation's capital, but when I looked to my left on Sunday night and saw that same dome, then looked back ahead to see the Nats staying strong against the Braves, I suddenly felt a surge of pride in calling this city my home.
Ovation
The ovations were plentiful over the weekend... baseball is here to stay in Washington, the park is gorgeous, and Nick Johnson's leg works again... huzzah!Presidents
When Teddy Roosevelt didn't win the Presidents' Race at the end of last season, rumors flew that he would win on Opening Day. I had purchased a special t-shirt for the occasion, one that said, "Let Teddy Win," and when I wasn't sure I'd get tickets, I secretly wondered if my purchase would be for naught. If Teddy won in the first game, it would be obsolete by the time I got to the second. So as much as I was rooting for Teddy to beat out George, Abe, and Tom, I was secretly hoping to have another opportunity to don my t-shirt. When Teddy broke from the pack... in the wrong direction, I knew my shirt would live to see another day.
Quartet
I had been waiting in the $5 line for about 90 minutes when all of a sudden I heard the gentle strains of "Take Me Out To The Ballgame" being sung up ahead. I stood on my tip-toes and sure enough there was a barbershop quartet entertaining the masses. I appreciated the gesture.
RFK
I left a piece of me at RFK. As beautiful as Nats Park is and as much as RFK looks and feels like a toilet bowl, there will always be a little part of my heart somewhere between sections 503 and 509. I've seen too many games there, spent too much time with people I care about there, eaten too many nachos there not to feel a little warm and fuzzy when someone mentions RFK.
Sanitary Napkin Containers
(Sorry, gentlemen.)
Much has been made of the fact that Nationals Park came in on budget and on schedule. Phew! Imagine what would have happened if they had added sanitary napkin containers to every stall in the ladies' room! Man oh man, that budget would have skyrocketed. Those little tin boxes that you can stick to the stall walls with ticky-tacky do break the bank. C'mon now... not one person in the planning of this bastion of baseball thought that this might have been a good idea to serve all of the women they're so desperate to cater to? Keep the pink hats and stick to the basics!
Team Stores
I love a good gift shop almost as much as I love baseball. Ask anyone who has ever taken a trip with me and they'll tell you that I have to go into every gift shop I see on the off chance that one will have something the other doesn't. The premier Nationals team store is located at the main center field entrance of the park, and it's a beauty. It's spacious and smells like freshly laid carpet. It has a replica of Mount Rushmore above the registers, adorned with the mascot faces of our favorite four presidents. It's just spectacular. But even after spending 20 minutes roaming around the main location, I couldn't keep myself from going into the auxiliary one behind home plate and stopping at several kiosks along the way, looking for that diamond in the rough that would make me pull out my money. I'm happy to report I bought a t-shirt, a baseball, and of course, a mini bat. Let's just say I have a collection of them.
Unbridled Excitement
During the winter, I had tried everything I could to get tickets for Opening Day and everyone I knew tried everything they could to get me tickets to Opening Day, but it was to no avail. After virtual waiting rooms, lotteries, and begging, I had resorted to combing Craig's List and found two tickets for the exhibition game that were right in my price range. If I couldn't go to Opening Day, then I would at least get to say that I saw the first major league game ever played in Nationals Park, even if it didn't count. I couldn't have been happier with my boon, and on the day I bought the tickets, I ran around my office like I had just sucked down a dozen pixie sticks.
Victory
I'm getting ahead of myself...
Water
The sun never made an appearance on Sunday, so as the clock inched closer to gametime, the temperature dropped more and more. All of those layers did little to protect me from the elements, and the only relief I got was by ducking into the bathroom on occasion so I could shield myself from the wind. While I was in there once, I decided to actually use the facilities and when I went to wash my hands, I discovered a most beautiful thing. Steam billowed from the faucet as hot water gushed over my red, chapped, frigid hands. I sat there, rhythmically going from left hand to right to faucet button, left, right, faucet, left, right, faucet. I just couldn't get enough and I felt tingles of warmth fly up my arms. For a moment, I thought I could stay there for hours, but then I felt a little like a homeless person, so I decided it would be best to brave the elements once more... and then find another bathroom.
X - No smoking
I don't remember seeing any sign in the park that said you couldn't smoke, but when was the last time you went to a sporting event where it was okay to light up? Randy Johnson and his common-law wife decided to break out their Marlboros not long after the first pitch. I couldn't believe it, but didn't dare say anything. I just sat there hoping the wind would carry the smoke elsewhere. The funniest thing was when common-law wife went on an 8-inning journey for two Heinekens and Randy couldn't find anyone with a light. Gee, I wonder why?
Yelling
I didn't do a lot of yelling on Saturday or Sunday. I'm a big-time woo-er and sometimes my vocal cords snap me back to reality, reminding me of the shallow vocal range God gave me. It usually takes about 20 minutes of wooing before my voice cracks like an adolescent boy and my friends start laughing at me. But I continue to woo nonetheless because I know the players appreciate my wooing. Really, they do.
Zimmerman
The Nats looked good on Sunday night, almost too good. Maybe it's the Italian side of me, maybe it's the Red Sox fan in me... whatever it is, I know that the other shoe can always drop... and fast. The Nats held a 2-1 lead going into the top of the 9th inning. I could almost feel the hot shower, but when the notion popped into my mind that maybe I should start folding up my blanket, I made a conscious effort to resist. It ain't over 'til it's over. And then the Braves scored. The diehards who stayed either because they love baseball or because they were frozen to their seats let out an audible groan that was part pain for the Nats, part pain for all of us who knew we couldn't leave even if there were extra innings. I'll admit that I wasn't too certain the Nats would find the magic in the ninth to spare us a tenth, and when Guzman and Milledge didn't reach base, doubt crept in. Two outs and then the murmurs started. Ryan Zimmerman's name was announced and the murmurs turned into a buzz as he strode to the plate. I don't know if anyone really dared to hope for the Hollywood ending, the Hobbs ending... the night was perfect, but that would be too perfect, the kind of ending a filmmaker would scoff at as cliché and predictable. No way a pitch lands right in Zimmerman's wheelhouse. No way that ball slams right into the sweet spot of his Louisville Slugger. No way that ball rockets towards left center field. No way it clears the wall and lands in the outstretched palms of an eager fan. No way the first homerun in Nationals Park is a walk-off homer by the fresh-faced franchise kid.
Way.
Zimmerman electrified the park and a city with one swing of the bat.
And I can't tell you how thrilled I am to say that I was there.
