Double header baseball!

Seeing two ball games at the most extreme talent levels

I consider myself an Iowa Cubs season ticket holder. After all, I have a $50 flex pack of 10 general admission tickets I can use any time during the season.

As a bonus, they emailed me a $25 ticket credit. So yesterday I hopped on my Trek and pedalled 5.2 miles to see baseball at Principal Park.

(Boomer-me still calls it Sec Taylor Stadium. And corporate naming rights are stupid. Whaddya mean Wells Fargo Arena is now the “Casey’s Center”? A tax write-off for them; a reminder of the cash fleeced from us. But I digress…)

As I pedalled, I listened through my phone to Hope 940 KPSZ, the I-Cubs carrier when they’re not the Jesus station. Had I been a more diligent fan, I’d have arrived in time for warm-ups, the anthem, etc. But after parking my bike, cashing in my voucher, refilling my water bottle and grabbing a scorecard (thx for the stubby free pencil, Cubbies!) I found my seat as the Cubs batted in the bottom of the second.

I had a reserved seat in section 8. (A dirty secret that hopefully won’t get me arrested–when I have a GA ticket, I walk confidently toward an empty reserved section row and plant my AARP ass. I have an honest face. And what usher would dare hassle a dopey-looking grandpa like me???)

Ready for scoring baseball and scribbling random notes!

If you’ve ever wondered why there are so many noon start times in April and May, it makes sense when you go a game. It allows schools across the state to bus kids to see professional baseball. Wednesday there were yellow buses from the Davis County and Greene County school districts; the Rockford Warriors were also represented.

I sat behind a group of junior high kids from Iowa’s most iconically named school district and unique mascot. Truro’s own I-35 Roadrunners!

Seated behind I-35 Roadrunner middle schoolers on a blustery mid-day afternoon

It’s almost a contact high to feed off the squirrelly energy of fifty middle schoolers. That’s one reason I don’t mind going to games solo. Those kids might be a pain in the ass if I was trying to talk to someone, but they were entertaining for a free range thinker like me.

Fearful of appearing on the kiss-cam, a nerdy glasses-wearing ten year old pulled his jacket up over his head, even though he sat between two boys.

Halfway into the game, the I-Cubs designate a junior announcer to tell us who’s coming up to bat. Yesterday’s presenter was Roadrunner Maddie/Dani/Abby from I-35! (I didn’t quite catch her real name, but it was something like that).

Her classmates were beyond pumped, pointing and yelling at her in the press box. As she announced “now batting, Jonathan Long!” one kid yelled “I KNOW HER!”

The PA guy also gave a shout out to “the greatest teacher in the world.” Seated ten seats to my right, she stood, punched her fist in the air, and high-fived nearby feral Roadrunners.

As the kids and teachers filed out during the seventh inning stretch, I thanked the staff for their hard work. I didn’t envy the guy who said he was the bus driver.

Oh yeah, the baseball game.,,

A great pitching matchup featured Columbus Clippers starter Rorik Maltrud. In seven innings, he gave up a solo hit, one unearned run and eight strikeouts. I-Cub Charlie Barnes was nearly as good, scattering more hits but no runs in five frames.

Tied at one, the game rolled into the tenth inning.

I had forgotten that in order to speed up the game, each team gets a designated base runner at second base before their first batter. How do you scribble those details onto your scorecard? I was lost, but that’s ok.

Anyway, Iowa Cubs third baseman Pedro Ramirez (April PCL player of the month) lined a pitch sharply down the third base line to win the game in the 11th, 3-2.

Kids line up for pix with Cubbie Bear—maybe telling him what they want for Christmas?

As I said, I don’t mind watching baseball alone. The game’s pace allows me to focus on predictive strategy. There’s also plenty of time for my barnstorming brain to go rogue. And my scorecard always includes random scribblings, like this:

Is it possible to fire a baseball in a cannon from home plate that bounces off the capital dome? Lotsa folks would pay to see that!

There’s a distinct crack sound to a broken bat, like a maple limb snapping as a blustery cold front moves through.

How many baseballs fouled over the first base roof end up in the Raccoon river? And does the Des Moines river ever claim any home run balls hit to right-center? The streams converge just outside of the ballpark.

A new promo idea for guys pounding excessive Busch Lights on Friday nights. Why not a chuck bucket toss for the pukers?

Why is the LET’S GOOOO sign above IOWA SOLUTIONS? Is goooo considered a solution, a solid, or a liquid?

Yup, I think too much about dumb stuff.

Couldn’t resist this pic on the Des Moines River bridge with the baseball stadium in the background. A pitbull dog in the middle with SHOW ME YOUR PITTIES!

I rode my bike home.

Deb took off with kindergartner Owen to “find jewelry in cement cracks” since he found a chain bracelet in a sidewalk crack at school.

Vera snacks on blue Play-Doh before we went outside. Cuz why not?

I hung out with Vera, who wanted to be pushed around the yard in her blue plastic car. I shoved it forward up our gentle sidewalk incline. It slowed before reaching the deck, then picked up speed as it rushed backward toward our mid-yard forsythia bush. She glanced over her shoulder, giggling as I shrilled “you get outa here!” in a crazy old witch lady voice, and grabbed the car right before it rolled into the foliage.

We did it over and over, several dozen times. Twice, she hugged my leg in the forsythia’s shadow. “I love you papa!” I’ve got a melted heart and a two-year old girlfriend (but my wife doesn’t mind).

Back to baseball again.

The Iowa Cubs are a AAA baseball team. That means players are a phone call away from playing in Chicago. Some of the guys I saw may be National League All-Stars in coming years. I even saw future Hall of Famers Greg Maddux and Barry Larkin play at Iowa in their early days.

Talent-wise, the extreme opposite level from Triple A baseball is tee-ball.

Grandson Owen’s Pleasant Hill Reds played the Altoona Cubs a few hours after I saw the I-Cubs. Tee ball batters get 3-4 tosses from their coach, who lobs soft overhand pitches from thirty feet away on their knees. Kids swing at nearly every pitch. If they don’t connect, they get to hit off a batting tee. That’s when the fun begins!

Grandson Owen ready to hit

The batter may run toward third base instead of first. Four infielders descend on a ground ball like it’s a baby kitten, with no idea what to do with the baseball. Wide throws to first base five seconds after the runner has reached it. A second baseman sitting on his butt, playing tic-tac-toe in the sand/clay/silt infield mix (ie: grandson Owen Bainter). Three kids standing around the shortstop position, kicking up baby dust devils, ready for anything but a ground ball.

Owen playing heads-up defense. Still waiting for his back-ordered Reds ball cap

They are having a great time, indifferent to which team scored the most runs or who has the highest batting average or the ultimately meaningless crap adults seem to care so much about when it comes to sports. They are blissfully pure and innocent, bored yet joyful, picking dandelions and running off the field mid-game to pee.

Life is good. And baseball is great, at any level.

(Big thanks to patient coaches!)