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FeedGreat baseball in Toronto, NYC—and Buffalo
So I'm sitting at home, watching the Phillies and Braves do battle on ESPN. It's March in Western New York; not cold enough to be physically painful to go outdoors, yet certainly not warm enough to bust out the short sleeves and enjoy a cold one on the patio.
So forgive my envy, but I'm pretty jealous of the folks hanging out in southern Florida—not necessarily because it's in the 80s and sunny, but rather because they're taking in a game. Yeah, a Grapefruit League contest in late March is about as meaningful as the forward in Lauren Conrad's book, but that'd be missing the point.
One of the best things about the game is that being at the ballpark is half the fun. My TV screen just showed glimpses of some sun-baked Florida bikini chicks whose heads are emptier than the stands at a Marlins game in mid-May, yet I can't help but think they're having just as fun as the eleven-year-old kid who has every player's batting average memorized, or the old-timer who's had season tickets since the Eisenhower Administration.
Baseball, good old baseball, has that kind of universal appeal. Fans can enjoy each others' company almost as much as the play on the diamond. Of all the polarizing issues we have in this country, baseball's something this still binds us, and always will.
Aside from a brief flirtation in the early 90s, Buffalo has never enjoyed the Major Leagues. Yet we're baseball fans nevertheless because at our core, we're still Americans. And while we can't pull for our own hometown club, we know the way to the Bigs, which are essentially right in our backyard.
This season, I'm determined to make the most of it. My wife and I are hoping not only to catch our annual summer nine innings at Rogers Center in Toronto, but perhaps also trips to Cleveland and Pittsburgh. It's fun and it won't break the bank, and with the pittance of summer we typically get, it just feels so right.
What's really exciting is that we scored tickets for a May game at the new Yankee Stadium (thanks, Uncle Jerry!). We nearly had to take out a second mortgage to get said admission, mind you, but it will be worth it. For baseball freaks like me, a trip to the House That Ruth Built—OK, actually the multibillion-dollar megastadium next door to the Babe's old digs—is like a devout Muslim's prilgrimmage to Mecca or the salmon's innate drive to swim upstream and spawn. And after plunking down $50 for a small popcorn and a beer, I can sit back with the smug satisfaction that, "Yeah, I'm back in the South Bronx where I belong, at least for three hours."
The best part is I can get nearly as close to that feeling at PNC Park or Progressive Field, or even at Rogers Center despite its spaceship-like setting and its opening-closing dome that resembles a science experiment more than it does a ballpark. All three are within a day's drive of Buffalo and well worth the road trip, especially since unlike the Yankees, they haven't priced the average fan out of the stands.
And of course, when all those out-of-town sojourns in pursuit of America's Pastime, there's always the option of heading down to the foot of Swan Street and enjoying a Bisons game. Just take a glance around our ballpark—one of the nicest in the minors—and it's clear Buffalo's a baseball town. For that, I'm most grateful.
