'Moan Dads

"Come on Crawdads, let's go!"

When was the last time you heard a grown man say words like this with heartfelt enthusiasm? For me it was the bottom of the seventh inning at Frans Stadium in Hickory as the Hickory Crawdads came to bat trailing the Hagerstown Suns 6 to 4.

Our first visit to the home of the 'Dads was enjoyable. Temperature was in the low 80's and humidity in the low 50's. A beautiful blue sky finally sketched a thin line of clouds across the sky just in time to turn purple, pink, red and a little yellow to melt into the denim-blue shadow of the Earth.

There have been some changes in the old pastime over the years. Back in the days of my youth, you would get to know the stranger who was sitting within talking distance of you in almost every baseball game. At first one of you might just comment on an unusual play, then that would expand to other comments, soon to embrace other members of the ball park who were sitting nearby. Well, baseball, indeed IS a game of inches, and it doesn't really begin to jell until sometime around the seventh inning. Like a sculpture, it is built, piece by piece, turn by turn, slice by slice. Knowledgeable fans, back in those good old days, would follow every pitch, anticipating the order and effect. "OK, now - last times Jones was up he struck-out on a high, inside pitch". You might pass this on to one of your new friends sitting near you. He might respond "Yeah. look for a slider on the outside corner to start with, then come back inside and low - back him off the plate and THEN come in with a fast ball low in the zone!" One of your other new friends might add "And then go outside for a setup and come back with the old sucker pitch!" (Sucker pitch being a high, inside pitch). And you would intently watch, approving as the catcher and pitcher followed your common knowledge, and groaning when they failed. And you would hang on every pitch, mentally motioning outfielders left and right as the pitch order changed. It was very much like a game of bridge or chess.

Well, those days are gone. Now loud music blasts in from loudspeakers as soon as each pitch is completed. It swells, and the crowd may clap, then instantly all falls silent as the pitcher begins his windup. Between innings, instead of getting to know your new friends, now there are clowns staggering around trying to pretend they are doing stupid things like falling down or chasing groundskeepers, and all this with more music beat and comments from the PA system.

So the new game seems not so much a sport involving a complex of performing and comprehending skills as it is a presentation of purposefully inept spoof. But then, that is America, the place where the real tradition is always change.