My son acquired two tickets from a co-worker to the Phillies game this week. He asked if I wanted to join him and, of course, I said "Of course!"
I have been going to baseball games since I was a little kid. Though I was not always a baseball fan, I loved the whole experience. I grew into a baseball fan as I got older. But as a young child, my father, who was sort of an executive in the main office of a local chain of supermarkets, would get tickets from various product vendors for his family to sit in the special "field boxes" of the then brand new Veterans Stadium. The Pincuses would go — sometimes even on a school night — and be ushered all the way down to a sequestered block of seats just a thin cyclone fence away from the field of play. It was exciting to hear the THUD! of the ball hitting the first baseman's glove just a few feet away. Once — in a game against the San Francisco Giants — Chris Spier, the Giants' three-time All-Star shortstop — relayed a routine catch to first baseman Willie McCovey... except he tossed the ball about three feet over the head of the 6-foot-four-inch McCovey.... right to little Josh. In an involuntary reflex, I ducked out of the path of the speeding ball, as my dad quipped, "He was throwing that right to you!"
As a teenager, I worked as a soda vendor at Veterans Stadium. It was a great job for a teenager. My main concern was hustling for a buck. I was less concerned with how — or even who — the Phillies were playing on any particular day. That summer, I made a lot of money (well, a lot for a sixteen-year-old) and still never considered myself a baseball fan. Yet, I went to a lot of baseball games, still surrounded by that unmistakable atmosphere.
It wasn't until the 1996 All Star Game — to be hosted in Philadelphia — that I was really "bitten" by the "baseball bug." The Pincus family purchased a Phillies season ticket plan in order to secure two tickets to the All Star Game. Our plan consisted of four seats for each Sunday home game — a total of thirteen games. Since there were only three of us Pincuses, we would have to do a lot of convincing and cajoling to get someone else to come along and fill that fourth seat. It was a tough task, as the Phillies were particularly lousy at that the time and watching them slog through a typical trouncing was especially tedious. But we went... and suffered. It was a fun experience and our young son got a real kick out of it.
In 2004, the Phillies moved into their new digs — beautiful Citizens Bank Park. By this time, the team had transformed into a real contender. In just four more years, they would go on to win the World Series. We watched from our seats in Section 137 and cheered the Fightin's on. We kept our season tickets for 18 seasons, sometimes going to additional games outside of our plan.
After letting my attention wane for a few years, I recently began following baseball again. Going to a Phillies game is still a fun experience, but the most recent game — the one I went to with my son on Tuesday night against the Houston Astros — was a different experience. It was unlike any of the previous gazillion games I attended over the past 50 or so years.
 |
| "What did you say?" |
My son and I arrived at the ball park early. We grabbed a quick sandwich from one of the concession stands for dinner and found our seats at the top of Section 132. We settled in as the other seats began to fill in as game time approached. The four seats directly behind us were soon occupied by four young men — three in Phillies jerseys and one daring to sport a rival Astros jersey among a sea of the most notoriously rabid and viscous fans in baseball. I overheard the young men chit-chatting before the game and I noticed that were were speaking in Spanish. Exclusively. It was melodic and I could understand how it was rightly labeled among the world's "romance" languages. At 6:40 on the dot, Phillies pitcher Aaron Nola unleashed a cutter to Jose Altuve and the game was under way. Suddenly, the four guys behind us erupted in baseball "trash talk." I think. They began cheering — like most excited fans — except they were cheering in Spanish. Now, I have not had a Spanish language lesson since my freshman year of high school... and even then I was failing desperately in comprehension. Needless to say, I understand very, very little Spanish. However, just from the inflection in the voices of our seatmates, one easily could tell if they were cheering the Phillies or taunting the Astros. Within the fluid stream of non-stop chatter, I understood certain players' names. Nestled between several Spanish words, a clearly enunciated "Kyle Schwarber" or "Alec Bohm" or "Brother Marsh" (the familial nickname of quirky hirsute Phillies outfielder Brandon Marsh) would ring out — clear as a bell. The rest of it was... was.... well, for lack of a better word... foreign. But it was compelling. I found myself refraining from my usual, game-time shouting to concentrate on the rhythmic, almost poetic chants coming from behind. Within the barrage of words, I understood the venomous "chinga tu madre" hurled at Yordan Alvarez when he singled to center in the top of the eighth inning. After all, when you're learning a foreign language, you learn the bad words first. Throughout the game — inning after inning — the vocal inflections from these guys alternated between joyful and seething. I was there for it and it was spectacular!
At one point, the woman sitting next to me (one of my son's co-workers) smiled and gestured to the fellows behind us. "This is.... amazing!," she said. Now, I am not a fan of the word "amazing" being used willy-nilly to describe decidedly unamazing things, but — to be honest — she wasn't that far off. The entire game took on a whole new exciting vibe. Sure the Philles scoring five runs and keeping the Astros completely off the board was a contributing factor, but. the "second audio track" was a surprising and welcome addition I didn't know I was missing.
I'm thinking of activating the SAP option on my TV when I watch Phillies games at home.
www.joshpincusiscrying.com
No comments:
Post a Comment