A half moon hangs in the sky. An 85 degree night with no threat of rain. Another great night for baseball. I am in heaven, quite literally, the upper deck at the far corner of the left field seats for the third game against the LA Dodgers. Our view is the wide angle lens shot of the field, less intimate and immediately compelling than other places I've sat, so it takes time to settle in and focus. Fortunately, tonight I am joined by Peter, Isaac and Joe, 3 absolute Baseball aficionados, who trade colorful commentary past present, even future. On either side of me I am treated to 'BSL" Baseball as a Second Language. At one point, Isaac is describing a game that he saw, and though I know all the words he is using, the meaning is opaque to me. At this moment I wish that I had a tape recorder to document this language sample.As a child, my father would listen to the Pittsburgh Pirates games in the car, but because all I knew was that he wanted us to be quiet, I did not appreciate how dear this experience was to him. I don't remember him ever actually attending a game, and don't remember ever being taken to one, so in looking back am sad of this lost opportunity to share my father's love of listening to the color commentators. for a team that was in it's prime. I can only now imagine the rapturous melody of a skilled announcer who could convey excitement through the speakers of the radio in our Buick stationwagon. : "And it's a high ball to center.........it's over the head of the center fielder..........it'sA HOME RUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The first 5 innings go quickly, up down, up down. Cole Hamels pitches brilliantly letting in one hit that goes nowhere for the Dodgers. But the Phillies are not hitting either, so we wonder if this will be another long game.
Then Ryan Howard is up to bat. Ahhhhhhhhhhh. And it's a high ball to center...it's over the head of the center fielder..its A HOME RUN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
NOW we have a game as both teams start hitting. Along the way the Phillies produce some excitement with 2 elegant triples. Triples are about the running: there is always the tension as the runner bolts around second-will he try for third base? Home? Will the fielder be able to throw it in time for an out?
The Dodgers pitcher walks several runners. With the bases loaded, 2 outs, a 3-2 count the fans are on our feet cheering, cheering, cheering. The batter swings, "it's a flyyyyyyyyy ball................... ...............caught by the center fielder". Like a balloon deflated, we settle back into our seats. The stadium is quiet again.
The Dodgers challenge Hamels with some hits, but he fights back with strike outs to retire them for another inning, for a total of 8 innings.
The Phillies do score one more with what I learn is as close to a 'suicide squeeze play' as I am likely to see, a close slide to home, safe at the plate. Another chance to stand and yell. The Dodgers never recover, and with no runs in the top of the 9th inning, the game is over. Smiles all around. Phillies 2, Dodgers 0.
A postscript: We pour into the Broad Street subway line that is always waiting for us after the game. The train is crowded, not just with the red and white of the Phillies fans, but also with fans carrying programs from the "Glee" concert. I get some vicarious pleasure from hearing the reports of the concert, which I had considered going to until I found out the price. One man with a program said, "It was good" and the woman he was with said, "It was fantastic, he's lying". One family has come from Baltimore, another man from New York.
"Isn't the show playing in New York?", I ask him. "Oh, I saw it there, too! With all the teenage girls, gay guys, and women who could drag their boyfriends."
