Let me start by saying that I've never been a huge baseball fan. I follow it, like I do many sports, and if asked I could tell you who the good teams and players are. But as for the game itself, I'm not overwhelmed. I fulfilled my obligatory duty as an American Boy and played two years of Little League, but baseball and I parted under mutual consent- we were both okay with me finding other sports to play. I've never really looked back and wished for more out of baseball, it just wasn't that big of a deal for me.

That obviously isn't the case for many people, though. I know lots of folks that live and die with their favorite teams, and identify with their home states and cities by their baseball team more than any other facet. My father-in-law is a huge Yankees fan, and can recite statistics from all their championship seasons in the past 50+ years. My next door neighbor is from Chicago, and a huge Cubs fan. Not so many championship memories for him though, but he is a fan none the less. And on it goes. I'm sure you know some rabid baseball fans also, they are out there...everywhere. But why is that, exactly? What is it about baseball, more than any other sport in America, that seems to have this significance in people's lives? I think that yesterday, I started to understand a little bit.

In my continuing career at the concession stands at the AAA ballpark, I worked the Memorial Day game yesterday. It was an afternoon game, and there was a good crowd; lots of families, grandparents, kids, all out for a nice day at the park. It was pretty typical for a weekend day game, at least for me.

But as I talked to customers during the game, I found out typical really didn't describe it. Calling it just a baseball game would be like a sketch, as black and white as the letters you are reading, with 9 men playing for each team, 9 innings, 3 outs per side per inning. The color was provided by the people who attended.

I met a Dad who was taking his son to his first baseball game. The boy, who was probably 8 or so, didn't realize that this was a big deal. But it was for the Dad. The boy wanted a hot dog, candy, drinks ,the whole works. "No son", said the Dad patiently, "first we get peanuts and crackerjack". "Why, Dad? I'm hungry."
"Because, that isn't what we do at baseball games- we get peanuts and crackerjack first."
"OK."
The boy was a bit puzzled, but having peanuts and crackerjack wasn't like carrot sticks or something really bad, so he went with it. "His first game?" I asked the Dad. "Yep!" He said proudly, and you could see in his eyes that somewhere, many years ago, his Dad had gone through the same ritual with him."Have fun!" I said, "and I will see you for hot dogs later."

Not long after a very nice woman, probably in her early sixties, came up and asked for a beer and hot dogs. "Are you having a good time today?" I asked her. "Well," she said, and she started to cry. She told me that she was there with her husband's father, who was in his 80s. He had terminal cancer, and had maybe 3 months to live. This was going to be his last baseball game. He had taken her husband to many games growing up in St Louis as a child, and they wanted to go to a game one last time. He had felt well enough to go, so here they were.
"So this is a very good day, then, isn't it?" I asked her. "Yes," she said, "it really is." She smiled, got her order, and I had one of the teenage helpers carry her food and drinks down. She came back a few times during the game, for more beers, and more snacks, and was happier and happier every time. It was a good day for that family. Maybe one of the very best days. And I know it will be a memory that gives them strength in the hard days to come.

During the seventh inning stretch, to honor the veterans for Memorial Day, they had a woman sing "God Bless America". I was at the home base grill for the day. Right in front of me, behind home plate, a group of 25-30 Vets, representing from what I saw, WWII, Korea, and Vietnam, all rose and sang right along with the singer, word for word. Do you know all the words to "God Bless America"? I'm embarrassed to say that I don't, not all of them. These Vets did. And it meant something to them to be at the ballgame on Memorial Day to sing it. I know it meant something for me to be there to hear it.

So it was an interesting and meaningful day at the ballpark. If I think back to my childhood experiences around baseball, I can tell you that likely as not, if I hear "One of These Nights" by the Eagles, or "Sister Golden Hair" by America on the radio, I will get an image in my head of baseball practice in late summer of 75, chewing on stalks of grass, standing in the outfield catching fly balls with my Hank Aaron Special Edition 715 home run mitt. Interesting. I spent thousands of hours more time on the court hoping to be the world’s best (and at the time, the shortest) world class point guard, but I can't tell you any songs that remind me of it, or a special basketball I had.

I’m not expecting that I am now going to become a huge baseball fan. But I feel like I get it a little better why going to a baseball game can mean so much to people. But maybe there is more to baseball than just the game after all. It isn’t just the game; it is a thread that runs through people’s whole lives, from generation to generation.

$1 Beer Night: A Sordid Tale of Supply and Demand

It is 9:03 PM. My shoes are soaked with Michelob Ultra. I have just told about 25 pseudo-baseball fans that I can no longer serve them beer this evening, and it has caused a near riot in the Third Base Grill. The police officer who patrols this side of the park is nicely asking the mob to leave. They are grudgingly vacating their spot in line, giving up hope for that one last beer...

How exactly did we get to this? (cue the swooshy "Lost" going back in time sounds....)

5PM. I arrive at the ballpark, full of innocent enthusiasm for my first $1 beer night at the ball game. Sounds like fun! Should be good tips, it is a nice 80 degrees, everyone should have a lot of fun!... Time to get in, wrap some hot dogs, prep the nachos, and of course, get the 12 oz beer cups out- no 22 oz beers for dollar beer night.

5:38 PM. First hint of trouble. Bud Lite lines are frozen. No problem, says the beer guy, we can unfreeze them in plenty of time. I naively believe him.

5:45 PM. Beer night pep rally/team meeting. It will be busy, but we can handle it, rah rah! Even though our sign says we ID everyone who appears under 30, the policy is that everyone gets carded. Each customer buying beer must also be wearing a pink bracelet they received at the ID station outside. And then I ID them again, and every time they come in all evening. Well, this should be interesting...

6:00PM. The gates open, and the crowd starts trickling in. The first few customers come in, and I have to send them outside to get the bracelets. No big deal. They come back in, and I ask them for ID. "But I just showed them ID to get the bracelet!" Yes, I know. "So why do I have to show it again?" Because that is what we have been instructed to do by the management. I will ask for your ID every time you come in tonight, so please have it with you.
Customer are puzzled, but it's dollar beer night, so they get a couple of beers and head on out. It is a bit slower than I expected so far. I'm thinking that it won't be all that busy tonight- after all, it is a Thursday night- how busy could it be?
I notice that the smaller beer cups tend to foam up quite a bit, and it is tough to get a good pour with no foam. Hmm. no biggie. Bud Light is still a bit frozen, and frothy. They will get it fixed. No problem. I whistle a happy tune, and the bluebirds sing...

6:38 I am an idiot. There are people lined up out the door like it is the day after Thanksgiving and Wii's are on sale for twenty bucks. I have two taps for Bud Light, and neither will pour. Everyone wants Bud Light. Michelob Ultra pours, but it is so frothy that you get half a cup of foam regardless how carefully you pour. Same with Bud, but that doesn't matter, because no one asks for it. Half the people have not gotten bracelets yet, so I have to send them out to get them- Yes, you can come back to the front. Yes, you still have to show ID, even though you have a bracelet. Because the park management has asked me to.

Yes sir. I can see your USS Kitty Hawk hat. Thank you for your service to our country in the Korean War. I need to see your ID. Born in 1930. Yes sir, I can serve you a beer now.

6:54 PM. No, I can only sell you two beers at a time. No, you can't drink two here, take two to go and pay for four.

7:02 PM. Do I really think you are under 21? I'm not paid to think. Clearly. All that grey hair could be an elaborate makeup job.

This has quickly devolved into the college kegger from hell. (Not that I expect any of you out there went to a college kegger, I'm sure I never did.) A majority of the crowds are college aged kids. I am pouring one beer after another, non-stop. The only way to quickly get a beer poured, because of the small cups, is to let the foam run over until there is beer all the way to the top. This means the beer runs off the counter and onto my feet. Should have worn waders.

7:23 PM. Bud Light is working! The people rejoice! The people are rejoicing because they are all buying beers by the twos, and they are all coming in for their 2nd or 3rd time.

Michelob Ultra has developed the nasty habit of spraying all over the place on a whim. I have been doused a few times now. The crowd finds this endlessly amusing.

One enterprising group of college guys have somehow stuck their IDs to their foreheads so I can check them quickly. I'm comforted to know the future of our country is in their hands.

7:38 PM. Line out the door. Bud Light has frozen up again, and the tech is trying to fix it. Ultra is empty, and they are putting a new keg in. No one wants Bud. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I tell the customers that the tech changed the Bud line with the Bud Light line. They actually believe me. I serve everyone Bud, no matter what they ask for. The Crowd Rejoices!

8:12 PM. ID On Forehead Guys come in for what has to be the 5th time. One of them does not have his ID on his head and I ask him for it. He feels his forehead, and the ID is not there. After crawling around on the floor in the line for a few minutes, he finds it. Crisis averted.

8:30. Drunk College Guy #27 is bumped by his buddy, Drunk College Guy#28. DCG #27 immediately spills one beer all over himself. Pretty darn funny. He spills the other one I have just handed to him all over me. Not nearly as funny. I realize that if I were to somehow get pulled over on the way home, there is virtually no chance I won't be going to jail, because I smell like a brewery.

8:45 PM. It is the top of the 7th inning. Over the PA they announce that beer will no longer be sold after the end of the seventh inning. You can practically feel the stadium vibrate from all the feet heading up the stairs for last call. I understand now what Mufasa must have felt like in the Lion King when the wildebeests stampeded.

The whole vibe of the crowd has now changed. They know they are running out of time to get their 10th or 12th beers, so where they were reasonably patient before as I tried to get them a decent cup of beer with no foam, now there are half tanked guys back in line screaming at me to "hurry up! How long does it take to pour a @##%% cup of beer! It is now beginning the bottom of the seventh. 3 outs left before beer is cut off. Panic is setting in. I'm pouring as fast as I can, but there are still 20-30 people in line....1 out.....more beer..... 2 outs...3 outs.. and that is it. Management hollers in "TURN OFF THE TAPS! NO MORE BEER!

There are literally howls of protest. The people at the front of the line are livid. I get to watch all the stages of beer addled grief: Shock & denial; pain; anger and bargaining (LOTS of bargaining...just ONE more...pleeease?)..all the way through to the bitter acceptance that there is no more beer- with a little escort from the police department. We are finally done..

I'm sure that somewhere in here there are some really good management lessons, but I'm too tired to go through it. I think I will go home and maybe have a beer. But it won't be a Michelob Ultra.