The Red Wings season ended Monday afternoon. I had the Labor Day holiday off and volunteered to run camera for the final game of the year. It had been two years since I'd been on the field, in that time our video operation had done a complete change up and become more professional than what was once a switcher in a closet. Getting used to a camera after all these years was unknowingly difficult, the tripod was knotty, the sun was in my eyes the entire game, shining off the small black and white monitor, and my face ended up quite burnt. I give my guys (and the gal) props for hanging in through extra innings, through bad weather, through sad, sad defeats all spring and summer. It these moments I like to take to remember how everyone else feels about their job. Thing was, I promised myself this one I'd just sit in the stands and enjoy. But for some reason at Frontier Field I'm unable to do anything at work. It's like how I used to rearrange the grocery store shelves at Wegmans years after I left there.So I needed to find another ballgame to end the season on to watch.
I found it about forty-five minutes south west of Rochester in Batavia, a town I had always pictured smaller than possible could host an A-level baseball team. In fact for a few moments this past winter, Batavia almost lost their baseball team after hosting the sport continuously since 1939. But thanks to my seasonal employers, the Red Wings, a little bit of infusion of cash and pride kept the ball club here. And while the team's name has changed, their affilitation has altered, and possibly tens of thousands of boys have come through the stadium chasing the dream of the show, the community's support for their team has not dwindled. I found a date willing enough to sit through a minor league game and set out to enjoy the Muckdogs on an warm September night.
It was quintessential small town ball. Those stories and myths, of how the local kid who had no luck doing anything else in life, but play baseball? Those all took place in Batavia, NY. For the first bit of charm, Dwyer Stadium is way off the main streets of the small city. You have to go through actual neighborhoods to get there, and then of course park in a field next to the stadium. But hey, it's free parking (just roll down your windows if you park too close). The entrance and the ticket office may only have two windows and two turnstiles, but it still has the feel of a professional ball park. Everything about the ballpark is small; one bathroom, one concession stand, a shack that couldn't house a modern lawnmower as a team store, a PA announcer that walked through the stands, and naturally a mascot costume that looks like it went through the spin cycle too long. But that's what the rarity of intmacy is about in life.
As the date and I picked our general admission bleacher seats (oh, Silver Stadium, I wished I remembered you better!) in the grumpy old man section the first thing we spotted was the sun setting over the trees in left field. The stadium felt large yet intimate, enough so you could hear the fans heckle from the other side of home plate and hear the thump of the ball hitting the catchers mit or the ball hitting the shoulder of the batter, which A pitchers have a habit of doing. The outfield wall was bespotted with tons of local ads, including one for my tv station, and a very old looking score board, that simply told the score, balls, strikes, and outs. That is, if all the lights were working, which enough weren't to make a 0 look like a 6.
I must state the players played their hearts out. Batavia at the end of the season lay at the top of the standings, while their opponents, Jamestown, crouching just half a game back. So despite being minor minor league, at the end of summer, this game counted for these young boys. The bats were alive at first, then quite silent for the Muckdogs through innings 3 through 8. The Muckdog outfielders dived, slid, retrieved and threw to the cut off with the best of them. The 400 feet deep center wall looked extremely far deep from our seats near first base as the centerfielder kept bouncing off of it. Despite an overwhelming loss (at one point the Muckdogs were down by 10) you could tell these guys had tried their best to make their mark and took the defeat seriously.
Almost as seriously as the fans, most of them old baseball fans who had in their experience seen some of the best and worst players come through Batavia. The bleacher fans definitely made the 3 hour and twenty minute game a fun experience. It was typical of what you find at any ballpark, heckling, pontificating, chants, musical stomps and endless stories between neighbors. The best thing being that most of the watchers knew each other and had probably seen most every game in the short NY-Penn season. I was very glad to see some Red Wing regulars in the stands trying to extend the ball season. I was even able to con my way up into the press box for a quick tour of the facilities. Unsurprisingly, the equipment looked exactly like what we had at AAA six years ago when I started with the Wings.
It's reassuring to know that baseball still exists on this level, that it's easily accessable, and everyone is friendly, because everyone's a fan.
