I don’t like to attend live sporting events. There, I said it. There is, of course, an exception. I love going to Minor League Baseball games. I’ve thought about the difference, and it comes down to: I’m less invested in the actual game and more in the experience, which is much more intimate and chill than pro sports arenas. Much less parking and concessions anxiety.
And less…other people.
I remember attending my first pro sports game. Likely around 1978, at Veterans Stadium for a Philadelphia Phillies game. Everything seemed so large, so important. I think nothing comes close to the moment when you enter the tunnel from the concourse, as it opens to the cavernous field area. The way the orange and yellow seats of the 700 level just popped. The way the field looked so crisp and perfect. The impossibly green grass. The well-maintained and hydrated dirt. It was perfect wonderment.
Seeing the players, your idols, in person—having only seen them previously on TV or baseball cards—was thrilling. Hearing the pop of a baseball into leather, and the crack of a wooden bat, combined with a hot dog with yellow mustard, was intoxicating.
I also remember being very confused when the game started without the announcers. Where was Harry Kalas? Richie Ashburn? Wheels? It was somewhat off-putting, especially when I didn’t know all the ins and outs of the game.
And then…parking.
My father was a “leave in the 8th inning” sort of guy. He was not having the stadium traffic. This once led to hearing Mike Schmidt hit a game-winning, walk-off grand slam from Dad’s Buick, on buzzy AM radio while flying down Interstate 95.
As a kid, I was annoyed. As an adult, having waited an hour just to leave the lot, I get it completely.
This, combined with the cost of parking and concessions, and cramped seating, makes me happy to enjoy a game at home, with the cool ramblings of John Kruk, Merrill Reese, Jim Jackson, Kate Scott and the ability to tune out when things aren’t going my team’s way.