Part I
I have done a real life cycle event. Maybe not for everybody. But certainly for me. And I am far from the only person to do this.
What in the world am I talking about? The craziest idea of all—going to see games at a home ballpark for all 30 MLB franchises.
This comes with an asterisk. I finished my journey at age 75. I actually wanted to complete my travel by age 70, but COVID and family health issues caused a pause in the journey.
So how am I going to report on the stadiums? In six cities, I have seen games at multiple sites. There are the old stadiums—the ones which are now all at least 50 years old. Then there are the ones which MLB teams no longer play at. And I will discuss the newer ballparks.
Once I am done, I will rank the stadiums. There are 39 in total.
I recognize that you may have gone to many of the ballparks. My subjective analysis may completely differ from your recollections and memories. Then again, they should. It’s one man’s opinion, right or wrong.
I had a heck of a time going around the country to see the sport I love the most. Let’s get started. Take this trip with me.
Beginning is easy. The Bronx was the first place I saw a major league game.
The first edition of Yankee Stadium #3 was so memorable. Walking under the elevated tracks. The noise in the streets with all of the stores alive with people. And the absolute massiveness of the stadium—it seemed gigantic and endless.
Entering the stadium was so different for the little boy and it hardly changed through 1973. The crowded corridors, the concession stands. So bustling with activity.
Then, to enter the stands was incredible. The greenness of the grass. The height of the grandstand. The huge banks of light perched atop the roof. And the original green copper awning.
My first game was in 1958. Detroit and the Yankees. I saw Art Ditmar pitch and Mickey Mantle had a single. Elston Howard caught and hit a home run.
A Wednesday in July—It was in fact July 17th. My father, who drove us in on his day off from his dental practice, along with me were two of 16,144 there that day. We walked out on the running track and exited through the center field doors—what a way to end my first game.
I can list so many games there—seeing the eventual American League champion White Sox with Billy Pierce versus Whitey Ford on a Saturday afternoon in 1959; the Washington Senators in for a doubleheader on Memorial Day; I sat in every level except the bleachers. That Yankee Stadium has a special place in my heart and mind.
When the Yankees refitted the stadium, I attended the second game ever on a record-setting hot Saturday in April, 1976. The Yankees blasted the Minnesota Twins. The place was sold out. My friends and I were seated in the lower left field stands. The second edition of Yankee Stadium is #2.
As many games as I saw in the older stadium, I saw many more in the newer place. I went to two All-Star Games, seated in the upper deck in left field in 1977 and with the hoi polloi in 2008, two rows behind the AL dugout. I was upstairs for a playoff game versus Kansas City in that same year and I could feel the vibrations from the raucous crowd.
This was the stadium I called home. I was as familiar with it as it allowed me to be. I can still picture the many times I was there—both before I had my family and then with my wife and children.
The newest Yankee Stadium #5 is an ode to excess. It is gorgeous and it still has the feel of a big ballpark even if the capacity is a tad under 50,000. While I have no great complaints, for it is the home of my beloved Bombers since 2009; the stunning opulence of the stadium makes you feel like you are attending an event, not merely a ballgame. The cost of anything is commensurate with that aura which has been artificially created and accepted by the loyal fans. It is just not the same feeling of closeness that the prior two Yankee Stadiums offered.
My next ballpark was Connie Mack Stadium #37 in Northeast Philadelphia. It looked old and small compared to Yankee Stadium. Not a lot of charm.
What was a crowd of 16,000 plus felt like a sellout. There were old diehard Brooklyn Dodgers fans among the boo birds of Philadelphia. The Phillies defeated the soon-to-be World Champion Los Angeles Dodgers that night. My biggest memory was seeing first baseman Ed Bouchee club a homer over the metallic right field wall and onto the roof of a row house across the street.
I visited Veterans Stadium #30 a number of times. It was big. It was sterile. It was hot. It had ugly Astro-Turf. You felt distant from the game. Not one of my favorites.
Citizens Bank Park #9 is my favorite Philadelphia venue—period. I have been to games at two baseball parks; basketball at Convention Hall, the Spectrum, the Palestra and Wells Fargo Arena (now Xfinity Mobile Arena); and Franklin Field for football. I like the layout, except for how distant the right field stands seem from the field. I like the atmosphere. I like the nuances. Philadelphia—you finally got it right with this ballpark.
My first New York Mets game was at the Polo Grounds #39 in Upper Manhattan. It was old. It was dark. It looked so ugly and a place where minimal money was spent to maintain it. The cold and dreary day didn’t help much. The Cincinnati Reds downed the woeful Mets on a Saturday afternoon in May, 1963.
I saw another game or two there. Including a night game. The crowds were bigger but the outcomes were always the same— a tired stadium with a bad team.
The Mets moved into Shea Stadium #21. I saw numerous games there. Both the Dodgers and Giants returned to New York; their games which I attended were loud and emotional. I saw the Pirates, Braves, Phillies, Cardinals, Astros among other NL squads and I went to a couple of Yankees games when the team had to abandon their stadium due to the concrete falling from the stands. The beauty of the edifice diminished in time as the wear and tear and lack of upkeep made the place into a mausoleum for both the Mets and Jets. I never liked that Shea Stadium wasn’t encircled like other dual use stadiums which followed.
Citi Field #7 is a retro-style new park. It has its own character—it feels far more intimate than Shea Stadium although the intensity might have been a little greater at the old park. I have nothing against the place. It just seemed like the Mets needed a new place to keep up with its brethren and to compete with the Yankees. Shea Stadium needed to go.
My first venture outside of the New York—Philadelphia axis was in Washington, D.C. While in the Nation’s Capital for a summer internship followed by a special government semester at American University, I saw a total of 11 baseball games (and one football game where I froze on an early November day).
I was fortunate that Jim Warfield, my former Franklin and Marshall trainer, was working in that capacity for Cleveland. I saw almost all of their games along with seeing the Twins on a night a group related to then Congressman Bob Bergland from Northern Minnesota—he became President Carter’s Secretary of Agriculture.
I was also there for the final Senators home game against the Yankees. Half-blitzed with beer, I recall Fritz Peterson grooving a pitch for D.C. fan favorite Frank Howard to launch into the upper deck. The fans overran the field and looted it to the point that the umpires called the game a forfeit.
R.F.K. Stadium #36 was an architectural delight from the outside but a heat trap on the inside. While it accommodated baseball, the place was definitely made for football. It was a part of the D.C skyline up in Northeast D.C. and the place looked like it belonged. R.F.K. simply was not a great ballpark.
Its successor, Nationals Park #12, built for the team which left Montreal and took on a new identity, is cute, charming and gives off a friendly vibe. A whole area of D.C. which, during my time there was not safe and looked decrepit, became gentrified and nice.
The same year I was in D.C. I traveled up to Baltimore to see my only World Series in 1971. Memorial Stadium #34 was visible the day I played right field for F&M at Johns Hopkins in my first varsity start in 1970. Going there was a goal which I accomplished three times, having seen Yankees and Orioles open the 1971 season and the Red Sox a few weeks later. Baltimore was just an hour away from Lancaster.
Oriole Park at Camden Yards #6 is a much nicer and happier place than Memorial Stadium, which was more for the Colts to play football in. There is an intimacy with the fans and the architecture, starting with the warehouse beyond right field and the hotel overseeing the stadium just apart from the left field stands, incorporating the concept of building the city into the stadium. I am a bit prejudiced as I go there yearly with Fan X—very happily because we can get in and out readily and the place is always hopping, no matter how poorly the O’s are playing.
Pittsburgh was my next stop. Three Rivers Stadium #29 for a Saturday game between the Expos and Pirates. We walked on a bridge to the field—on sidewalks this time as opposed to an entire bridge being closed to traffic for PNC Park visitors.
It was a cookie cutter, dual purpose venue, much smaller than Veterans Stadium. I hated the AstroTurf. I did get to see Dave Parker throw out a runner at third base from deep in right field. What a gun—just like I saw Pirates legend Roberto Clemente show off his arm in that World Series game in Baltimore.
Pittsburgh’s PNC Park #1 is one of the great ballparks in America. The view of the city beyond the Allegheny River, a splash home run away, is spectacular. While it is a small capacity ballpark, it has a very big league feel. The food is really good. You definitely have an old style baseball setting in a modern facility. I have been there multiple times and have come away with a sense that this event was good fun, family enjoyment. Too bad the Pirates haven’t been as good as their stadium.
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