Posts belonging to Category Justin Abramson

Day three of the Four Ballparks trip began at the Hilton in beautiful Anaheim, California, just minutes from Angel Stadium.  Hungry and bored and with the game not until six PM, we were two weary travelers with some time to kill.  So we figured that, since we were staying right near the ballpark, there must be some place to grab a quick bite before the ballgame.

Wrong.  After twenty minutes of fruitless searching, we settled for a coffee cake and a second pack of skittles—breakfast of champions–from Dildar, a clerk at a convenience store a few blocks away.  Another trip to the OC Sports Bar (and Ubaldo Jimenez’s 18^th win) followed, after which it was time for Angels vs. Indians at Angel Stadium of Anaheim.

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After a thrilling Rockies win at Petco Park in Game One of our four-day, four-city, four-game road trip, it was time to visit Dodger Stadium. Following dad’s aforementioned seven-dollar breakfast of bread and coffee at the Toscano Café, only a quick two-hour trip north on I-5 separated us from Ballpark #2.  Since we were traveling on a Sunday, traffic was almost a non-issue on the way up to our hotel in Anaheim, and we even had time to stop at the OC Sports Bar and Grill for burgers and the first few innings of Rockies vs. Padres on Fox Sports Rocky Mountain before it was time to head over to the ballgame.

Open since 1962, Dodger Stadium is by far the oldest of the four ballparks we visited and is in fact the third-oldest park in all of Major League Baseball, the two oldest of course being Fenway Park and Wrigley Field.  Dodger Stadium has plenty of history, having hosted eight different World Series, three World Baseball Classic games, and ten no-hitters.  And of course, it is home to the greatest broadcaster of all time in Vin Scully, the true face of the Los Angeles Dodgers franchise.

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On Labor Day weekend, my dad and I woke up at 5AM and flew all the way to the other side of the country.  We battled hellacious Los Angeles traffic with tiny maps and bad directions.  We spent $34 on parking—for the first night.  And we drove six hours across the desert, dozens of miles from civilization but just one engine breakdown away from a grim fate at the hands of the 105-degree Arizona heat.

Some might wonder if we were out of our minds, all our months of frustration with the economy, global warming and LeBron’s Decision to take his talents to South Beach having finally driven us over the edge.  But no.  Our motivation for the four-day trip was much simpler—to watch four baseball games in four ballparks in four cities.  And while I can’t confirm or deny Pete Rose’s willingness to actually walk through hell in a gasoline suit to play baseball, I can certainly say that driving through hell in a Toyota Corolla merely to watch it was very well worth it indeed.  This is the first in a four-part series chronicling each ballpark we visited along the way.

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A few months ago, someone I barely knew asked me what I want to do before I die.  As common a question as that may be, it was one I’d never been asked before.  So naturally, as I often do in situations where I don’t know what to say, I blurted out the first answer that popped into my head.

“I want to visit all thirty major league ballparks.”

My questioner was impressed and satisfied with my answer, and as I thought more about it, I decided I was too.  After all, as any of my friends (or any of my family members, co-workers or ex-girlfriends) can tell you, I am a die-hard fan of not just the Colorado Rockies, but the game of baseball itself.  And reflecting on the question later that night, I couldn’t come up with a single good reason why I should not visit all thirty major league ballparks before my time here comes to an end.

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As anyone who knows me will tell you, I am a die-hard fan of the Colorado Rockies. And at times, being a fan of a team in the NL West is tough.  After all, I live in DC, so most Rockies home games don’t start until around 9PM.  And when they’re on the road, sometimes I won’t see the first pitch until as late as 10:15PM, which means the game ends well after midnight.  More often than I would care to remember, I have walked into work the morning after a Rockies-Giants thriller at AT&T Park muttering, “These West Coast road trips are killing me.”  Add this to the fact that the NL West receives almost no national media attention, coupled with the fact that my Rockies have never taken home a division title in the franchise’s seventeen-year history, and one can see why I might wish my team played in the weaker, more time-zone friendly NL Central.

But I don’t.  And there are three very good reasons every year why I’m glad my team plays in baseball’s forgotten division. Those reasons are named Jon Miller, Dick Enberg and Vin Scully.

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