Ballgame Bright Despite Weather
It was more than an hour before game time.
The gates outside Seafirst Stadium hadn’t even opened. And the dark clouds overhead cast a shadow of doubt on the prospect of watching baseball Sunday afternoon.
But then the Dixie Dandies - a jazz band made up of white-haired guys who can really play - struck up a spirited rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”
A voice over the public address system said: “All mascots, please report to the front gate.”
And for those not clogged by seasonal allergies, the unmistakable aroma of hot dogs and burgers could be detected as it wafted from the nearby concession stands.
Then the gates opened. And as the band played and about a dozen people dressed up as animals or brand-name snack foods sought out toddlers to mesmerize, a friendly and helpful young woman taking tickets pointed out how to get to Section H.
Once inside the ballpark, the logical thing would be to try to find your seat. But it was hard to resist just standing there for a moment to take it all in. There was the hard-wired familiarity of the green and brown playing surface, the white gulls floating over the infield, the classic minor-leagueness of railroad cars parked out beyond the home-run fence and the sky-high pop-up drill fly balls that drifted back toward the seats and … “Heads!”
“Fun, Fun, Fun” and “Walk of Life” pumped out of the stadium loudspeakers. And families arrived with armloads including gloves, souvenir megaphones, pretzels, nachos, drinks, cushions, cotton candy, umbrellas and enough other stuff to pack countless storage closets.
“Hot pizza here!” yelled a strolling vendor. “Free delivery.”
A friendly young guy handed out refrigerator-magnet Spokane Indians schedules. And an upbeat usher - they ALL seemed friendly handed out “K” cards, which you hold up when an Indians pitcher strikes someone out.
“Cold beer here!”
The P.A. announcer succinctly summarized the stadium’s rules of conduct: “Don’t be a jerk.”
Then the Indians took the field, each accompanied by a little kid - his “Pizza Hut baseball buddy” - to await the terrifying prospect of the national anthem sung by an 11-year-old girl.
Helped along by the silent but intense prayers of several thousand adults, the young singer did great.
Batter up.
It was time for some serious people-watching.
, DataTimes MEMO: Being There is a weekly feature that looks at gatherings in the Inland Northwest.