In John Updike’s famous story Hub Fans Bid Kid Adieu, the piece that inspired famed baseball writer Roger Angell to try his hand at writing about the sport, Updike describes Fenway Park as a ‘lyric little bandbox of a ballpark’.
I’ve been chewing on that line over the past week, first at home then on my morning walks. It has been sitting with me over the past week since re-reading the story, both for its poetic value - it’s gorgeous - but also for the envy it created.
Our Toronto park, the SkyDome - or Rogers Centre as it’s known to the heathens - is not a lyric little bandbox of a ballpark. It’s a cement, flavourless warehouse of a ballpark that exists without pomp. If it weren’t for two World Series banners that grace the rafters, it would also be without circumstance.
I understand its value, especially the precious roof that has saved us hundreds of rainouts over the years (take that, Fenway). Sometimes I’m envious of the historic ballparks around baseball, the places where history has been made. I’m envious of the black and white photos that fill our baseball books, the stories of strength and heroism that seem almost mythical compared to today.
But, like anything in life, perspective is necessary. Do I really want to return to a life of baseball pre-segregation? Do I want a baseball season that starts in April and ends in September, with only one playoff series? Do I want to go to bed not knowing how the game ended? Of course not, dear reader.
I’m a romantic at heart. I fight this truth often, trying to become more rational, but you can’t fight truths. I want to bathe in the idealist views of what the world should be, what it could be. I pine for the romanticism of baseball’s past, often forgetting the parts that made it difficult.
And so, perspective. Something we could all use a little more of, yes? We soldier on waiting for baseball to return, just as soon as this pesky winter passes. When in my right mind, I’m grateful for our cement, flavourless warehouse of a ballpark that, truth be told, has provided plenty of iconic moments in its history. It’s the place I learned to love a game that has provided me with friendships and passions more than I could ever deserve.
Every home run is magic. The idea that someone can hit a ball 400-feet against a professional who is actively trying to not let them hit it is unfathomable. And yet, it happens regularly.
The only explanation is magic.
Aaron Judge is 6’ 7” of Adonis-like muscle and beauty, a tall bat swinging machine that has become the toast of New York baseball throughout the last five years.
His swing is an event. Judge is the most captivating home run hitter since Barry Bonds was blasting baseballs into the Pacific regularly. The bat explodes off his shoulder with grace, a work of art exploding across the plate to the tune of 220 homeruns to date. It is lengthy and ferocious, yet compact and effortless. It’s a swing that is distinguishable for its length and ferocity. Save maybe fellow Yankee Giancarlo Stanton, no one makes home run hitting look as easy as Judge.
Last week, Aaron Judge signed a nine-year, $360-million dollar contract to remain with the New York Yankees, presumably for the remainder of the baseball career. After weeks of negotiations, rumours and close calls (Arson Judge in the house), Judge stayed in New York.
There’s something to familiarity, isn’t there? I’m learning that as I get older. As a young man I wanted to live as far from my parents' rural Ontario home as I possibly could. I dreamed of far away lands, teaching abroad, following Anthony Bourdain’s footsteps around the world.
I still have those dreams. I want to eat spicy noodles in Vietname and sip coffee in a Budapest cafe. But I don’t think I want to live anywhere else again. The curse of the pandemic is that it has made me learn into my comforts in a way I didn’t before. I like the comfort of something I know. I want to spend time with the friends I have. I listen to the same music that provides me relief.
So with bigger offers on the table, Judge decided to stick with what he knew in a ballpark he knows he can dominate. The Blue Jays fan in me should be mad about this - we had a chance to see Aaron Judge switch from the American League to the National League, effectively meaning we wouldn’t have to play against his elite hitting often - but I’m glad he stayed.
We have seen a lot of great hitters come through the American League in our lives. I was directly behind the visitor’s bullpen the night Mike Trout came to Toronto and had seven RBI’s, with a bat control and a vision that most can only dream about. We watched David Ortiz terrorize our pitchers for years and Albert Pujols did a fair bit of damage too.
While it doesn’t lend itself to Blue Jays success, I can’t find it in myself to be mad that a generational hitter is staying in the division, even if it means a few more Yankees’ home runs on the scoresheet. I go to the ballpark to see friends, take in the sights and, most of all, to watch baseball. I go because baseball is the game where magic can happen on any night, with any player, at any time. No other sport offers that.
If we have a player that offers a higher probability of seeing magic (there’s a stat for you), shouldn’t we celebrate that?
SkyDome *is* an historic ballpark now: 23 of 30 teams play in newer digs. It's Fenway, Wrigley, Dodger, Angel, Coliseum, Kauffman, then us.