"There was a time when the summer meant Shoreline, Cal Expo, Summer
Tour, watching sunsets, hanging out with friends, and enjoying the
mysteries and miracles of life.
That ended with the death of Jerry Garcia in 1995, and left many
Deadheads looking to fill the void. In part this gap has been filled by
other musical endeavors of Ratdog, Phil & Friends, and The Other
Ones. But it's not the same. It will never be the same, of course, but
let me propose that one of the pieces for filling that empty hole is
baseball. After all, Deadheads have long drawn similarities between
themselves and baseball fans.
After paying almost no attention to the game since my childhood, my
love for baseball was renewed during the 1997 World Series, two years
after Garcia's death. Orel Hershiser had been pitching brilliantly, but
in the eight inning he showed signs of fatigue. I don't remember
exactly what happened -- perhaps he walked someone or someone got a hit
-- but then he sighed and looked up beseechingly at the sky. "Uh-oh," I
thought. I wasn't the only one who noticed: The manager suddenly
emerged and headed toward the mound. "Oh, they pay attention to the
pitcher's emotional state," I realized. I liked that a lot.
My next pivotal rendezvous with baseball came in 1998. I was "on
tour" for The Other Ones, and after rocking out at Nassau Coliseum and
then Great Woods, I was relaxing at a friend's house in Providence. I
spent the evening watching a game broadcast from Shea Stadium, and
since the Mets weren't playing a California team, I decided to root for
the home team. The game was tight, and in the bottom of the ninth, the
Mets were trailing 4 to 3. There were two outs, one man on. The pitch,
the swing of the bat, and crack! The fans leapt to their feet screaming
as the ball sailed into the seats, and the runners danced around the
bases. What a rush!
Since then, my awareness of the intricacies, rhythms, history,
culture and dynamics of the game has increased substantially. I started
attending Oakland A's games, watching them on TV, listening to Bill
King and Ken Korach on the radio, or logging on during the internet
broadcast. I've gone to games with friends and family and renewed ties
while talking philosophically about life and how it's reflected in the
game. I've gone to the games alone, talking to fellow fans or listening
to the game on a portable radio. I've read books on the history,
sociology, and business of baseball, and on the game itself, and
discovered a rich and complex world of personalities, power struggles,
personal struggles, profits, psychology, culture, politics and
strategy. A mere tip of the iceberg so far; a search on Amazon.com
yielded nearly 7,000 books about baseball.
If you haven't liked baseball before, you might ask yourself how
well you know the game, the plays, the statistics, the history, or the
choreography of turning a double play. Any Deadhead knows that the more
you know the tunes, the lyrics, the musicians, the greater your
appreciation of the concert. Same goes for baseball.
Deadheads keep track of songs played, the order in which they
occurred, who sang, who played, how frequently Jerry played pedal steel
and more, years after the last song title was played. Keeping
statistics for baseball fans can be an integral part, if not the key,
to understanding the wonder of America's pastime.
Still, even without detailed knowledge, there's plenty to do at a
baseball game just as there always was at a Grateful Dead concert.
A Deadhead once said he wrapped up his troubles in tissue paper and
escaped to the Greek Theatre shows. Going to a baseball game is a
minivacation that takes no planning and minimal money, especially on
dollar Wednesdays at the Oakland A's. Baseball takes your mind away
from work and anything else that exhausts you. As a friend mused
contentedly during a Sunday afternoon game: "The game, the green grass,
the blue sunny sky, the beer -- I am one with my seat."
Oakland's fans talk baseball and weave it into catching up with
friends. You don't even need to know anyone. You can go by yourself --
it's perfectly safe -- getting off BART at the Coliseum on your way
home from work, and either listening to the game on your headset radio
(the Bay Area is blessed with wonderful play-by-play announcers), or
just talking to the person next to you.
Just as Deadheads talk about past concerts (or Winterland, or
whether they hoped for or dreaded Bobby's cowboy tunes), so do baseball
fans talk endlessly about the present, the future, and the 100-plus
previous years of the game.
Just as Deadheads comprise multiple generations, so do baseball
fans: retired people, children, families, individuals, men and women
(45 percent of baseball park attendees are female). And just as
Deadheads wear clothing to entertain and to self-identify, so do
baseball fans. My favorite fans are the old ladies, decked in green and
gold clothing, baseball hats stuck with dozens of season-ticket holder
pins, rooting loudly in creaky voices, "Go, Miggy, go!"
You can even go "on tour" with your team, or just hit the road and
start visiting ballparks. Just as every venue had its special charm, so
does every baseball park. The Cubs' Wrigley Field is the baseball
experience. Comerica Park has a Tigers Merry-Go-Round. Pacific Bell has
its beauty, but die-hard Oakland Athletics fans love coming to the
Oakland coliseum (if we could just raze Mt. Davis and plant the flowers
we admired during the Days on the Green). Despite the razzing it gets,
Oakland is an enjoyable venue: It's easy to get to, easy to get around
in, and has an energetic, attentive crowd. Tickets and concessions are
significantly cheaper than at Pac Bell Park. Amenities include a wide
selection of microbrews on tap. And what other ballpark offers "kind"
tofu burgers, served by the Black Muslim bakery.
Just as at a Deadhead concert, there's a drummers' circle ... in the
bleachers. A group of college kids began showing up to every game,
bringing in marching band drums. They took the rhythm of a popular jazz
song, "Tequila," and somehow trained the fans to yell out "Tejada!!"
when the shortstop comes up to bat. And shades of the guy in the bear
costume with flashing lights, at A's games there is the Banjo Guy,
dressed in green clothes, with a cape, a beanie and a banjo, walking
around the stadium, rallying the crowds. Some fans hang banners out in
praise of players, or note strikeouts with big K's -- or Z's, when
Barry Zito is pitching. Young fans walk around in parade with rainbow
wigs and green flags, entertaining the fans lounging in their seats by
cheering "Let's go, Oakland!"
You know our love won't fade away. Now if I could just find a green and gold tie-dye. ...
Leora Lawton lives in Berkeley.
