7.8.00
RANCHO CUCAMONGA QUAKES vs MODESTO A'S
I can't say why it took me until now to do this, but I finally went to a Quakes game. The Quakes of Rancho Cucamonga—and don't worry, I've elected to begin this sentence with that construction for my own reasons, not because of any ridiculous organizational decree à la “The Mighty Ducks of Anaheim”—are the Inland Empire's home team, a San Diego Padres affiliate playing in the Single-A (Advanced) California League, and even though I've long loved the idea of minor league baseball (the more obscure the better), I somehow never managed to get off my ass and go to a game.
But with the All-Star break looming and a warm Saturday night at hand, it suddenly seemed like the thing to do. Five bucks buys one a “Club” ticket at the cheekily-monikered Epicenter, which for my wife and I, arriving ten minutes before game time, meant seats directly behind home plate about twenty-five rows up. The ballpark itself looked exactly like what you might expect would happen if the folks responsible for the thousands of indistinguishable tract homes and shopping complexes that blanket southern California turned their particular talent toward the design of a baseball stadium: lots of stucco, lots of palm trees, even some of that classic “Mediterranean-style” red tile roofing thrown in for good measure. Surprisingly, the result isn't all that bad. Perhaps because, after all, one spends most of the time looking away from the stadium at the field, which is perfectly attractive. And if you can ignore the Home Depot just off in the distance, the view of the vast, open sky and the mountains beyond the outfield fence is quite nice, thank you very much.
The visiting Modesto A's gave their regular third baseman, fellow Don Lugo High School alum Gary Schneidmiller, the night off, which left me knowing exactly nothing about the game or any of the players. Not like I knew much about Schneidmiller either, other than what I'd read in the paper the day before and that his mom was most likely the Mrs. Schneidmiller who was the drill team coach at my junior high school and every day during seventh period subjected her cheerleaders-in-training and all others within earshot to endless playbacks of Survivor's “Eye of the Tiger.”
The home team couldn't get much going against A's ace Justin Lehr, and sloppy defense by the Quakes prompted a couple of partially-supervised (which is to say, partially-unsupervised) preadolescents behind us to launch into choruses of “the catcher sucks!”, which didn't sit well with a square-jawed father a few rows down. His own family consisting of three impeccably behaved, tow-headed boys and an infant sitting on the lap of his trim and attractive wife, Dad turned and glared at the no-goodniks, and later, when he'd had just about enough, turned again and, addressing their tired-looking single mother as much her children, yelled “Hey! I don't teach my kids to talk like that, and I don't need to hear it from you either, okay?”
Score one for the family values squad. Jeez. Good thing he didn't bring his kids to the Braves game…
One Julian Leyva replaced Lehr after the fifth and threw four perfect innings to ensure a shutout for the A's.
FINAL SCORE: A'S 5, QUAKES 0
MEMORABLE HECKLE: Folks must've been intimidated by the drill sergeant. Repeated attempts to initiate a “Beat Modesto!” chant were met with blank, uncomprehending stares.
