7.17.00
ARIZONA DIAMONBACKS vs SEATTLE MARINERS
The main thing wrong with the Arizona Diamondbacks is the way they're burdened with a multiplicity of everything. Not content with one ugly logo, the by now familiar, obligatorily southwestern-styled A, they need another one to use half the time, a cheesy-looking snake coiled into the approximate shape of a D. Not satisfied with just one or two colors, and perhaps a complementary accent, the Diamondbacks proudly wear no fewer than four different hues, none given any real prominence across their multiple uniform designs over any other, begging the question, if you cut open Buck Showalter, would you see the Diamondback teal, purple, copper and black coursing through his veins? Hell, even their website is so overloaded with Java crap that half the time I can't even get the pages to load, and I'm using a G3 with a DSL line.
All of this I knew about. And whatever. I went to the BOB with mind wide open, eager to see an intriguing interleague match-up between western division leaders, and curious to check out one of these new-fangled, big-money, retractable-roof ballparks. I got to the game an hour early in the hopes that I'd get to see them open the roof for the evening game, splurged and bought myself an $18.50 field level ticket just past third base, and made my way through a giant entrance rotunda that was equal parts Pantheon of Rome and Caesar's Palace of Las Vegas. While admiring the faux frescoes depicting athletes through the centuries, I was handed a 1999-Cy-Young-winner-Randy-Johnson commemorative cap (black, purple bill, D-shaped snake insignia), compliments of, as evidenced by the largish logos on the back, my friends at Union 76 and Circle K (they can't even have just one sponsor for the caps!).
As I made my way inside, I was awestruck. There was the eternal thrill of getting one's first glimpse of an unfamiliar playing field, here compounded by the astonishment of seeing so vast a space actually enclosed by a structure, a structure enormous almost beyond comprehension. I found my seat and looked around, trying to take it all in. It was like my first trip to Manhattan: there was so much, everywhere, I couldn't process it all, never mind decide if I liked it. The difference being, of course, I grew to like Manhattan quite a bit.
By the time game time rolled around—they never did open the roof, disappointingly—the initial buzz had worn off, and as the players took the field and the game got underway, I found myself becoming increasingly aware of some elements of the park about which I had far less trouble reaching decisive value judgements. There were the unceasing gusts of frigid air being blown down the back of my neck, for instance, causing my clothes, still damp with sweat from the drive from Tucson, to grow colder and clammier by the minute. And the ridiculous multitude of scoreboards, communicating such essential information as the current total number of Diamondback strikeouts this season, the number of games played by the current batter and how many at-bats he's had, and choice factoids like “NEWS: X-MEN NO. 1 AT BOX OFFICE THIS WEEKEND,” making it all but impossible to know where to look when all I wanted to know was the count or how many outs there were, a difficulty only made worse by the myriad, light-box mounted ads flanking said trivia-boards.
After a while, even the novelty of the building's size wore off, and I realized that what this was like, really, was watching a baseball game inside a giant, poorly-lit airplane hanger. With so much shit going on around you that you can't even pay attention to the game. Which was something of a shame, because the game itself featured a most impressive performance by Geraldo Guzman, who in only his second major league start threw eight shut-out innings against a Mariners line-up which, though missing Alex Rodriguez and Edgar Martinez, was not exactly lacking in power or skill. Still, ninety-five degrees at ten o'clock at night never felt so good as it did after catcher Dan Wilson flied to center to end the game and I was able to leave that frosty tomb.
FINAL SCORE: DIAMONDBACKS 7, MARINERS 0
MEMORABLE HECKLE: I didn't even mention the obnoxious furry mascot who cavorted about the field level seats throughout the game, completely oblivious to whatever might've been happening on the field at any given moment. The creature, whose pinched face vaguely evoked some sort of mutated feline animal, was subjected late in the game to some succinct criticism from a spectator a few rows behind me: “Go back to U. of A., freak!”
