december-2009

074
HAVE DREAMS, WILL TRAVEL
My first stop was Baltimore’s Oriole Park at
Camden Yards, where my beloved BoSox were playing
the Orioles. I approached the arched brick entrance
with the same thrill I felt when I caught my first fly
ball. Modeled after the classic baseball parks (although
it opened in 1992), Camden Yards may be the most
beautiful place to see a major league game.
The asymmetrical playing field, natural grass
turf and quaint clock tower recall the early 20th
century. The beer is cheap (by ballpark standards),
the food is good (especially Boog’s BBQ) and the
usher didn’t mind when I traded up from my cheap
seat. (But you feel like you’re part of the action even
out in left field.)
Next up: the new Yankee Stadium. Opened in
April 2009, the $1.5 billion stadium in the Bronx is
across the street from the old 1923 ballpark, where
Babe Ruth crushed the first home run. If Oriole Park
is a celebration of baseball, this place is an ode to the
Yankees, with a museum and a soaring Great Hall
adorned with images of Yankees greats.
The team paid homage to their iconic old ballpark
by replicating its rooftop frieze and arched entryway,
but they upped the “wow” factor with luxury seating, a
high-def scoreboard, high-end restaurants and even a
martini bar.
My tour de baseball continued at Wrigley Field,
home of the Chicago Cubs. I arrived at the ballpark in
a lousy mood after a long-distance argument with a
friend, but it only took about 20 seconds for the place
to put a smile on my face. Maybe it was the little boy
sitting next to me at his first-ever ball game, waving
his foam bear claw glove, or maybe it was the smell
of the jalapeños on his nachos (nachos, deep-dish
pizza and Old Style beer seem to be the meal of choice
at Wrigley Field.) Or maybe it was the Midwestern
friendliness. The happiness reached fever pitch when
Derrek Lee hit a home run that put two on the board
for the Cubs in the bottom of the fourth.
It’s easy to be charmed by this ivy-bedecked 1914
tan.) But it was still something I wanted. So
with the melody of “Surfer Girl” in my head,
I boarded a plane bound for Florida. Destination:
Cocoa Beach, the hometown of world
champion surfer Kelly Slater.
My first lesson took place on a cloudless,
unseasonably humid day. Matt, my instructor
from the Cocoa Beach Surf Company, is a
local by way of Oahu who says he was “born on a
surfboard.” After going over a few safety rules (look out
GO MAGAZINE DECEMBER 2009
stadium, the second
oldest in the majors.
The scoreboard, built
in 1937, is original, so
score-by-innings and
pitcher’s numbers are
changed by hand. At
the end of the game,
everybody sings
along to the late Steve
Goodman’s “Go, Cubs,
Go,” and a flag is flown
atop the scoreboard
bearing a “W” or “L” to
let commuters know if
The writer at Fenway Park
their beloved team has won or lost.
My next stop was Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles. Confession: I had
visited this park before, with an old boyfriend. Decked out in matching
Dodger Blue tees, we had a swell time—until we broke up, in the stadium
parking lot. (I don’t blame the Dodgers—although my not-so-secret crush on
Mike Piazza didn’t help matters.) I wanted to revisit the scene, and sitting atop
Chavez Ravine, with views of the San Gabriel Mountains, all was forgiven.
Dodger Stadium is an American classic. Get there soon: Owner Frank
McCourt has announced plans to renovate it in time for the park’s 50th
anniversary in 2012. The seats (circa 1970) are a bit saggy, the restrooms
grim and the JumboTron positively ancient—but this stadium is shabby in an
appealing way.
United by their love for the Boys in Blue, Dodger fans are wildly
enthusiastic, tossing beach balls (smuggled in purses) and downing grilled
Dodger Dogs, Gordon Biersch garlic fries and chocolate malts (the best meal
I sampled on my trip). Add those glorious views and legendary announcer
Vin Scully calling the plays, and I was in baseball heaven.
Finally, back home in Boston, I paid my respects to Fenway Park. The
oldest park in the majors (built in 1912), Fenway is always a joy. It’s quirky, intimate
and endearing—a place any true baseball fan should see. Yes, the seats are
cramped, but the fans are the most passionate in the majors and the energy is
fierce. What’s not to like about a place where fans all rise to sing Neil Diamond’s
“Sweet Caroline”? Out-of-towners always ask when we plan to tear down this
antique stadium and build a fancy modern one. The answer: “Nevah!”
for jellyfish and stingrays, among them), he
shows me where to place my hands on the rail
(the side of the board) and how to jump up.
After a few successful attempts on dry land,
we head for the water.
The next 40 minutes go something like
this: lay down on board, wait for wave, get
a push from Matt, attempt to stand, topple off
board, choke on salt water, rinse, repeat. As I look
at my pruned hands and try to shake what feels like a