There’s nothing like spending a day at the ballpark. Hot dogs sizzle, sunflower seeds crunch and the wispy clouds meander by in the lazy blue sky overhead.
The fans at Jackie Robinson Stadium are a quiet bunch, not predisposed to chants or cheers, contrary to their basketball and football counterparts. By virtue of some unwritten rule, the fans of each team split sides of the stands behind the dugouts. Here there is no organ, no cheerleaders, no raucous student group hopping up and down like an undulating wave. Here, there is only baseball, the most hallowed of American pastimes. No slam dunks, only sacrifice bunts.
A kneeling stone statue of Jackie, the namesake of the park, observes each day’s proceedings and remains a constant reminder of the groundbreaking history born in Westwood. His image marks the wall in right, while other former Bruin greats ““ Eric Karros, Troy Glaus, Dave Roberts ““ haunt the concourse.
A baseball game is conducive to distractions, and on this day, the ballpark buzzes with activity. Eager fans line up behind fallen star Barry Bonds, who sits to the left of the Arizona State dugout. In the press box, a kid announcer calls Bruin batters to the plate in the fifth inning to the cheers of delighted parents below. Lazy students recline in their seats, drinking in the southern California sunshine, in need of relief from their academic endeavors. Old men chat about the baseball greats of lore: Mays, Mantle, Campanella and Koufax.
Meanwhile the game plays out on the field, as coach John Savage hopes to lead his team back to the postseason.
Here, on a Sunday afternoon, however, the real action is behind the concourse. Beyond the snack bars and press box, 11-year-old Jason Goodman stands patiently. With every ping of the bat, Goodman looks up hopefully then settles back into position, patient. To his left, a girl explores through the bushes and brambles, the object of her search unknown. To his right, a squad of little leaguers huddle in a pack.
They wait for a foul ball, a great prize in the eyes of every youngster. A caught foul ball is a hallowed object, a status symbol designating greatness to the lucky recipient. Each Bruin game, nearly 20 children race around behind the concourse as fastball after fastball is lined backward and out of play. With such a crowd, it takes cunning, skill and a bit of luck to snag the lucky memento. Goodman has been to several Bruin games. His favorite part?
“Getting the foul balls,” Goodman said.
Unfortunately, he has yet to snag one. Still he waits, ever vigilant, for one lucky foul to float his way.
“I really want a foul ball,” said Goodman, who insisted he had no favorite player. “I’d get it autographed.”
There are several strategies the kids utilize. Some, like Goodman, choose to wait in a secluded area, hoping for a stroke of destiny. Others prowl back and forth, so as to cover more space. Still others heed advice from parents or coaches. One coach of a little league squad taking in that day’s contest proclaimed, “The lefties will hit it off to the right, and the righties, the other direction.”
Scientific analysis aside, nabbing a foul ball takes something more. Above all, it takes grit. In one instance, Bruin first baseman Casey Haerther skied a pitch backward over a fence behind the field. One ambitious hopeful took a running start and slid, without slowing or hesitation, feet-first under a hole in the chain-link fence, raising his hand triumphantly as he took hold of his prize. Now that’s dedication.
Hot dogs, scorecards and foul balls.
Just another wonderful day at the ballpark.
E-mail Salter at ksalter@media.ucla.edu.