After what seemed like forever, we finally got to see a baseball game in person.
There’s something about baseball when it comes to fathers and sons, where generations are bridged through collecting cards, playing catch, and watching games, forming special, almost mythical bonds.
At least, there used to be. Baseball’s hold on the American consciousness needs an application of George Brett quantities of pine tar. Our national pastimes have evolved into action sports and video games, Kardashians and Bachelor shows. Probably because baseball—as much as I love it—can be boring.
My times as a son and father, however, are still anchored in the hardball era. I’ve tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to cultivate a passion for baseball with my own sons. It started with my firstborn’s first major league game before the Braves moved to the suburbs.
After parking in the area once occupied by Fulton County Stadium—the original stadium replaced by Turner Field before it, too, got replaced—and where Hammerin’ Hank broke Babe Ruth’s record—we were approached by a scalper. We didn’t have tickets yet, so it felt opportunistic in getting a good deal. The enticing fancy pictures on the tickets promised really good seats. “Sundays sell out fast,” he warned.
That concerned me. Plus, they were playing the Dodgers—a big draw. “How much?” I asked.
“$75. Lower level. Great views,” he replied.
“How about $50?” I countered, proud of myself for driving a hard bargain and at how memorable these seats would be for my kid. After paying and walking towards The Ted, I noticed the $20 face-value staring back, something I had missed during my initial glance. "It'll still be worth it," I tried convincing myself.
We soon found our seats just behind the left field wall; loaded up on hot dogs, drinks and popcorn; then watched the Braves take a perfectly manicured field drenched in sunshine. I was stoked at sharing this experience, a classic father-son moment.
After the game’s first three outs, my son looked up at me. “I wanna go home.”
He probably wasn’t the first Braves fan to utter this in the first inning—especially in the late 80s or recent painful playoff memories. Disappointed but undeterred, I improvised.
The great thing about modern ballparks is they cater to short attention spans by providing “entertainment experiences” beyond just baseball. We left our 50-buck seats ($40 face value) and wandered the stadium, exploring Tooner Field (a Cartoon Network-inspired playground), a museum, batting cages, and a souvenir store, where we purchased a foam tomahawk.
After several innings, he was ready for more baseball, and wanted to go to the upper deck. In the five-dollar seats. Where there was plenty of room.
We spent the remaining innings there, Tomahawk Chopping, singing during the Seventh-Inning Stretch, witnessing Chipper Jones get ejected, and watching the Braves rally for a win. Worn out with excitement, he fell asleep on the drive home.
I spent more money than I should have, but ended up feeling like I got a bargain with the great day we had, experiencing one of my great loves with another. Maybe one day my boys will have similar cherished moments with their own sons.
But it will probably involve some e-sports video game league. Or American Ninja Warrior.
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