"Let's play two!"
That was the daily battle cry of the Chicago Cubs' longtime hero, Ernie Banks. This classy guy never played in a World Series game, but certainly you didn't hear a whole lot of whining from him about that. He was simply content to put on a uniform and play America's pastime from sunrise to sunset. And that included a bunch of doubleheaders in Wrigley Field, which didn't even have lights until 1988.
Of course, Ernie would be much annoyed if he was still hitching up the stirrups as an active player in 2008. Because doubleheaders as we used to know them no longer exist. Those Sunday afternoons devoted to two games, usually starting at 1PM and then winding up around 7PM. These days, the Yankees and the Red Sox usually play a single game in that same time frame. But, back then, this was one neat day at the ballpark. Tons and tons and tons of baseball. Two games for the price of one. Such a deal.
I went to a few of them when I was a kid and they were still regularly scheduled. Armed with my scorebook and a brown bag filled with two Taylor Ham sandwiches, I was neatly tucked away for a day full of memories. I craved a doublebill and my father reluctantly complied for a while. I figured he saw a bargain with two games offered for the price of one ticket. Eventually, his participation fell to the hands of that dreaded four word declaration. "Too long to sit." My dad would ultimately adapt this time-honored phraseology into other great excuses. "Too hot to stand." "Too far to drive." "Too crowded to go." He turned it into a science. But, soon enough, I was old enough to battle them by simply going off to enjoy said event with my neighborhood friends. And that most certainly included a baseball doubleheader.
I remember a bunch of them. There was one on a long ago Independence Day when, in the first game, the Mets' Tom Seaver once again flirted with a no-hitter until the Padres' Leron Lee broke it up with one out in the ninth inning. There was another late August one in 1984, prompted by a rainout, where the Mets swept the Padres and showed their fans that years of suffering were paying off thanks for the efforts of Dwight Gooden and Keith Hernandez. Indeed, I go back deeper into my annals for a doubleheader I didn't attend. When the Yankees hosted the Minnesota Twins one hot Father's Day in the non-refurbished Yankee Stadium for the first ever Bat Day. Despite my pleading, that one was denied to me via a festival of Dad's excuses. It was too hot to stand. It was too far to drive. It was too crowded to go. The hat trick. What made this even more devastating to me was that the fact that most of the other kids in my crowd went. All summer long, I was the only one playing baseball without a Tom Tresh bat.
You don't get these opportunities anymore. Whereas teams used to regularly schedule seven or eight of these Sunday doubleheaders every season along with the impromptu twi-night double dips precipitated by early season rainouts, we are denied now the chance to enjoy six or seven hours of baseball for one admission. Teams now don't want to give up single games of ticket, hot dog and beer sales for the sake of playing two games for one admission. And, now, you don't even get this via a rainout. Because, in these greediest of days, major league franchises have now discovered the wonderful financial gluttony of a day-night doubleheader. There's one game in the afternoon. Then the crowd files out, the stadium is allegedly cleaned, and then you have to buy a completely new ticket to see the game at night. The Mets just did this last weekend when their Friday night game vs. the Reds was washed out. They did a double admission twinbill on Saturday, and I am betting that season ticket holders would be irate every time this happens. But, the Mets should not be singled out as the only money grubbers in baseball. Every franchise does this now. And it sucques.
Despite the double admissions, there are other financial benefits that teams enjoy as a result. A few years back, I was at the daytime first game of one of these travesties at Shea. I engaged an usher in a conversation and he also explained to me that state labor laws are constructed so that the employees do not get overtime on these days. So, essentially, they are working two games in one day, but getting less money than they would if they were attending to a traditional doubleheader. Another buck saved so we can pay that overrated fifth starter 10 million dollars a year.
Time passed and there is only an illusion of progress. We can gripe all we want, but nothing changes. I adapt my father's adage one more time.
"Too frustrated to complain."
Dinner last night: Beef quesadilla with a medley of corn, peppers, and onions.
5 comments:
I was just having this conversation with my sons -- they did get to see a real doubleheader 2 years ago at Shea.
Luckily for me, my dad was more of a fan. We sat through all 32 innings in 1964, when the Mets and Giants played 23 innings in the second game (we got home so late my parents didn't make us go to school the next day). My other doubleheader memories are from the Mets' bad old days. I was at at 1979 twi-nighter in September that couldn't have had more than 500 people at the start. I sat in a third-base field box and we could hear everything said on the field.
In 1982, I went to a Mets-Cubs DH in September on a Tuesday at noon (the Monday night game was a rainout). The paid attendance was 2,122 -- I bought a general admission ticket (remenber those!), and even though the place was empty, the Mets still wouldn't let those of us with GA tix below the mezzanine (the upper deck was closed off for much of the season due to lack of need).
Puck----
I am truly impressed that you went to the May 1964 DH and stayed for all 32 innings.
I was actually watching the live broadcast of "What's My Line?" that night when Bennett Cerf and John Daly talked about walking the game backstage.
Put it in the script. Too good to pass up.
I also remember going to a Giants-Mets DH in July 1962 at the Polo Grounds. We got home just in time to see Willie Mays as the mystery guest on "What's My Line."
The famous thing about "WML" mentioning the 23-inning game is that, reportedly, it killed their ratings in NYC area because so many people turned the channel. I talked to Bob Murphy on the 25th anniversary of the game; he remembered it well. Said the toughest thing was that he and Lindsay Nelson got no breaks after the seventh inning because Ralph Kiner had had to go downstairs for Kiner's Korner. He and Lindsay would meet each other in the hallway every three innings as they switched between radio and TV booths. Murph said every now and then, Channel 9 would show a shot of Ralph with his feet up in the studio, waiting for the game to end.
As a Giants fan, I was happy -- we won both games.
The Giants may not have won both games if Zito had been available to pitch.
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