Last Saturday I took my seven- and nine-year-old sons to their first baseball game — the Charros de Jalisco against the Mexicali Eagles. It was my first time in a baseball stadium in more than a decade.
Most readers can probably remember the first time they went to a major league ball park. Mine was Fenway Park in Boston at the age of seven. We weren’t city kids, so the walk from the parking area to the ball park for blocks was always an eye opener. You had to dodge the scalpers, souvenir hawkers and teens downing a beer before entering the stadium. Bleacher seats cost a buck and we brought our own sandwiches. In those days you could bring whatever you wanted to eat to the park. Hot dogs were 50 cents, soda a quarter and popcorn 35 cents. Music was limited to an electric organ that kept the crowd revved up between batters. We took a transistor radio so we could hear what was going on way down at the other end of the field. And we brought our gloves in case a home run leaped over the far wall toward us.
The Charros game last Saturday afternoon at the revamped Panamericano Stadium was similar, but different. Parking was at a premium close up so we left the car blocks away, but still paid a cuidachoches to keep an eye on it. Once at the park, we lined up behind about ten people to purchase tickets, but still had to wait about 20 minutes to buy ours. Finally snacks, beer, soda and hotdogs in hand, I got the now usual “no weapons, please” full-body pat-down at the entrance and then we wandered in to find our 150-peso seats behind third base, with no less than four people checking our tickets.
It was already the top of the third and the Charros were behind by one run. Music blared between almost every pitch and Tecate Beer cheerleaders in halter tops and short shorts were offering photo ops for balding old men and their 20-something sons. Baseballs and T-shirts flew through the air from paunchy looking the eight-foot tall Charros mascots (a charro, a lady charro, a horse and rooster). A guy in a gorilla suit invited girls to dance on the field during short game intervals and a fellow who dressed up as Mexican TV’s El Chavo del Ocho led the crowd in cheering on the home team.
Trips to the bathroom were outside our area and thus, you had to have a ticket stub to get back to your seat.
A huge screen behind the outfield went from giving stats and announcing the batters to showing couples and forcing them to kiss for the crowd or be booed.
The beer, popcorn, soda, pizza, taco, nuts and other vendors kept the crowd well fed. A restaurant-bar was on view up in the upscale section for those who want something stronger than beer with their baseball.
And then there was the game. While there was no “Yaz” to be excited about, hits were made, strikeouts called, bases stolen and batters were up. A few gringo names held sway at bat, one was walked two or three times to avoid his mighty swing. Most of the action was in the infield, but a half dozen high balls made it out to the outfielders. I spent a lot of time trying to explain the game to my kids and talk over the blaring music played between every pitch. The
Charros won the game in the last two innings, three to one and the 7,000-strong crowd left on a high note. My sons were pumped, although they thought for sure a baseball should have been launched our way during the game.
Would I go again? Sure, but next time I’ll take my own crackerjacks.