2005 Baseball Road Trip Part VII
Philadelphia, New York and Toronto

We woke up early in Charleston, South Carolina on July 14, and drove all the way to Philadelphia. Andy and I switched driving duties periodically. I think he started, and I finished once we got toward the big city. We went through six different states and Washington DC along the way, which might not sound all that out of the ordinary for those of you on the East Coast, but for us it was a new record. It takes the better part of a day to make it out of Nevada (unless you’re going to California), and making six states in a day is completely out of the question.

We made it into Philly with some time to kill before the game. After checking out my road trip book we decided to get some cheese steaks. If you’ve never been to Philly before, there are two steak restaurants that everyone raves about. Pat’s and Gino’s are their names, and they’re right across the street from each other. We didn’t know which to go for, so after some consultation from the book, and deciding which one would offer us more protection from the light sprinkling of rain, we decided on Pat’s Famous Cheese Steaks. It had been “Voted Best Cheese Steak Fourteen Years in a Row.” I’ve got to say that I wasn’t all that impressed. We have cheese steak joints in Reno, and I prefer the steaks in Nevada to the authentic ones that we were served here. I don’t know if it was the cheese, the steak, the bread, the atmosphere, the city, my attitude, or what, but Andy and I both agreed that we weren’t overly impressed.

After washing down our dinner we headed back over to the stadium and picked up our tickets at Will Call. On our way into the game, some Auto Insurance company was handing out free “clappers” which were basically small plastic hands that you waved back and forth to make a loud clapping noise. I took the free swag not knowing that I would regret it later because of a huge blister.

Once inside, we headed to our seats in the third deck in right field. They were pretty high up, but they weren’t too bad. At least we didn’t have any obstructions. This was the Phillies’ first game home since the All-Star Break which meant it was Bobby Abreu’s first appearance after his record setting Home Run Derby performance. We gave him a loud standing ovation when he first took his spot in right field, and the entire stadium did so every time that his name was announced. It was nice to see that the fans here appreciated their hometown heroes. Not everyone in Philly threw batteries at Santa Claus after all. We were treated to our own home run derby of sorts as both teams would combine for seven. The game was good and the Marlins jumped out to an early lead on a Paul LoDuca home run, and Juan Pierre scored on a balk by Brett Myers. The three run lead that the Marlins put up in the top of the second was wiped out in the bottom of the inning when Pat Burrell and Ryan Howard hit back to back home runs, and Mike Lieberthal hit one just two batters later. Miguel Cabrera then homered in the next inning to tie up the game. The Phillies put up two more in the fifth and never looked back. They won by a final score of 13-7. The Marlins didn’t look all that impressive, and I remember thinking after the game that I hoped I wouldn’t have to see them any more that summer. After the game we headed to a hotel in Elizabeth, New Jersey, near Newark, that my dad had paid to put us up in. We got there around 12:30 and fell asleep pretty quickly.

We slept in a little bit on the morning of the 15th and hopped onto the airport shuttle from our hotel. We took a transit train into New York Penn Station and bought some all-day subway passes. We headed to Times Square first and after walking around and checking out all of the sites, we headed down to the World Trade Center site. After spending some time there, we decided that we didn’t have enough time to see anything else before game time, and headed to Shea Stadium a little bit early. We bought the cheapest tickets available for $16 apiece and headed into the stadium.

Another gripe of mine about baseball teams is their “premium pricing” programs. For those of you unfamiliar with what it is, a “premium pricing” program is basically a way for teams to change ticket prices whenever they like for some very loosely constructed reasons. For instance, if the Mets are playing a night game vs. a day game, prices will be higher. If they are playing a game against any team in the NL East (including the lowly Pirates or Marlins), prices will be higher. If they are playing against the Yankees, you can fully expect to be ripped off. Unfortunately for us, we got the double whammy of the night game and division opponent. The Mets were playing the Braves which meant more money coming out of our pockets. It’s my belief that teams should be able to charge whatever they want for seats in their ballparks, but that those rates should be constant for all games, and not adjustable on a daily basis simply because the home team is playing a particular opponent, or at a certain time of day.

OK, rant over. Back to the road trip. After heading into the stadium, we decided that we would get some hot dogs and sodas, and enjoy some batting practice. We were free to wander around the lower level and the ushers didn’t have a problem with us being there so long as we left before game time. We decided that we wanted to check out the view from the outfield and maybe catch some BP home runs. The problem with Shea is that there isn’t any outfield seating except for one small bleacher section that doesn’t even open up until after BP is completely over. I haven’t seen any plans for their new stadium, but I’m sure that this will be corrected for the fans’ enjoyment. After watching some BP from a perch on the second deck in the left field corner, we were told that we would have to go find our own section and sit in the seats that we paid for. We weren’t happy about this, but planned on seat hopping anyway. We got to our seats and were horribly disappointed. This was the worst upper deck that we’d been in yet, and we had almost no view whatsoever of the field. We sat there for an inning before setting out on our mission for better seats. We were doing a lot of usher watching and checking out their routines before we made our move. There was one section that looked alluring for any would-be seat hoppers, but apparently the Mets front office was smarter than those attempting to sit there. They must not have sold any tickets for that section at all, because as soon as our fellow seat hoppers were settling in, they were booted out by an usher. We saw that the section next to that one was sparsely populated, and that the ushers weren’t asking for tickets for anyone in that area.

What should have been a simple task of walking halfway around the stadium and down a flight of stairs became an almost impossible mission. Whoever designed Shea must have had to deal with seat hoppers on a fairly regular basis, because it was nearly impossible to get from one deck to another. The only way to get down for the general public was to completely exit the stadium, and of course there was no re-entry. We were frantic as we didn’t want to have to watch the entire game from the horrible seats that we had made the mistake of paying for. After asking several employees of the gift shops, we finally got somebody willing to sell out the system so that we could enjoy the game. He pointed us to a stairwell that was marked “Employees Only” and told us that we should be alright. We headed over to it and after checking to make sure there were no security guards around, ran down it. We popped out on the second level, and hurried over to our new section for the night after having missed the better part of twenty minutes of the game already. We settled in and didn’t have any problems. Andy decided that he wanted a lemonade in the fourth inning, and I was worried that he wouldn’t get back in, but he came strolling back in about five minutes.

The game was great if you’re a fan of pitching. John Smoltz was throwing for the Braves, against Tom Glavine of the Mets. It was a marquee pitching match-up, and managed to live up to its billing. They both went seven innings and gave up just one run apiece. The Braves broke through against the Mets bullpen in the top of the eighth to score the decisive run, and held on for a 2-1 win. The lone Met run came from David Wright’s home run in the second inning, which prompted the apple to come out of the top hat in center field, and set off a blaze of fireworks which left a cloud of smoke hanging over the field for quite awhile. I don’t see what the big attraction is to the apple in center field, but some of the people around us went crazy over it. They weren’t concerned at all with the fact that their team had just scored, or who had hit the home run, instead they wanted to see the apple. We figured they were probably tourists. I hope they leave the apple at Shea when they move into their new stadium. I also hope that they improve their sound system. The PA at Shea consisted of a couple of speakers way out in center field that were completely useless except for providing some static bass.

There were two big guys in the front row who were very into their team, and were cheer leading the entire game. They were masters of the strikeout clap, which I gladly joined them in. I didn’t realize until I overheard some of the people around us talking, how badly Mets fans hate Yankees fans. I almost wore one of my jersey t-shirts to the game too, which could very well have meant bodily harm for me. I decided that I would just pretend that I was there enjoying the game, and not actually a Yankee fan. After all, what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and it certainly wouldn’t hurt me either. Sometime toward the end of the game, we had some excitement in our section when some drunken college guy from another section came stumbling over to ours, and informed us that we were all going to do the wave. I had been having my doubts about the coolness of the people around me, what with their Yankee-hating and all, but they immediately redeemed themselves with their strict refusal to participate in the wave. I hate the wave. I absolutely despise it. I think it is easily the worst thing to happen to baseball fans, with thunder sticks being a close second. The Mets fans in our section flat out told the guy to get lost, and the two guys down front were particularly annoyed. One even went so far as to cuss at the guy a couple of times, and after he still didn’t take the hint, stuck his foot out to trip him on his fifth or sixth running attempt. As messed up as it was, it was still pretty funny. The drunk guy stumbled off muttering how he hated the guy, and the entire section applauded the guy for getting rid of the pest.

After the game we headed back to the subway outside the stadium to get back to the hotel. The subway station was extremely crowded, and we had to wait for about half an hour to catch a train. At first we were going to wait until our desired train showed up, but finally we decided to jump on to any train with available space, and figure out where to go later on. After making several detours, we finally made it back to New York Penn, and eventually to our hotel around 12:45. We didn’t waste any time falling asleep.

We had to wake up early again on the 16th to make it to Toronto on time. We got going and hit the road at 6:30. We left a little bit too early, but it ended up being a blessing when the car broke down again in Niagara, New York. We were just about to go over a bridge when I lost all power, and had to pull over to the side of the road. We weren’t able to flag anyone over to give us a jump, so I had to call Triple-A to get a tow. The tow truck showed up after only about twenty minutes, and brought us to a Goodyear station that he said would be able to diagnose, and most likely repair the electrical system. At this point, I was pissed. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, and was trying to figure out how to get my money back from the shop that had supposedly fixed my car in Alabama. We went inside and waited while they figured out what was wrong with my car this time, and watched the Yankees and the Red Sox. I remember sitting there talking with Andy about what we were going to do. We had an off day coming up, and after checking the schedule, decided that we could get to Canada, find a hotel, and try to watch a game the next day in Toronto. I was still mad, but the situation appeared salvageable. The only other thing I remember from sitting in the station was an older gentleman who was sitting there watching the game as well, and his comments on the difference between the two teams. When the cameras were cutting back and forth across the field giving close-up views of the Red Sox, he said “Look at the bums. These guys look like bums with their long hair and beards. What an example they’re setting for the kids these days.” I nodded and voiced my agreement that the Red Sox were bums, and when the Yankees came on he said, “Now you see that. That’s how a ballplayer is supposed to look. That’s what they all looked like when I was a kid. Clean cut, and shaved. That’s a ball team.” I managed to suppress my laughter and again agreed with him. Andy was still learning about baseball and thought that the whole exchange was pretty funny. The guys checking out my car worked pretty fast and told me that I would need a new battery. (Unfortunately, as we would find out the hard way, they probably worked too fast.) We paid them for the new battery, and after spending only half an hour in the Goodyear, decided to haul tail to Toronto to make it to that day’s game.

We got to the border and almost hit another problem. They asked us for our identification, and after verifying that we were who we said we were, asked us what our business was in Canada. I explained that we were there to watch the Blue Jays play a baseball game. The border guard gave me one of those “You must think I’m stupid” looks, and I tried to explain about our road trip but it only came out a mumble. She apparently didn’t believe me and she said “Let me get this straight. You two drove all the way from Nevada, to watch a baseball game in Canada? Are you serious?” After telling her that we were trying to go to a game in all 30 stadiums, she gave in and let us go. I still don’t think that she actually believed that we were going to watch a baseball game, and she warned us to be careful. After we had gotten a little bit away from the border crossing, we saw a sign that said something along the lines of Speed Limit 100. What I didn’t notice was that it said 100 kph, instead of mph. I gassed up the car and we thought that we were going to be making record time. We both were unaware that apparently Canada had been building Autobahn like freeways for years, while we were still stuck with our snail like 65mph limits. After passing a few more signs though, we realized that we had forgotten that Canada was on the metric system, and I nearly slammed on the brakes when I realized the error.

We made it to a parking garage in the area and realized that we didn’t have any Canadian money on us. We found out that we were about to get screwed on the exchange rate, but we didn’t care since the game had already started. We paid the guy and hurried towards the dome. Only in Canada can a perfectly square building be called a dome, but there it was. We were looking around for a ticket office when we saw a couple of guys standing outside, and they asked us if we needed tickets. Having read my road trip book, I knew that we could get a pretty good deal from a scalper here. He pulled out two tickets which both had face values above $50. Even in Canadian dollars, that’s a pretty pricey ticket. We told him that we weren’t paying more than $20 American apiece. He sat there and hemmed and hawed with us, but eventually gave in. He and his scalper buddy constantly reminded us that they couldn’t believe the deal we had just received. We paid a grand total of $40 American for two tickets with a combined face value of about $120 Canadian. I’m pretty sure that even with the exchange rate, we got a good deal. We got into the stadium in the bottom half of the second inning, and headed towards our seats. They were fantastic. We were right behind third base, and just four rows away from the field. We both agreed that it was money well spent.

In between innings, we headed up to the main concourse to see what kind of food was served in the strange land up North, and also to buy one of the pins that I was collecting from every stadium. I made myself look like a stereotypical idiot American in no time. I didn’t know that the former Sky Dome had been re-named and hadn’t bothered to check the pitchers in advance either. The Blue Jays were playing the Devil Rays, and after confusing a local Canadian by first calling the building the Sky Dome, and then asking if the wrong pitcher was on the mound, we also pulled out American money to pay for our Canadian goods. We hustled back to our seats rather embarrassed, and didn’t bother leaving them again.

The Rogers Centre is easily the largest building that I have ever been in. The place is absolutely massive. There is a hotel/restaurant complex in center field that looks as though a neighboring building has just plowed right into the place like some sort of bad car wreck involving buildings. The video board was huge. The roof was huge. Everything about this place was big. It kind of made us wonder if they were compensating for something, if you know what I mean.

The game was close throughout, but the Devil Rays managed to pull off a 6-5 win. Neither one of the starting pitchers lasted very long, so the game was drawn out a bit with a bunch of calls to the bullpen. Also, there was something about the place that seemed a little off to me. After all, baseball is an American game, largely enjoyed outdoors, which here was being played in Canada in a ginormous building. The Canadians that we met were, as a whole, very nice and friendly people, but they all seemed a little bit too nice. I don’t know if it was just a weird day at the ballpark, or if all of Canada is that way, but I’m reserving judgment until I have more run-ins with our Northerly neighbors. Another thing that kind of freaked me out, and again made me look stupid, was the seventh inning stretch. In every American ballpark, unless for some reason they’re doing God Bless America first, as soon as the top half of the inning is over, everyone rises and sings “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”. Being the stupid American that I am, I jumped up after the third out and got ready to sing along with my new Canadian friends. I was shocked when instead of hearing the familiar strains of “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”, I instead heard a rock and roll song that sounded as though it was recorded sometime in the 1950’s, and had a Blue Jays theme. I must have looked like a moron standing there with my mouth open, just staring at the people around me who all knew the words to the song. Then, when I finally heard the opening of “Take Me Out To The Ballgame”, and tried to redeem myself, most of the natives sat down and ignored it. So there I was standing alone singing along with a song that nobody else even bothered paying attention to. I don’t think it would have been possible for me to have looked anymore like a foreigner at that exact moment. I sat down and watched the rest of the game in shock. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. I had been made a fool of by a bunch of Canadians. CANADIANS of all people. I had always assumed that they were just paler versions of Americans, some of whom spoke French and said “Eh” a lot.

Once the game ended, I decided I’d had enough bonding with my continent-mates and wanted to get out of there. We went outside and bought some hot dogs from a street vendor that had been recommended by the road trip book. I was worried at first when I saw the neon yellow bun that they came in, but after taking a bite I was sold. We walked around the edge of the dome, trying to stay out of the rain, and wondering why there was no baseball decoration around. I couldn’t understand why the team would try to blend in so much with all of the other buildings in the area, and not openly pronounce that it was home to the former World Champion Blue Jays. Every other stadium has clues outside of it as to what happens inside. Here, if you didn’t already know that it was a baseball stadium, you could very well have walked right by and not known the difference.

Right next door to Rogers Centre is the CN Tower. It’s absolutely humongous. It looks like a cement version of the Space Needle on steroids. I tried to take a picture of it all in one shot, but it was just too tall. After doing some more gawking and sight seeing, we decided to head back to the car, and eventually the United States. We hopped in and started driving (actually obeying the speed limit this time), and made it back to the border in just a few hours. Once again we had trouble convincing the Border Guard that we had driven all the way across the country, exited the country, and were now trying to re-enter all to watch a baseball game. After another explanation of our quest, we were free to go.

Andy still had some Canadian money left over from when he bought his hot dog, and tried to get rid of it at a little shack that said “Currency Exchange”. When we went inside we found that the place had already shut down for the day, but there was a machine that he could use to get rid of his funny money. While Canadian coins look a lot like American coins, the actual paper currency looks much different. It looks like Monopoly money with its bright colors. Unfortunately Andy didn’t have enough money to meet the machine’s minimum requirements (He had about $4 Canadian), and so he had to stuff it back into his wallet. (On a side note, he actually had that money all the way until a few months ago when he used it as part of his buy-in at a poker game that we went to.)

We jumped back into the car, topped off the tank, and planned to drive as far toward Newark as we could, so that we could spend the majority of the next day lounging at the hotel. Sometime around one in the morning, Andy absolutely freaked me out. I was driving around a curve in the road when Andy, who had been snoozing, snapped awake, looked directly at me and screamed at the top of his lungs “OH MY GOD! LOOK OUT!” I simultaneously stomped on the brakes, downshifted, signaled to pull over, and asked Andy what the hell was going on. He replied in a perfectly calm voice, “Oh, never mind, I thought you were driving on the wrong side of the road.” I almost had a heart attack. I wanted to punch him so bad, but he was back asleep almost as soon as he had snapped awake. When I asked him about it the next day, he thought that I was making it up. He didn’t remember it at all. After I recovered, I drove for another 45 minutes or so when we started to run low on fuel. For a few hours, I had been noticing that the car stereo was cutting in and out, and that the headlights seemed to be brightening and dimming. I woke Andy up and we both agreed that this could spell trouble. We planned on extending the drive so that we could deal with it the next day in New Jersey, while hopefully getting some rest but unfortunately, the car gods had different ideas.

After filling up in Dunmore, Pennsylvania, I attempted to restart the car to no avail. We had broken down again. Fortunately, there were a few police officers sitting nearby in a parking lot, and I approached them for help. They were more than willing to help since it was a slow night. How slow you ask? Well, while sitting there getting a jump from one of the officers in the parking lot of the gas station, we heard a car slightly peel out at a traffic light. In response, the other three officers immediately turned on both lights and sirens, and chased it down. On the radio they said “Did you just hear that?” “Yeah!” “Alright then, let’s go get it!” So, like I said, they had time to kill. The officer that was giving us the jump was extremely helpful. After one successful jump of my car, he started to lead us to an auto parts store in the area that we could camp out in front of, and try to get it fixed in the morning. On the way over there though, I hit my brakes, and the power that was transferred to the taillights was enough to kill the engine. He jumped us one more time and gave us an escort with lights and sirens to the front of the store. This time, instead of hitting the brakes, I had Andy man the emergency brake to slow us down, while I handled the shifting and the gas. We made it, and as soon as we were parked, the car shut off again. The officer wished us luck and said that we would be safe in the parking lot, so we got ready for bed and spent the night in the car. If you ever get stuck in the Dunmore area, definitely don’t feel afraid to ask the police there for help. They were fantastic and if any of them are reading this now, I hope they realize how much I appreciate their help.

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