Baffled at the ballpark

Eating in America is a column based on the relationships between people and food. Over the years, the eating part of the column has expanded beyond U.S. borders to Mexico, Sweden, Switzerland, Germany, Spain and Denmark. And today, I am feeling the need to expand the column beyond food and into the realm of professional sports–namely baseball.

I spent a good 18 hours of this past weekend at BOB, oops, Chase Field, with my 8‑month‑old son. While there were no complaints from him, a fair portion of the experience left my full enjoyment of this adventure a bit stymied.

First, it should be stated that I am not a baseball enthusiast. My son, by way of his father, is a born Red Sox fan. So, naturally, when the Sox came to town, attendance for all three games was mandatory. Since I have heard that beer is sold at American ballparks, I offered no objections. And when I learned a throng of relatives would travel here from Boston for the games, I actually began to look forward to the weekend.

While the weekend was enjoyable on the whole, thanks to the company, I am left with a few questions.

1. Why must the interior of Chase Field look like a watered‑down version of Las Vegas?

As a novice searching for the scores and statistics in the interest of trying to engage myself in the ballgame, I found the distraction of the lights and the incessant barrage of advertising to cheapen the experience entirely. In Las Vegas, cheesy and tawdry are fine. In a ballpark, it just plain looks desperate.

2. The home team is called the Arizona Diamondbacks. Can someone explain to me why the mascot looks like a cross between the Wisconsin Badger and a bobcat?

I know the Phoenix Suns have The Gorilla, but they’re the Phoenix Suns. They have what is known in Phoenix as history, where anything in existence for more than 25 years is considered historic. Plus, The Gorilla is cool. The badger‑cat falls flat. 

3. I thought our home team colors were purple and teal?

I could understand if the Diamondbadgercats ditched their former colors in the interest of high fashion. But for “Sedona red?” How distinct. Those red uniforms really set them apart from all the other teams with red uniforms, including the Red Sox.

4. Why in the name of Sam Hain did they run out of good beer? How on Earth, with Bostonians flocking to Phoenix by the planeloads to see the Sox, did the beverage managers at Chase Field not have enough Samuel Adams Lager on hand?

There was plenty of Red Stripe to go around, but this was not the Jamaican All‑Star game. By the second inning of the third game, there wasn’t a brown beer to be had in the entire stadium. It was like showing up for a cock fight to find the vendors sold out of Bud Light and paletas. Sam Adams is on tap at almost every bar in Massachusetts; why wouldn’t the beverage managers at Chase anticipate a run on the Sam? At one point, when I was asked if I wanted a beer, I said, “yes, anything brown.” Instead I was offered the usual watery, yellow beer at premium prices. Chase Field let me down.

On another note. Red Sox fans can drink. Most of those die‑hard East‑Coasters can drink any Southwesterner under the table. Someone at Chase Field didn’t do their homework, and if Arizona desires to compete in any way with classic institutions like Wrigley and Fenway, they need to at least get the beer right.

5. Lastly, what is the reasoning behind the new Diamondbacks’ marketing, offering T‑shirts, baseball caps, jerseys and other “team” gear with a font associated with dead rappers, gangsters and thugs (and, as of late, poser bikers)?

Don’t professional sports managers in general have enough problems to combat with their steroid‑shooting, wife/girlfriend‑beating, ungrateful attitude‑wearing employees? Must they add to the mix by making the fan attire appear so “gangsta,” so early‑’90s East L.A.?

Look, I’m not trying to necessarily insult the cholos out there; but this font has been adulterated by gangs, and then, 10 years later, by the aged biker crowd. Do the D‑Backs want to be associated with gang activity? Or worse yet, yuppie bikers?

I’m not expecting answers to my questions here, just taking some time to ponder exactly why the professional baseball of today is still considered America’s Favorite Pastime.