By Lug
Editor’s note – This article originally appeared on AstrosConnection.com on April 7, 2000.
The First Five Games Played At Enron Field At Union Station
When originally conceived, I planned to write some sappy intro to this write-up on my experiences at the EFUS, but I decided that it was more in line with the BFT style to just get straight to the point. So that’s what I’m going to do.
Game 1 – Damnyankees – March 30, 2000
This day was akin to the Christmas morning circa 1978 when I was hoping against hope I’d get that vibrating Cowboys vs. Steelers Superbowl game (I did). Today I was going to be among the first to see a game at the brand spankin’ new Enron Field. Moreover, I was attending it with three of the most important Astros fans in my life: wife, brother, and dad (my kid stayed home with her grandma). How cool is this? As I’m sure you’ve experienced or heard on the radio, parking was a breeze (less than 2 blocks away for $5, including Game 3 when we arrived 20 minutes prior to gametime), and the walk was short and pleasant. En route, I envisioned several businesses that I hope come to being (sports bar, caf?, etc.).
The first view of the park from the outside was beautiful. It was not more – but not less – than what I expected. The facade is just what they intended: at once both modern and throwback. And the bell tower gateway into the park (near home plate) is appropriately grand. Upon entry, my brother and I were on a mission from God: get as close to the field as possible. Doing this was no problem, and we headed straight down the nearest aisle. At the bottom over the visitors’ (3rd base) dugout were scores of fans desperate for player-autographed baseballs and other crap. As a matter of principle, I consider such antics beneath me (I’ll take an autograph at a chance encounter, but I won’t beg), so we headed to the seats closest to those cushioned seats of Drayton & Friends right behind the plate, simply because it afforded the best view of the Astros who were then taking batting practice. There we were able to get some outstanding photos of our favorite ‘stros in action and at rest.
By God, here it was: baseball, in Houston, under a clear blue sky.
Un-F-ing-believable.
But by a quirk of fate, we found ourselves next to the entryway for the VIPs. So over the course of the next hour, my brother had scored autographs – on two of our four opening day tickets – from Drayton and Nolan. Eight days later I’d arguably see those and raise him. So much for principles. (Who could possibly be better than Nolan, you ask? Read on.)
The best I could do for tickets was 3 rows from the top (yes, the very top) in deep left field. After taking the essential, but scarce (only one location? more on this later) escalators to the top level, we huffed it up the 18 or so more rows to ours, just under the retired jersey banners. When I turned around, I immediately realized, again, that this was not your father’s Astrodome. Upper deck in the Dome rendered the turfed playing field a welcome mat and the players mere specks. But from here the view of the green grass field was more or less generous, and with my glasses I could read jersey numbers. (And, by the way, get used to views like this. See 4/7 observations below.) The cool breeze on this clear night (*clicking heels* is this Houston?) made for a most pleasant baseball watching experience. “PLAY BALL!”
Final, quick observations on the first game:
— I took great pride in vocally proclaiming the first base ump’s muck up that Subie went around as “First Crappy Call in Enron Field!” to a decent response.
— After the 3rd or 4th long fly to center, my dad definitively described the EFUS center field as “Where Home Runs Go to Die”.
— I dunno about you, but I score games. Where the hell is the official score for a play? Here’s a hint: nowhere. I have to think they’ll fix that at some point.
— Truly heartwarming to see what may be a new tradition in Houston of throwing the ball back, even if it was Ron Jr. Always admired Cubbies fans for that. More on this in Game 2.
— On the other hand, very disappointed that folks found it necessary to revive the wave at EFUS. I mean, couldn’t we have let that die along with round, domed stadiums?
— Oh yeah, and the “deluxe” or whatever nachos suck big time. Tasted like dog food (don’t ask).
Game 2 – Damnyankees – March 31, 2000
Just my brother and I this time as we’re using dad’s shared season ticket seats (yeah, yeah… must be nice). The seats, five rows from the bottom of the upper deck, offer a fantastic view of the skyline. The only big downside is that they’re diametrical to the escalators. Now I’m in decent shape, but the approximately 8 story hike up the stairs is simply not fun. Even ramps would be fine. Poor design there, fellas.
As you know, this was a fun game. I decided to get the nachos again and they sucked again. Fool me once…
Interesting story about the second homer hit by the DYs that day (can’t recall who it was, exactly; they all look alike). Ball went about 5 rows up in right field. In keeping with the nascent EFUS tradition of tossing back foreign dingers, the crowd chanted Throw It Back, Throw It Back. What was truly heartwarming about this is that it lasted past the next batter, and the next. Between each pitch when the ball was no longer in play, the crowd dutifully resumed its haranguing of the poor sap who continued to refuse to comply. This continued even after the 3rd out, until, halfway through the mid-inning break, the ball bounced into shallow right field and rolled somewhere around Biggioland. The guy’s compliance coupled with his well-thrown ball earned him a nice ovation.
But it was a lie.
By now my brother and I had executed our routine strategy of taking advantage of the seats in the lower levels vacated by the low-life scum who manage to weasel seats from their company’s season tickets but who leave well before the game’s over. More on this issue in 4/8 below. Anyway, we had a clear view of the temporary holdout, and what we witnessed was that while he remained in the crowd, snuggling his precious DY-hit exhibition ball – maybe the fifth dinger in Enron history (oh, I’m sure it’ll be worth hundreds of dimes someday) – his buddy traipsed up to one of the shops, bought a ball, and returned with it so he could throw it on the field. Sharp, but smarmy; just like a damnyank.
So this is where it really gets interesting. Three somewhat inebriated guys wearing leis noticed the tomfoolery and refused to let the guy get off (some Zone-dweller should take credit for this and achieve AstroValhalla, eh?). In addition to prompting the surrounding crowd (1 or 2 sections) to continue to shout Throw It Back, these guys brashly stood right in his face, pointed into it, and unrelentingly bellowed at him about how it was his duty to throw that MF-ing ball back. The damnyank refused. By the middle of the following inning (!) they had resorted to bribery: one of the three left and returned with two beers. Another (maybe the same) subsequently went and bought a souvenir ball – presumably one of some value as it was encased in the plastic cube – as a token of exchange. All of these were rejected. As far as we could tell the little bastard ended up walking away with it.
So much for tradition.
Final, quick observations on the second game
— Cell phones in Houston have officially gotten out of hand. At one mid-inning break I counted no less than six phones in use within 15 feet of me. Just who are you people talking to?
— There are simply some unbelievably good-looking women hanging out (sic) at Enron Field. It’s probably just the new stadium, and I reckon that most of them coyly finessed tickets from their undersexed bosses. But whatever the reason: single guys take note. And married guys be careful. Especially if you’re within foulball or backhand range.
— I saw the bunny and immediately hated him. For a week anyway. On second sighting, my brother and I started a short-lived rendition of “Kill the Wabbit”. No one cared.
Game 3 – stRangers – April Fools’ Day 2000
Figures we’d lose on this day. Also figures that the weather would return to its Houston self: misty, humid, unpleasant. On the first day game at EFUS, the roof was closed. I did, however, take some pleasure in mocking the fools standing on top of the Union Station roof: outside, wet, looking through steamed-up windows. Yeah, I’m sure it was worth the $2,000 they put down, not including booze (!).
Oh, and a word to the wise: Don’t try to reach the upper decks by the center field stairs. They top out at the mezzanine level. Learned this the hard way. Again, escalators or ramps, please.
Not many other observations from this game. I did enjoy verbally welcoming back the stRangers’ Gabe Kaplan. I’m sure someone got it.
Game 4 – Fillies – April 7, 2000
Christmas came twice in eight days! I was nearly as eager for this game as for the March 30th opener. While that was the first game in the new place, this was the first real game: regular season and forChrissakes National League.
Repeating the path of Inaugural Day, we went straight for the first row nearest the luxury seats (3rd base side). And once again we were treated with brushes with greatness. Recall that prior to the first game my brother had scored Drayton’s and Nolan’s signatures on those tickets. Well, I got Bud Selig’s and former President George Herbert Walker Bush’s respective John Hancocks on this game’s tickets. I would have gotten the Governor’s, his wife’s, and/or his mom’s, but their security detail had them use a different route to enter. My wife managed to get Rick Perry’s (no, not a dude from Journey or Aerosmith, you 70s pothead; our Lt. Governor). I have to admit: it was pretty exhilarating to come face-to-face with a real live President. And for those 30 seconds or so, he seemed like a genuinely nice guy.
Side note: all during our one-hour stay in this area, we were accosted with banalities from a “professional” autograph collector standing by our side. Worst episode ever.
After this experience, we departed for food before heading to our seats. Again, we were sitting somewhere up in the mesosphere. And I say again: get used to it. Let me explain…
A few days later, as an experiment, I browsed Ticketmaster for the best available tickets for a couple of the games on the weekends where my dad “only” has 1 game. Best available is generally level 400 (where we were for opening day) behind home plate. That’s for ONE seat, folks. Ask for two and you’re relegated to outfield upper deck in far RIGHT field for decent games.
So how about indecent games? Interleague play comes to mind. Best available single ticket for a mid-season Tuesday night game against the hapless Twins (almost certainly the least conspicuous team in all baseball)? Section 109. That’s field level, but far in left field. That’s the best single ticket for what is probably the least desirable game of the year.
I guess this is good for Astros baseball… or at least The Grocer’s pocketbook.
But I digress. As before, we had to climb about a flight and a half of stairs to get to our row. But when we arrive – at about 7:03pm – there are 3 guys sitting in our 4 seats. I wait for my wife to show him our tickets so he and his friends can move. But they don’t. While fans reasonably beg for “down in front” from my father, his friend, and me (all laden with beer and the visiting team cheesesteaks), my wife and this guy compare tickets for what seems like an hour. After double- or triple-checking, they realize that they’ve got the same seats. Jeezus. I’m pissed. I put my food & suds down and march down the aisle, right past the UPS Delivery of the Game guy. I spat at him that he oughta deliver my ass to field level since I had duplicate seats, but he just gave me the deer-in-the-headlights look. I found and retrieved the closest usher, who was very responsive, and followed me back up. I get to the top and find my wife and father settling down into the seats (the disputed ones) and telling me the usher was no longer needed. The story: the guys had the right seats alright, but the wrong day (Saturday). When asked how they could’ve gotten this wrong, one gave some lame excuse about how his mom had bought him the tickets. But I knew the real story: these were last minute scalper purchases and they’d been duped. Well, at least they were still in the park, thanks to Dad who warned them of their predicament, prompting their flight.
So we settled down, although I was still cursing and spitting mad from the non-issue; just how I am.
A word about the cheesesteaks. Look, I may be born and bred Texan, but I’ve been to Philly several times, so I know what a real cheesesteak is (I also know they put mustard on their pretzels up there; that’s just plain wrong). And no, this wasn’t the real thing. But it was damned tasty. And for $8 you got a nice heap of good-n-greasy fries to go with it. Plus, the condiment stand had those nice, hot red peppers for it. Perfect ballgame grub.
While we’re at it, I’d also like to express my approval for the plastic bottled beer. Being somewhat of a beer snob (you may recall my 1998 proclamation that Celis White was the best beer for watching Astros games), I was really dubious of this novelty, and not just because it only came in girly beer flavors. But after a couple of plastic Buds delivered right to my row, I have to say that the quiet disposability, resealability, and absent flavor overtones make this a proper container. Moreover, the price of a delivered plastic bottle of beer ($5.25) makes it a comparative bargain compared to the two concession choices ($5 paper cup, $5.50 souvenir cup), which require leaving the action and hiking. Note that I allowed my dad’s friend to repay me for the seat with a bottle of beer, which yielded a $0.25 profit over the cost of his ticket. Aspiring Kramers, do the math; you can make a fortune. Or at least get drunk at a ballgame for cheap.
Sometime after the last greasy fry, Octavio ineptly popped up a bunt attempt, prompting this comment from yours truly’s one man peanut gallery: “Hey Dierker, when you need a bunt, Don’t Ask Dotel!” Well, I’m sure somebody got it.
Final, quick observations on the fourth game at Enron
— The loss sucked, of course.
— But the weather was again a perfect 70-odd degrees with a nice breeze.
— With Richard’s 408-foot drive to left, I also decided that I like the train. You could just see it peeving Wolf. That putz.
Game 5 – Fillies – April 8, 2000
Dad let me take the wife and toddler daughter to this one. While I’d love to swoon over my beloved little one’s antics during the game, I’ll stick to observations on the experience. And man, was it a doozy.
Saturday afternoon. The first day game with the roof open, and the weather is picture perfect. I say “picture” because if you didn’t take one, you’ll never see it like that at Enron Field again. I’m sure other Houston veterans will agree with me that this weather is just downright bizarre. Another thing: our seats were in the sun the entire time. While it was nice and comfy for the first 5 innings, it did begin to get hot, even though the ambient temperature never got about 75 degrees from what I heard (with relatively low humidity). Consider, then, what it will feel like on a muggier July Saturday afternoon: say, July 22 vs. STL. I’ll bet a dollar the roof’s closed or that people on the first base side pass out in droves.
This was the day I changed my mind about Junction Jack, the bunny. My daughter simply loved him. She couldn’t stop wanting to pat him and yelled “bunny! bunny!” for five minutes after his departure from our level. The thing is that the other kids all loved him too, and wanted their pictures taken with him. After a while, I had to admit to myself that I could stomach this if all these kids really liked it; it’s part of the experience, I guess. And after our previous mascot, who shall forever be known as The Unspeakable One, pretty much anything seems okay (one of my fondest Dome memories is when a friend and I were sitting behind a boy of about 8 years who, upon seeing the horrid green mascot thing below, yelled – plenty loud enough that he could hear – “Hey O___ … you suck!!!!”).
(Side note to parents of small children: the Gashouse offers, for your diaper-changing pleasure, changing stations in both the men’s and women’s johns, as well as a “family” bathroom so you can whoop it up together.)
By game’s end we found ourselves a scant 50 yards from home plate, after employing said strategy on a day when even more morons left the best seats in the house several innings early. If you can’t tell, this really pisses me off, folks. I mean, the guy behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked “Hey man, how many innings are there in a game?” If the wee one hadn’t been there, he’d have received an earful of unprintable vitriol. As it is, he simply got his answer abruptly.
But the finish of the game was sweet. Wagner charging in from the right-center bullpen to one of Metallica’s more forgettable tunes (am I the only one who thinks “Seek and Destroy” is considerably more appropriate?) is an event to behold. And his performance – while absent trademark K’s – left me and the rest of the remaining fans completely sated.
What a day. What a stadium. What a team. Go ‘Stros.