Baseball place No. 64: Nolan Ryan Center; Alternative Place No. 64A: The Astrodome -- and an unauthorized peek

I was hoping my trip to Texas would lead me some sites in Josh Pahigian’s “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out.”

I came close.

Josh leads us to the Nolan Ryan Center in Alvin, where the former Met grew up, for place No. 64. Located at Alvin Community College, the center posts exhibits about the hurler, and I’m confident there’s a whole wing dedicated to the 1969 World Series.

But I didn’t venture beyond Houston, where Ryan pitched for the Astros. I didn’t see too many references to The Express at Minute Maid Park, though there was a statue of him at a hotel across the street.

Fair enough, since Ryan didn’t play at Minute Maid, and maybe the fine folks of Houston are a little ticked that Ryan has become more attached to the Texas Rangers.

So I set out to find the place where Ryan actually pitched, which would be:

Alternate Place No 64A: The Astrodome

Yes, the Eighth Wonder of the World still stands, though it has seen better days.

The Astros moved downtown and the Texans football team have massive Reliant Stadium, which towers over the first-ever domed stadium.

There’s a lot of Mets history in that dome, including what one author called “The Greatest Game Ever Played,” Game 6 of the 1986 National League playoffs.

So I figured I’d head over and just walk around the outside, taking some photos. The Texans wanted $8 to park, even though there was nothing going on at either stadium. A friendly attendant suggested I could park in the shopping center across the street and walk over.

After grabbing a quick turkey sandwich at Subway – proving that I had an official reason to park in the lot – I strolled over to see the dome.

It was sad. The mighty Astrodome, which inspired the team to change its name and even create plastic grass, looks pretty unloved next to the new stadium.

It has a new name – the Reliant Astrodome – but it appears there has been no maintenance on the building since the move. It looked dirty, and there were missing pieces of siding here and there.

It was also surrounded by a series of cowboy statues – as opposed to Cowboys statues – since the dome hosted the Houston Rodeo for years.


I figured I’d make a lap, snapping photos near and afar.

Then, on the far side, I saw what appeared to be a truck ramp leading under the stadium. There were two swing-out garage doors, and one was open.

Hmm. I thought maybe I could walk down and an employee or kind security guard would allow me to poke my head in and snap photos.

So I slinked down the ramp, and as I got closer to the door I could see a little inside. It led not to some inner hallway, but to what was the centerfield gate. Off in the distance were the famous rainbow-striped seat sections, with light pouring though the panels of the roof.

I stood in the door. I looked to my left, and to my right. There were no employees to be found.

“Hello?”

Silence.

An adventure should have a little risk. If I had taken another step forward, I supposed it could be considered trespassing.

I pondered what would happen if caught. I was an obvious fan, with cap on head and camera in hand. No harm was intended. I figured I’d get a, “Hey! You’re not supposed to be in here!” and escorted to the door – or I’d run back to the car at the Subway before they could catch me.

After about 10 seconds of deep contemplation, I took a bold step into the Astrodome.

It was spectacular.

I started snapping photos, first with my camera then with the iPhone, quickly sending shots to Will and Greg Prince, figuring that I could be tossed out at any moment and knowing they'd like to share in the fun.

I stood were the outfield fence once was, heart racing and trying to absorb everything I could see.

I don’t remember if there were lights on, or whether the semi-transparent roof was allowing enough light in to illuminate the inside. But it was plenty bright.

The famed plastic grass was gone, the floor was hard concrete. The third base side was filled with those golf cart-like trams that I guess are used to drive fans in from the distant regions of the parking lots for football games.

The first base side was littered with folding chairs and other odds and ends. It struck me that the Astrodome was now the world’s largest storage shed.

After several minutes of not being discovered, I became a little bolder, and started walking into centerfield. Not too far, maybe 10 to 15 feet beyond where the warning track once was.

Turning around, I saw some old advertising signs, blank scoreboards and a sign reading “Home of the Houston Astros" with the orange and blue logo the team hasn’t used since the rainbow days, the design with the stadium in the middle and orbiting baseballs.

I looked at the light coming in the roof and wondered what it would be like for a player to stand in that very spot trying to track the flight of a fly ball.

I swear I could see Mike Scott and his scuffballs, the Toy Cannon launching bombs, Don Wilson and J.R. Richard and Jose Cruz and Cesar Cedeno and those magnificent rainbows.

I thought about Billy Jean King and Bobby Riggs playing tennis, the Bad News Bears with the crowd chanting “Let them play!” and the 1986 All-Star Game with Doc, Gary and Keith wearing their white cleats.

But mostly I thought about Oct. 15, 1986. The Mets needed to win that Game 6 or face Mike Scott in a deciding seventh game. Scott, a former Met, had our boys completely psyched out, beating them in two starts in the series.

I was at the University of Missouri at the time, watching the game on Tony's television in our off-campus apartment.

The Astros scored three runs off Bob Ojeda in the first inning, and neither team could score again until the top of the ninth, when the Mets got two two runs off a tired Bob Knepper, then drew two walks off Dave Smith before Ray Knight hit a sac fly to tie the game.

At that point, I had to go to class. I played the "I had to watch the Mets" card once before, for a 1985 trip to St. Louis to see Dwight Gooden in person. The professor was not impressed. I didn't want to try that again.

After class I pedaled back to the apartment as fast as I could and turned on the television, hoping some station would have the final score. And to my total shock, the game was still being played.

I missed Darryl Strawberry scoring a go-ahead run in the 14th inning, only to have Billy Hatcher tie the game again with a home run. And I arrived with the Mets batting in the top of the 16th, scoring three runs.

But we know the Mets do nothing easily, allowing the Astros score two runs. After Keith famously warned him to stop throwing fastballs for face the consequences, Jesse Orosco struck out Kevin Bass with the tying run on second and the winning run on first. We were going to the World Series for the first time since 1973.

The Astrodome matters.

The team came into the league with the Mets in 1962 as the Houston Colt .45s with assurances that an indoor stadium would protect fans from the sweltering Texas summers.

The first game came in 1965 one a field with real grass. But players complained they couldn’t see the ball against the Lucite roof. Once painted over, the grass died and the team played on dirt painted green.

That, of course, led to the invention of the plastic playing surface forever known as Astroturf.

Now, there are people who bemoan the existence of both domed stadiums and plastic grass. But you could not have had retractable roof masterpieces like Minute Maid Park and Miller Park – both with real grass – without that first step, the Astrodome.

Minute Maid opened in 2000, and Reliant Stadium opened for the Texans in 2002. The Houston Rodeo moved next door in 2003, leaving the Astrodome hosting only an occasional event.

It seems to me that it’s wrong to demolish history. I wish there was more left of Shea than plaques in the parking lot. But I don’t know if it is right to keep up an unused stadium.

So for now it stands -- a garage for trams and a storage shed.

I stood there in deep centerfield, looking for ghosts in rainbow jerseys and wondering if I could walk deeper or even up into the stands for more views.

There’s a difference between boldness and recklessness. I’d experienced what I came for and far beyond. Intentional or not, The Astrodome offered a wonderful gift and I didn’t want to abuse it. I took a long last look and headed back out into the sunshine.

Clearly there was a baseball statue out here at one point, but I have no idea what it was.

Vivian L. Smith was an Astros co-owner who played a big role in the the development of the Astrodome complex.
I thought it was funny at a fire hydrant across the street from the Astrodome was painted in Mets colors. A tribute to "The Greatest Game Ever Played," perhaps?

Minute Maid Park, all to myself

I arrived at Minute Maid Park on Thursday and a friendly security guard warmly greeted me as workers nearby readied Union Station for a Women’s Chamber of Commerce event, a sure sign that baseball was done for the year.

“Do you folks offer tours of the ballpark?” I asked.

“Wait right here!” he said before running off to chase another employee, appearing again in a few minutes.

They told me to pop into the gift shop to buy a ticket and we’d be off. And when I came out, my new friends Damien and Jen were waiting and started spouting facts about the building’s life as a train station before the Astros arrived 10 years ago.

“Shouldn’t we wait for everyone else?” I asked.

“You’re it!” Damien said. “And that’s OK.”

So off we went on my personal tour of Minute Maid.

I was in Texas last week helping family, and my mother-in-law, who spoils me wildly, insisted that I have a day to myself once we were finished helping her sister to chemo and radiation treatments.

I had been to Minute Maid once before, in December 2004 when I was in Houston for an education writers’ conference. I had five minutes in the gift shop before it closed and managed to snap some photos outside in the dusk.

Thursday’s adventure was the extreme opposite, as we spent the morning exploring the ballpark from top to bottom, inside and out.

We started in the upper deck, where Damien pointed out the 900-ton retractable roof that closes in 13 minutes and the locomotive that moves across the leftfield wall at 10 miles an hour to start the game and after an Astros’ player hits a home run.

The roof is closed any time the temperature hits 85 degrees, which in Houston is most of the summer. The decision is made in the early afternoon because it takes two to three hours for the air-conditioning to cool down the seating area.

The windows above the 422 sign are the only breakable glass facing the field. That’s owner Drayton McLane’s office, and he promised $50,000 to any player who could hit a home run through the window. No one’s been able to hit the mark. Of course, the roof is closed most of the time.


The locomotive’s coal tender used to be filled with baseballs. But after the stadium’s name change, they were replaced with oranges. The problem is that the oranges are so big that people think they’re pumpkins, my guides told me.
We slipped inside to explore the club level. Here's Damien in Drayton McLane's suite. He said McLane tends to watch games from his seats behind home plate and uses the suite for clients and friends. I liked some of the small details, like the baseball pattern on the light shades.
Then we moved into the press box and broadcast booth. Leganday broadcaster Milo Hamilton -- that's him on the famous call of Hank Aaron's 715th home run -- has a special, customized chair. The team also has a display honoring broadasters in the Baseball Hall of Fame.

Here's the backdrop in the broadcast booth, our last stop before heading down onto the field.
My guide friends were awesome. They said it was OK if I stood on the on-deck circle, and even moved the hoses. Then we stepped into the dugout and posed for more photos.


There were two rows of benches, one close to the railing and the traditional one along the back wall, that was actually a two-level bench. It was a little hard to see the field, but easier when I sat on top.

I realize there are a lot of people who don't like "Tal's Hill" in centerfield, but confess I love it! It's a feature unique to Minute Maid, at least in modern times,. Named after team President Tal Smith, the hill is a tribute to Crosley Field, which had a similar elevation. The flagpole is in play, like at Tiger Stadium, and has been hit on a fly only once.

Walking around the foul area and warning track, we slipped into the home bullpen. I was allowed everywhere except for the mounds, which were covered in a tarp because it takes the grounds crew several hours to manicure each.


The visitor’s bullpen is below the leftfield concourse and doesn’t get any sun, so the grass there is actually Astroturf from the Astrodome. Players enter through a gate that’s sort of hidden in the outfield wall padding.

The guides allowed me to pick up the vsitors' bullpen phone. It started ringing, but no one was in the dugout, so it was OK. I could just about hear Jerry yelling, "Get K-Rod up!"

The hand-operated scoreboard is accessible through the same gate, and there are two levels for several employees to scramble around and update out-of-town scores. It gets pretty stuffy and steamy. The gate leads to the field and the team doesn’t want non-players running around. So the rule is, once you’re inside the scoreboard, you’re there until the end of the game.



President George H.W. Bush and the former first lady have season tickets right behind home plate, sharing the row with McLane and his wife. Damien said it’s not unusual to see them at games, especially when the team is doing well.




The Diamond Club had some neat features. Just below these windows was a crystal model of the stadium that didn't photograph well. But it's neat because it's the only place in the entire ballpark that still reads, "Enron Field."

There were two of these boots, holdovers from the 2004 All-Star Game, famous, of course, for Roger Clemens gacking up six early runs.
The boot ended my official tour, but I kept exploring outside the ballpark. I liked how the sidewalks had baseball seams in them.

Then there was a little park area with bleachers and statues of Jeff Bagwell and Craig Biggio making a classic 4 to 3 play.