Ballpark adventures: South Bend Cubs and Four Winds Field

Father’s Day weekend usually means a trip to the ballpark, and this year we hit the road to South Bend, Ind. to see the West Michigan Whitecaps play the South Bend Cubs.

It’s the first year of the team’s affiliation with the Cubs, which meant a new name. It was previously called the Silver Hawks, after the car made by Studebaker, which had a presence in the area.

The stadium name is also relatively new. Four Winds Field was previously named after Hall-of-Famer Stan Coveleski, who lived in South Bend for years.

There were some vestiges of the old Silvehawks name.

It’s a nice park and we had a good time despite only finding lawn seats available and the Whitecaps losing 3-2.

Fun things:

Stan

There’s a neat statue of Stan Coveleski near the centerfield gate. Fun facts about Stan include that he was one of 17 pitchers allowed to keep throwing the spitball after it was made illegal. 

He also was known to give kids free pitching lessons in the field behind his service station.

The Cubs Den

I like how the stadium worked some of the nearby buildings into the stadium rather than have them leveled. The gift shop is a vacated synagogue, and the team treats it respectfully, with a plaque detailing the building’s history and a verse from Exodus on the wall.

The prices seemed a little steep, even by ballpark standards, but there were some fun things in here, like foam rubber Cub heads.

Star Wars Night

It’s always fun when minor league teams wear special jerseys, and we were lucky to catch the Cubs on Star Wars Night. There were not as many people in costume as the Whitecaps seem to attract,  but there were enough to feel the Force.

The Cubs wore sweet Boba Fett jerseys. Gift shop had jerseys with Yoda, Chewbaca, R2-D2 and Darth Vader, which weren’t worn on the field.

The scoreboard replaced the player photos with Star Wars characters, with the Cubs swapping out for heroes and the villains replacing the Whitecaps.

Stuff for kids

The Cubs have a whole section in the outfield with giant Cubs-themed inflatables that dominates left-centerfield, making for a fun backdrop. There’s a splash pad beyond the lawn seats, and a playground just beyond that.

There also was a Cubs Performance Zone with batting cages that looked pretty neat. I liked that each cage was designated using the logo of a South Bend team of the past,

Trains and cars

South Bend’s Union has been closed since 1971, but the tracks are still there and the beautiful building looms over the wall near right field. Trains rumbled along the tracks in full view throughout the game.

Right behind the train station was the old Studebaker factory. 

Lawn seats

The lawn section was pretty small – and fairly expensive compared to other stadiums, especially considering that you have sit on the grass. But rather than the hill or berm you get at many places, the Cubs have a terraces to keep up from sliding down the hill during the game.

The down side of a lawn section is that you get a lot of disinterested kids, who in good times run in a clump to the location of any foul ball, even one four sections over. In bad times, you get kids like Noah and Manny.

Minor grumbles

Not many. Overall, the prices seemed steeper than at other minor league parks. And the team didn't have its Pass-port stamps yet after making the name change. (The stamps have since arrived, and the folks are taking care of fans who left un-stamped. Very nice people working for the Cubs.)

Overall

A good ballpark! I get spoiled by the West Michigan Whitecaps and the stadium experience there. But South Bend was a good destination for a short road trip.

Whitecaps help look at autism a little differently

I used to lead my church's middle school youth group, and one of the kids in the group was diagnosed as autistic when he was a toddler.

You wouldn't have known it at first. He was just a little more challenging than the other middle school kids, which, of course, is saying something.

But I grew to understand – and appreciate – that he saw the world a little differently.

One night I planned a lesson to show that we can't see God, but we can see the effects of God. To illustrate the concept I set out on the table several scenes.

One had a apple with a bite taken out, another had a broken piece of glass and a opened Band-Aid wrapper, and another had my portable CD player next to an opened package of AA batteries with two missing.

The idea is that we didn't see someone take a bite of the apple, cut their finger or replace the batteries, but we can guess what happened based on what we found and what we know. And we don't have to see God to know what he has done.

I gave each of the students a reporters notebook and told them to write down what they thought occurred at each scene.

Most of them wrote down was you would expect. But my autistic member's explanations were a little different.

“Wasteful teenager leaves behind a perfectly good apple.”

“Careless person leaves his expensive CD player unattended.”


The middle-schooler, I realized, saw things just a little bit differently.

I thought of the boy Sunday when I attended Autism Awareness Day with the West Michigan Whitecaps, the Detroit Tigers' Midwest-A affiliate.

The team does a great job supporting some causes. We almost always attend Breast Cancer Awareness Day, when the Caps wear pink jerseys. They have special Star Wars jerseys, too, advocating for the defeat of the Evil Empire.

Sunday's special jerseys were covered in colorful puzzle pieces, intended to represent the ambiguity and mystery around the causes of the condition. Many early Autism Awareness campaigns used the slogan “Help Solve the Puzzle”

The Whitecaps had no problem solving the Cedar Rapids Kernels this day, a 10-3 pounding to complete a three-game sweep.

Two Big Franks, one huge weekend

"I spent 10 years in New York, and they were the best 10 years of my life.”

If you had to guess which Met told me that, would you ever guess Frank Howard, our former coach and manager?

The West Michigan Whitecaps have a Tiger Friday promotion where the team invites a former Detroit Tigers player to make an appearance, sign autographs and generally bask in the glory that comes from the kind folks of Grand Rapids.

Typically we see players from the 1984 champs, but the last Friday of the season brought someone unexpected.

Howard was a legendary slugger during his days with the Dodgers and Senators, but he much of his mashing magic was gone by the time he appeared in Detroit for 1972 and 1973. That didn’t stop Tigers fans from lining up for his bobble head and signature.

He was the NL Rookie of the Year in 1960, and finished with 382 home runs, even more impressive when you consider that he played most of his career in the pitching-dominant 1960s.

He gets major props for his upper-deck bomb off Whitey Ford to break a scoreless tie in Game 4 of the 1963 World Series, helping the Dodgers sweep the Yankees.

Once he homered 10 times in 20 at-bats, with at least one in six straight games.

After his stint with the Tigers, Howard went to Japan, but hurt his back swinging in his first at-bat and never played again.

He later managed a poor Padres team in the strike-shortened 1981 season.

Of course, I was more interested in Howard’s time with the Mets. He came with George Bamberger in what was hoped to be a resurgent team finally rising from another dark period, and things were looking up at least spiritually the next year when Tom Seaver arrived back home.

Alas, things were not quite ready, and Bambi bailed. The team named Howard to be the manager for the last 116 games. He went 52-64, with a .448 winning percentage that was certainly better than Bamberger’s .348.

But the Mets opted to bring up Davey Johnson for 1984, setting the table for the championship.

Howard came back as a Mets coach for the 1994, 1996 and 1996 teams, after stints with the Yankees in 1989, 1991 and 1992.

While Howard is well-known for his power, he’s also famous for being one of the nicest guys in baseball. So I looked forward to meeting him, and unabashedly donned my game-used Rick Trlicek batting practice jersey and blue Mets cap, which would set me apart from all the Tigers fans in the yard that night.

Tigers invited for the Friday night promotions typically start signing autographs just after throwing out the first pitch at 7 p.m. and continued until 8:30. The gates opened at 5:45, and Howard was already in place, ready to go.

I hopped on line with my Mets history book, standing some professional autograph types – ick – and some nice collectors, who shared stories about their various encounters with players.

The line, we noted, was barely moving. This was not an entirely bad thing, since we had a great view of the field and the game didn’t start until 7 p.m.

Some friends of the collectors came by after they had their items signed. “It’s taking forever,” he said. “Howard talks to everybody.”

I approved.

We inched closer, and were about four people away when some Whitecaps employees came over to escort Howard down to the field.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Howard said, holding out his hands. “I’ll be right back.”

Standing up, Howard seemed every bit the 6-foot, 8-inches he is said to be, but he looked thin and seemed to have a little trouble moving. Down on the field, he tossed balls underhand to three kids, who in turn fired to home plate.

He returned to the table in time for the National Anthem, stopping the line to stand and face the flag, hand over heart. Again, I approved.


When my turn arrived, I placed the treasured Mets book before him, turned to a page I’ve designated for managers, coaches and general managers. Jerry Manuel, Howard Johnson and Omar Minaya are already on the page, along with Whitecaps manager Joe DePastino, who had two glorious at-bats with the Mets in 2003.

Howard looked up and extended his hand. It was huge.

After thanking him for the signature, I asked which he enjoyed more, coaching the Mets or managing for that half-season-plus. I’m not sure he heard me well.



“I spent 10 years in New York, and they were the best 10 years of my life,” he said, pointing to my jersey.

I noted that he was often paired with fellow-coach Jim Frey for fantasy camps, with the “Jumbo Franks” playing the “Small Freys.”

“Jim Frey was one of the best baseball men I’ve ever met,” he said.

I thanked him again and headed down to my seat, peeking a very clear and neat signature.

The Whitecaps proceeded to take care of the Lansing Lugnuts, 2-1, inching toward another playoff spot.

I peeked back later, after 8:30, and saw the line was still there, and Howard still signing. Jumbo Frank wanted to make sure everyone got their moment and signature.

Pretty classy.

Two days later, I caught up with Will to honor our other favorite Frank -- Frank Thomas -- and our adventures will fill the next post.

Baseball place No: 56: McCovey Cove; Alt. Place No. 56A: Crash Splash

I love my kayak, and I love baseball, so I think the chance to sort of watch baseball from the comfort of my kayak is a pretty cool thing.

Josh takes us to AT&T Park and its McCovey Cove in San Francisco for spot No. 56 in his “101 Baseball Places to See Before You Strike Out.”

The splash down home run is actually pretty rare, even though balls only have to travel 352 feet to get there. And the cove seemed neater before the All-Star Game Home Run Derby when the Fox commentator was standing next to his kayak, and the water was only about waist-deep.

I haven’t been to San Francisco, so I’ve never floated in the cove. But Pac Bell/AT&T isn’t the only ballpark next to water. I offer:

Alternate place No: 56A: The Crash Splash, Fifth Third Ballpark, Grand Rapids, Mich.

Yes, the stadium for my own West Michigan Whitecaps, Single-A Midwest League, was built on the banks of the mighty Grand River. The team’s mascot is Crash, an animal of some sort identified as a “river rascal.”

Sadly, the ballpark doesn’t face the river, it faces US 131. But it’s still pretty cool to have a large river running alongside the game.

This weekend I wanted to see if we could create the magical McCovey Cove experience right here in Grand Rapids.

The Grand River runs not far from my house, and there’s a park with an access ramp, so that’s where I usually paddle.

And while we’ve biked our way to Whitecaps games, I’ve never paddled there. It would be about four miles, going with the current.

So we cheated little for this experiment. I packed up the kayak – known as Kayak 2.0 – into the Vue and headed down to the park with my trusty sixth-grade assistant.

I donned my Whitecaps jersey and cap and slipped Kayak 2.0 into the river, paddling out a ways. My assistant documented the activity.

From my vantage point, I came to the sad conclusion that I would not be catching a ball.

For one thing, the Whitecaps were playing the Kane County Cougars – in Kane County.

But suppose they weren’t.

The river runs alongside the first base side of the park. And you enter by walking up stairs, so there’s a huge grass berm surrounding the seating area.
That's the stadium up ahead. The Grand is a pretty wide river.

A ball would have to be hit sky high and at an angle to clear the stadium, then land on the berm, speed down the hill with enough momentum to clear a small parking lot, a road, a bike trail and, finally, a small section of trees before rolling into the water.

So, the team actually playing a game at the time I would be in the water only slightly increases the odds of getting a soggy ball.

It would have to go down the hall, through the lot, across the road, over the bike trail and through the woods.

But there have only been about 60 balls landing in McCovey Cove, so it’s not like too many folks floating there are leaving with a souvenir anyway.

And any excuse to get out in the kayak is a good one!

Pink rainbows and extra innings: Mother's Day with the Whitecaps

Figuring that a day of peace and quiet is a good gift in addition to the one that came wrapped, I take the kids to see the West Michigan Whitecaps on Mother’s Day each year.

There’s another benefit, too. The ‘Caps declare the game to be Breast Cancer Awareness Day. The team auctions off its pink jerseys and a portion of the ticket proceeds are donated to the Susan G. Komen Foundation, which supports research to find a cure.


The Whitecaps are so well-run that virtually any day at the park is a good one. But this year’s event was particularly eventful.

The pink jerseys are different every year, but this time the team wore a design resembling the glorious Houston Astros’ rainbows that people either love or loathe. I’m in the love camp.

The first 1,000 guests get pink t-shirts, and moms get a carnation. Plus, before the game, kids get to go on the field to either get autographs or play catch in the outfield.
The Whitecaps got attention from around the world with the 5,000-calorie Fifth Third Burger. If you eat it all by yourself, you get a free t-shirt and your photo on the wall. I'll pass.

But things looked ugly once the game against the Clinton LumberKings got underway. The team was down 8-0 after four innings, which sent me scrambling for the best meal in the ballpark, the pulled-pork sandwich. And my daughter used the time to call both Grandmas to wish them a happy Mother’s Day.

The Whitecaps made things interesting by getting two runs in the fourth and two more in the fifth, and tacked on another in the sixth.

Jordan Lennerton of the Whitecaps and Mario Martinez of the LumberKings.

It wasn’t looking good in the bottom of the ninth, and kids were already lining up for the post-game running around the bases when Jordon Lennerton and Gustavo Nunez got on base.

I’m not sure if the reason is the park or the players, but it’s rare to see a home run at Fifth Third Park. So pardon everyone for being a little surprised when outfielder Ben Guez hit his first of the year, bringing the game to an 8-8 tie.

The Caps had two men on base in the bottom of the tenth and twelfth, but couldn’t push one over. And the LumberKings threatened atop the thirteenth.

Tyler Stohr above, and the ever-present Crash the River Rascal and Frankie the Swimming Pig below.

The teams had played into the fifteenth inning the night before, so they might have thought it was Groundhog Day instead of Mother’s Day.

Finally, a sac fly from Brandon Douglas brought home Angel Flores in the bottom of the inning. The team had never before come from so far behind to win a game.

The Whitecaps are a Tigers' affiliate, and these seats behind home plate came from Tiger Stadium.

Cornzilla and Panera Bread muffies? Take it easy, it's only spring training.

Been a pretty good week in Mets land, especially compared to the ongoing fiasco that is the Yankees.

Both teams are hosting events in their stadia in their farewell years. The Mets, of course, are allowing Billy Joel to rock the house, a nod to the historic concerts Shea has hosted over its four decades.

Meanwhile, the Yankees are using their dump for a hockey game. Because, well, they know the team won’t be needing it after the now-traditional swoon in the first round of the playoffs.

Notice, to that the Rangers will be playing the Red Wings instead of the Isles or Devils. That’s probably because the Rangers wanted people cheering for them instead for the opposition.

And then the team turned a spring game into a glorified fantasy camp, allowing Billy Crystal to celebrate his 60th birthday by taking an at-bat.

Billy Crystal pretending to be a Mets fan.

I noticed they didn’t let Crystal take the field, which would have been pretty risky. You think Derek Jeter is pouting now with A-Rod by his side. What would have happened if all the world had seen that Crystal has more range than Jeter?

It should be noted that when Garth Brooks was in camp with the Mets, he took it seriously and raised money for a valuable cause.

Then you have new tough guy manager Joe Girardi whining because Rays prospect Elliot Johnson hustling in a spring training game took out one of his prospect catchers, saying Johnson should have given himself up so no one got hurt. That must have been what Joe Torre told the Yankees in the 2004 playoffs against the Red Sox.

But enough about the Yankees. Let’s get to the Deezo Friday Five :

1) This is probably the coolest Mets T-shirt ever. I’m expecting to see a lot of Shea Stadium stuff out there this year, but nothing is going to top the glorious Home Run Apple, finally given the respect it deserves. I found this on the Mets shopping site , not that I’m dropping birthday hints or anything.


2) Panera’s chocolate chip muffies = breakfast crack. It’s true that I get a sesame seed bagel and a muffie from my local Panera probably four days a week. The nice people in the store know my order and start bagging and toasting as soon as they see me walking in the door. The down side is that sometimes I actually want something else, but once they start bagging and toasting I don’t have a choice. And if you start yelling "DON’T SLICE THAT SESAME! I WANT A CINNAMON CRUNCH!" as soon as you cross the threshold it’s gonna freak out the other customers.


3) I know very little about "High School Musical," but I know enough to wonder how it could possibly translate into an ice show. I refuse to see this. I’m holding out for "Field of Dreams — On Ice!" The idea of the 1919 Black Sox skating around guys dressed as corn stalks moving in precision nearly moves me to tears. "Hey, Dad. Wanna do a Salchow?"


4) Mary Ann busted for pot? Gotta admit I didn’t see this coming. The Professor? Maybe. Gilligan? Obviously. But not America’s girl next door. Tony and I met Dawn Wells once. She came to Columbia, Mo. to appear at an open house at a new hospital that opened next to our dorm at Mizzou. She was really nice and really pretty and happily autographed photos for us. On the bright side, she followed Tom DeLay's philosophy, "They're gonna use the photo everywhere, so you might as well smile."


5) Cornzilla. The West Michigan Whitecaps are easily the best-run sports franchise I’ve ever seen. But I have to tell you I’m a little worried about this. Here’s the release:

"The Whitecaps are getting even cornier this season! Welcome the newest addition to the Whitecaps family, Cornzilla! Cornzilla can roast 400 ears of corn every hour. You can dip the corn in butter with choices of salt, ranch, Cajun or secret special corn seasoning to top it off! Make sure you stop by Cornzilla on the main concourse — if you dare!"

I dare. I can’t wait. The team’s other signature food is Frankie the Swimming Pig, a darn good pork sandwich, and he gets to be a mascot and everything. I want to see somebody in a Cornzilla costume in the worst way!

In other words:

Two of the best Mets Web sites teaming up? That's what happens when Mets By the Numbers interviews Greg Prince of Faith and Fear in Flushing for a must-read post. But Joe Girardi would say "Take it easy, boys. It's only spring."

She got the shirt right off his back

You know I’m a jersey nut. So each year the kids and I attend the West Michigan Whitecaps’ final home game, which is called “Shirts Off Our Backs Night.”

After the game, the players line up and pull entries out of a box. If they call your name, you run down to the field and the player takes off his jersey, signs it and hands it over.

The Whitecaps are a well-run team, and have become better and better handling this promotion. It used to be that people were allowed to take entire pads of entry forms and spend the game filling them out to stuff the box. In the last three years we got a form as we entered the gates, limiting each person to one, which is fine with me.

Not that it has helped us. Each year, we’ve gone home only semi-disappointed – we don’t really expect to win, and any excuse to go to the ballpark is a good one.I say the kids and I because my wife attends one game a year, and that’s usually around Father’s Day.

But we were out of town that weekend this year – setting foot on the glorious Field of Dreams – and I joked that she could boost our chances of winning a jersey if she joined us to see the Whitecaps take on the Great Lakes Loons on Friday night.

But my wife said she might not mind, as long as it wasn’t too hot. And with the temps in the 70s, off we went.
OK, as an aside. Jersey collectors are a fanatical bunch to be sure. We are sticklers about certain things, and that means getting the proper lettering. Having a name added to a jersey is big bucks, and you need to be sure it's done properly. This guy actually had a World Series replica, which is not cheap. But whoever added Justin Verlander's name used the wrong letters. The Tigers don't have a white outline on their names, and the letters are much taller and thinner. This is at best a rip-off, and at worst jersey abuse. Don't let this happen to you.


Now, I often say that the best part about minor-league baseball is that games are so affordable that you can bring the whole family. And the worst part is that, well, many people bring the whole family. And if you get stuck sitting near bad kids it can be a not-quite-as-glorious experience as it is supposed to be.

But we had fun watching the two kids in front of us this time. I’m guessing the two boys were four and five, and both were thrilled that the Whitecaps had stationed a player at each gate to greet fans and sign autographs.

Pitcher Matt O’Brien was signing near our gate, but it might as well have been David Wright to these kids, as excited as they were. They made multiple trips to have O’Brien sign things, first their programs, then the free mesh jerseys all kids were handed on their way in.

These items were carefully laid out on the bleacher in front of us, as if they were artifacts in a museum for everyone to appreciate.

But O’Brien was still there, and the kids had run out of things for him to sign. We noticed one of the brothers came back with the back of his hands signed. Seeing this, the younger brother wanted to go back and have his hand signed, too.

We overheard the dad say, “No. Look, it’s just going to wash off.”

Which was followed by the priceless: “Nooooo, it’s a permanent marker!”

Now, O’Brien is a decent player and clearly a man of great patience. But I can’t say I’d want to have his signature tattooed to the back of my hand. But it sure was fun to see the kids so excited.

The game itself had some drama, with the Loons tying the game in the top of the ninth, then going ahead in the top of the tenth when the Caps started throwing the ball around. Apparently I'm a jinx for the Whitecaps as well as the Mets.

But the then the real drama started and the players were called out one at a time to pull entry forms out of a huge box.

Throughout the game, there was much teasing about what would happen if my wife's name was called, and about how she’d have to go on the field to claim her prize – and her wanting nothing to do with taking a sweaty jersey from a guy she doesn’t know or getting any closer to the field than row 21 in section 220.

The game was close to a sell-out, so the odds were not good. And as in every other year we’ve attended these games, player after player would step up and read out a name from someone in Hudsonville or Kentwood. I was mock pouting, and my wife said, “Well, looks like you’re going home empty handed again.”

And at that moment, we heard: “And the jersey from Jeramy Laster goes to…" and we heard my wife's name.

I think the older guy sitting next to us was somewhat startled by my fist-pumping and yelling. There’s a chance everybody sitting on the third base side was startled by my fist-pumping and yelling.

My wife rolled her eyes. No. Way.

We quickly gathered our stuff and worked through the crowd to the gate near the first base dugout. Only the winner is supposed to go out on the field, but no one stopped the four of us from heading out. I already had the camera out and ready as we stepped close to the players.

They had started calling names of other people for other jerseys by the time we were out there, so it was a little confusing. We told the on-field announcer my wife's name, and he asked the players who pulled her name. Laster stepped up, shook her hand and asked her if she wanted him to sign the jersey.

He looked for a marker that would work best, signed the jersey – actually, the batting practice jersey, which the team wears for these games – and handed it over with a big smile.

I was documenting all of this, and tried to dodge the team’s on-field cameraman, who was projecting images to the video board in left field.

I asked Jeramy if he could pose for a shot, which he did happily. He seemed pleased that we were thrilled to meet him and get his jersey.

“It’s still damp,” my wife said as we went back to our seats. “You so owe me.” And I did. We went to a nice restaurant the next night.

Laster, drafted in round 12 in the 2003 draft, might not be the highest-rated prospect to pass through Grand Rapids. That would be Cameron Maybin, who is with the Tigers as we speak.

But Jeramy’s our new favorite Whitecap.

A night with the Evil Empire

Distraught that I couldn’t attend – or even watch – the 20th anniversary celebration of the 1986 champions, I decided to pack up the kids and go see the Evil Empire at a different ball game.

No, not the Red Sox tanking against the Yankees. I mean the real Evil Empire. Our local team, the West Michigan Whitecaps, held “Star Wars” night at the ballpark.

The Midwest League affiliate of the Tigers promised plenty of people walking around in quality costumes and a showing of the movie on the scoreboard after the game. I pulled my classic Darth Maul T-shirt out of the reaches of the closet, much to the embarrassment of my 14-year-old.

Yes, I fall squarely into the Star Wars camp when the Trek vs Wars debates break out.

Now I’ve often said that one of the joys of the minor leagues is that games are so affordable that people can bring the whole family. And the downside is that people actually do bring the whole family.

My kids are trained properly. They know, for instance, not to yell “balk” when the pitcher fakes a pickoff throw to second.

But other kids aren’t as easy to deal with. A boy in front of me decided to use his gift shop mini-bat as a light saber the whole night, so I spent half the night dodging it. But that wasn’t as bad as when he learned he could stick the bat into his foamy finger to lift it even higher, blocking my view of the mound.

Oh, what I wouldn’t have given to have those blue lightening things that shoot out of the Emperor’s fingers.

The Whitecaps do a good job with their promotions, so there were plenty of Star Wars activities.

Apparently there is some club, The Midwest Garrison, of people from Illinois, Michigan and Wisconsin, who like to dress up like Stormtroopers and other characters and offer themselves to charities.

I’d say that’s goofy, but I suspect they’d see my jersey collection and think the same thing. And their costumes were never worn by Mel Rojas.

They were posing with people who contributed a couple bucks to the Make-A-Wish Foundation, a worthy cause to be sure.

So when it came time for the ceremonial first pitch, a whole squadron of Stormtroopers escorted Darth Jeter, er, Vader, on to the field for the official duties.

The Stormtroopers got involved in all the between-inning activities, too. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen the warriors of the Empire performing the “Chicken Dance” on the dugout roof.

The game was a fine pitchers’ duel, with the Lansing Lugnuts outlasting the Caps 3-0. Cameron Maybin, one of the Tigers’ top prospects, is hitting .324 but did nothing at the plate. However, he put on a clinic in centerfield.

A fireworks show followed the game, then fans were invited to come out into the middle of leftfield to watch the movie.

I tried explaining to the kids that this was like a drive-in movie used to be like, and offered tales from my youth of getting big bags of White Castles and parking on the street alongside the All-Weather Drive-in Copaigue to watch the movies – but not hear them especially well.

It was well after midnight when the Death Star met its end, with the nine-year-old barely awake and a good time had by all.

Bobble heads, chocolate milk and the wrath

I should have seen the trouble coming. When you incur the wrath of the baseball gods, bad things are going to happen.

One of my personal rules is that you go to a baseball game to enjoy baseball, not for the sole purpose of getting some promotional giveaway. If you happen to get something cool for going to that particular game, it’s like a special treat.

And there is nothing worse than the guy who buys a ticket, gets his promotional item, then turns and heads home with no interest in the game.

Well, I have some bobble heads in the baseball room, and I was excited to see that the local West Michigan Whitecaps (Single-A Midwest League, Tigers) were planning to give away Joel Zumaya bobbles on Tuesday.

Zumaya, of course, is the Tigers rookie flamethrower who spent time in Grand Rapids in 2004, one of the better prospects to come through.

I have a weakness for bobble heads. I marked this date down months ago and planned to attend the game.

But it’s been a busy week. A relative is coming from out of town and I wanted to make sure the house looks its best. And the Mets were making a rare Michigan television appearance since they were playing the lowly Cubs.

Too busy to go the game, I thought to myself, hoping that the bobble heads would eventually end up in the ‘Caps gift shop, like the Brandon Inge and Jeff Weaver versions did a few seasons back.

Then my newspaper ran a photo of the bobbles. Zumaya was in a neat pitching pose, and was in his classy Whitecaps uniform. This was too much to pass up, but I really had to do more cleaning and grocery shopping before the guests arrive.

I pass Fifth Third Park on the way home, and hatched a sinister plan. I parked in the free commuter lot across from the stadium, bought a $5 lawn seat ticket and got on line a half hour before the gates opened at 6 p.m.

I planned to get the bobble head, turn and leave without the temptation of going into the yard.

All the while I stood on line, I felt sleazy and guilty, knowing this was a wrong thing – probably the same way a Yankee fan must feel every day.

I was about the tenth person on line, which was a good thing because there were only 1,000 bobbles to be distributed and there are three gates in the stadium.

The appointed hour arrived; I walked in and happily accepted my Zumaya – and free program. The Whitecaps rock!

Then the guilt struck. I couldn’t turn and leave. I felt like one of those freaks that used to buy 10 tickets to the Beanie Baby days, not stay for the game and rush home to put the darned things on eBay. I hate those people, and was never shy about expressing that opinion.

I made a quick loop of the stadium, used the restroom then slinked out the back gate, hoping no one would comment. It’s a good thing I arrived early, because the Zumayas were gone and it was only 6:10 pm.

Deep down I knew this was wrong, and that there would likely be consequences.

And sure enough, I arrived home to find that my 9-year-old had spilled chocolate milk on the living room carpet -- a whole glass of chocolate milk, on the tan carpet.

How big was this spill? The NesQuick Bunny and all his relations could have used it a watering hole.

The skipper of the Exxon Valdez would have said, “My spill was bad, but this thing is incredible.”

ARod would have come in and said “And I thought I was having a bad week.”

A Michigan Convention and Visitors Bureau representative would have said, “Oh look, another Great Lake! And it’s less brown than Lake Erie.”

“I hope you like that bobble head,” I said to myself. “Because the baseball gods have spoken and you shall suffer.”

So rather than quickly completing the remaining jobs and settling in to watch the Mets in comfort, I broke out our little Green Machine cleaner and went to work. Alas, that tool is small spills. This disaster called for something professional: The Rug Doctor, which I rent from Lowe’s.

So I did get to watch the Mets as I dragged the Rug Doctor back and forth over the spot, sloshing buckets of hot water and detergent across the house.

The machine does a good job, but it’s louder than a Kiss concert. This is good because it drowns out the horrid Cubs announcers. And it also drowned out the foul things I was yelling when Carlos Zambrano took Tom Glavine deep. Apparently the wrath extends the Mets as well.

So now the carpet is clean, the Rug Doctor is rinsed out and ready to back to Lowe’s, groceries purchased from the never-closing Meijer store and the Joel Zumaya bobble head is on a shelf in the baseball room, forever serving as a reminder that you don’t break the baseball fan rules.

In other words...

Back in May I grew weary of the whining over the Kazmir trade and spelled out my belief that horrible trade is the reason we're in first place today. Well, Mike Vaccaro of the New York Post just last week came up with a very similar conclusion. Luckily, Bob Sikes of Getting Paid to Watch called him on it in this post.

Thank you, Bob, for the kind words and for having my back!

If you've never read Bob's blog, he was an assistant trainer for the Mets and witnessed some amazin' things and offers incredible views of behind the scenes activities and shows us the human side of the game.

Keeping score with my girl

I took my 8-year-old daughter to the home opener for the West Michigan Whitecaps on Saturday. As we were getting ready to go, I noticed she was carrying a scrap of paper and a pencil.

"Honey, what are you going to do with that, draw during the game?" I asked.

"No, it’s to keep score," Caroline replied.

My heart melted. I LOVE keeping score at a baseball game, and I’ve done it for as long as I can remember.

I’m not exactly sure why I do it. I remember seeing a cartoon once of a guy keeping score, and a second guy saying "I think they already have someone to do that." In fact, my buddy Will is indeed that person for the Columbus Clippers. And yes, I wear the green horns of envy.

I just think it’s a neat way to stay focused on the action, and see how a player is doing throughout the game. And it’s fun to look back and see which players we were able to watch. I was thumbing through an old Toldeo Mud Hens score card and it showed I had an opportunity to boo Chipper Jones when he was a Richmond Brave.

It also gives me an excuse to buy a program at every game, as if I needed one. Although there was a period when Will and I were headed to Tiger Stadium about once a homestand. And since the Tigers didn’t change their programs too often, I bought a score book from MC Sports and carried it around to every game we attended during those seasons. It's a cool sounvenir of a whole year of baseball.

I’ve tried to teach my son how to keep score over the years. But he’s typically only interested after the batteries in his GameBoy die around the seventh inning.

But Caroline might be my best hope to pass the love of scoring down to another generation. She’s detail-oriented, loves to learn and is obsessively neat -- perfect traits for a scorekeeper. And since she’s only 8, her interest in baseball games was previously limited to following the mascots around and scraping Lemon Chills. I was overjoyed that she wanted to do something that gets her a little more into the game.

We picked up our programs -- they’re free at Whitecaps games -- and pulled out our pencils, because you just shouldn’t keep score in pen. We went over the basics, talking about how you make a little diamond in the box when someone gets on base, and how each person on the field has a number that corresponds to his position, not the number on his uniform.

We copied down the starting lineups as they were introduced, and started scoring with the first pitch.

I had one of those "I’ve-got-the-greatest-daughter-ever" moments when I asked her if she wanted something to eat about halfway through the game. She responded, "Daddy, if we leave our seats, how can we write down what happened?" I nearly wept.

In the bottom of the eighth inning, a man sitting in front of us turned around and complimented her scorecard. "You’re doing a good job," he said. "When I overheard you doing that at the start of the game, I didn’t think you’d stick with it. I can’t believe you’ve done it for the whole game."

That’s my girl!