By David Weinberg
Throughout a sportswriting career that has spanned 40-plus years, I’ve had the good fortune to witness hundreds, if not thousands, of games and events in venues across the country.
I’ve been to Bowls (Rose), Coliseums (L.A., Oakland), Domes (Georgia, Metro, Super), Fields (Lambeau, Lincoln Financial, Soldier, Wrigley), Fieldhouses (Conseco), Gardens (Boston, Madison Square), Halls (Boardwalk), Horizons (Blue), Parks (Candlestick, Citizens Bank, PNC), Speedways (Dover, Homestead, Indianapolis), Yards (Camden), and too many Stadiums (Jerry’s World, Levi’s, Raymond James, Sun Devil are favorites) to list.
One sticks out above the others.
Connie Mack Stadium in Philadelphia, located at Lehigh Avenue between 20th and 21st Streets, was home to the Phillies from 1938 to 1970 – and the old Athletics from 1909 to 1954 – when a certain kid who was just falling in love with baseball.
One day in the late 1960s, his father surprised him with Phillies tickets. We went on a bus trip, along with Mr. Maxwell and his son, John.
The kid, in his third year with Firemen of the Cape May Little League, was thrilled. He had watched countless Phillies games on TV (WFIL Channel 17) and listened to By Saam, Bill Campbell and Richie Ashburn on a tiny transister radio on the beach, but had never been to a game in person.
The sights, sounds and smells of the ballpark took his breath away.
He was awestruck. The grass was emerald green and the infield dirt was the color of cocoa. Hand-painted signs featuring ads for Taylor Pork Roll and Wise Potato Chips rimmed the outfield walls. A giant scoreboard in right field topped by a Ballantine Beer sign seems to touch the sky.
The kid was hoping Johnny Callison or someone would hit a “Ballantine Blast” so he could recreate the scene in the Lord’s backyard during the nightly wiffleball games.
The Phillies were playing the San Francisco Giants. The kid’s mom had grown up in New York City in the 1930s and ’40s, during the days when the Giants played at the Polo Grounds and the Dodgers at Ebbets Field before bolting for the West Coast. His mom and grandmother enjoyed dressing up and heading to the Polo Grounds whenever there was a Ladies Day game.
He entered the game as a Phillies fan, but once he saw Willie Mays, Willie McCovey and Juan Marichal, he started rooting for the Giants, too.
It was part of a magical summer for the kid. A few weeks after that game, his boyhood friend Frank “Tater” Smith invited him to go back to Connie Mack to see a Phillies-Mets doubleheader that was also “Bat Day.”
The kid, Tater and every other fan received real “Louisville Slugger” bats, which they held over their heads most of the day. The kid and Tater couldn’t wait to get home and use them during their pickup games in the field behind the old Christian Admiral Hotel.
A home run for Tater, Dave Velli, Scott Mericle, Edward Gibbons and other right-handed hitters was any ball hit onto the Admiral’s seashell parking lot. The kid, who was a lefty, took aim at Pittsburgh Avenue in right field. Once in a while, he hit one good enough to land on the roof of the Berk’s house on the other side of the street.
Talk about a Ballantine Blast.
Twenty-five years later, the kid took his daughter and son to their first Phillies game at Veterans Stadium. Both were playing in the Lower Cape May Little League – the kid was coaching his daughter’s VFW Women’s Auxiliary Babes softball team – while the son was on Cecil B. Design’s baseball squad.
They too were enthralled by the sights and sounds at the Vet, though the kid thought wasn’t as colorful as Connie Mack.
Twenty-five years after that, the kid took his two oldest grandsons to their first game at Citizen Bank Park.
Both were playing tee ball in Lower Cape May’s Little League and were avid Phillies fans, though the youngest, Graham, was more impressed with the Phillie Phanatic than Bryce Harper.
The kid bought them baseballs at the concession stand, which they couldn’t wait to try out in their backyard with Poppy and Dad.
Connie Mack and the Vet are long gone, as is the Christian Admiral and the vacant field behind it. Mammoth summer homes replaced the seashell park lot.
Scott and Dave have gone to that big ballpark in the sky.
The kid and Tater now play golf together instead of baseball, but still love to recount the day when they held their bats aloft and watched Tom Seaver and Jerry Koosman pitching for the Amazins.
The kid has four grandsons now and loves to play baseball with them in the backyard.
Nine-year-old Hampton is in his first season in the 9-10 division of the Lower Cape May Little League while 7-year-old Graham is playing tee ball.
Three-year-old Nixon enjoys to picking up a bat and running around the yard screaming “Bryce Harper Home Run” before sliding in the grass.
Poppy likes to yell, “That was a Ballantine Blast!”
David is a nationally recognized sports columnist who has covered Philadelphia and local sports for over 40 years. After 35 years with The Press, he has served as a columnist for 973ESPN.com and created his own Facebook page, Dave Weinberg Extra Points.
Send comments to weinbergd419@comcast.net.
