$1.50 Pizza and the Smell of ChlorineAll-Alaska Swimming ChampionshipsJuly 14, 2006 Bartlett High School Swimming Pool, Anchorage, AK.A swimming tournament for kids ages 7-15. Would I like to go and see my cousin's son, Luke, participate? Sure, why not.The tournament was for three days and my in-laws were going to be there for most of it. They encouraged me that I didn't have to be there for all of it. Dang right. See a few of the kid's races, bask in family pride for a few minutes, and then go and do something else. One day in "tournament time".
I have been through the "tournament" experience countless times before, both as participant and spectator. Go to the site and set up camp for a day or more. Pack a bunch of things to eat and bring reading material or, in this day and age, i-pods, CD players, or laptops. Prepare yourself for the "hurry up and wait" rigors of the day. Grab a program/schedule and keep it near you because that is your bible.
Oh, yes, I've been through it before. My younger brothers wrestled in high school and both were good enough to make the Washington State finals (my brother, Rob, won the 1996 cruserweight title and my youngest brother, Chris, finished second in the heavyweight division in 1997 and 1998) and wrestle in other invitational tournaments throughout the state and the nation. First match is at 10 A.M. If you win, you wrestle again at 3 P.M. Lose, your next match is at noon. And so it goes. Hours of waiting to get to moments of something that you care about. Sure, you can watch all the others competing and it can be exciting but your interest wanes as the day goes on. When's whatshisname's race/match? How long? How soon? Do I have time to go get something to eat? Do I have time to hit the head? Yes, yes, I know tournament time well.
And coming to the Bartlett High School pool on this day was no different. Walking through the doors, I was greeted by a group of girls sitting in a corner playing Pokemon. They were wrapped in towells and and wearing swimming caps and were enjoying themselves in this little place away from all the hubbub. Tournament indeed, I thought.
I climbed up the steps to the balcony overlooking the large pool and was immediately hit by sticky warmth of an indoor pool followed by the smell of chlorine. Never have liked that smell. I spent a day swimming at my local pool when I was in eighth grade, about four hours straight of swimming and diving, and came home sick as a dog. I felt feverish and couldn't hold down any food. My mother suggested that I had chlorine poisoning. Is ther such a sickness. In any event, since then I have always limited my swimming pool time to an hour or so and to always use that shower that the signs at the pool instruct you to use. The smell of chlorine always sends me to a sense memory. I filed in my mind where the doors were to go get fresh air.
Walking through the balcony to find my relations encampment, I took in all the sights and sounds of this All-Alaska Swimming Championships. Nothing really different from what I, and you, have seen before. As I said, "tournament time". Races going on with a fraction of people watching. Huge Olympic-sized pool. Whistles and cheers adding a bit to the din. Parents reading books, sitting on cushions in the bleachers or on their own lawn or camping chairs. They look up occasionally to see what time it is and to glance at the huge scoreboard to see where they are in the program. Young kids of all ages and all types of swimming gear running around with juice boxes and orange slices. Girls are usually wrapped in towells or bathrobes, boys walk around slightly wet and allow themselves to air dry. Most of them have a listening device in their ears to block out all the clutter around them. Coaches walk around making sure the kids are aware of their start times or are talking to other coaches.
On the northwest side of the building, several parents manned a concession stand that had fruit, candy, earplugs, swimming goggles, water, soda, what have you. Adjacent to the food stand were racks of swimming clothes and other accesories, some provided by a local swim shop but most of the gear were fro parents: a garage sale of sorts. Another section was sponsored by a pizza house and there were stacks of boxes of pizza inside warmbags. They were pushing slices of pizza, cheese or meat, for $1.50. A little girl kept walking around the facility holding a cardboard sign that promoted the price. It caught my eye. I asked the girl if she was getting paid in pizza for her work. She smiled and kept walking. Nothing was in the contract about talking to people. apparantly. Yes, i bought a couple of slices and I bought some for my participant cousin.
Watching the races were only exciting for me when Luke was in it, I must confess. In all of the races I watched, the pattern seemed to be that one racer would get the lead early and then extend it more as the race went on. The battle was always for second, third, and fourth with no exception. Luke finished third in one race and then fourth in the other one I witnessed. I'm sorry I can't tell you what races they were: butterfly, freestyle, fifty-meter, etc. I really have no enthusiasm for swimming. I know the important names at Olympic time and know some of the greater programs in the NCAA and in Washington state high schools, but that is as far as my fandom will go. I believe I fall in the George Carlin adage that swimming is not a sport; swimming is what you do to keep from drowning, to paraphrase. So I was happy to watch my cousin compete and do well. He's ten and I hope he keeps up with the sport. He seems to like it.
I watched two races. spent some money, and left before the chlorine got to me. Another experience in "tornament time".
The Big CityAlaska Goldpanners vs. Anchorage Glacier PilotsJuly 13, 2006 Mulcahy Stadium, Anchorage, AK.I still remember the words of the gentleman I met at the Mat-Su game: "You'll never catch me in Anchorage. I don't like the big city."
The third stop on my tour of the four Alaska Baseball League ballparks was in the "big city". Mulcahy Stadium is located in the center of town in a big area of forest and water called the Cooper Creek Complex. All the sports facilities in Anchorage are here: Anchorage Football Stadium (which is home to high school football), Ben Boehke Ice Arena (high school hockey), Sullivan Arena (Alaska Aces minor league hockey, University of Alaska Anchorage Seawolves NCAA hockey, the Great Alaska Shootout college basketball tournament every Thanksgiving, concerts, etc.), and Mulcahy...the baseball stadium.
Mulcahy is home to the two Anchorage ABL teams: the Galcier Pilots and the Bucs. During the short ABL season, there's always a game there, in theory. Each team has a merchandise booth in the stadium but, naturally, the Bucs store was closed this evening. It also appeared that banners for both teams would be put up or put down on who was playing on which date (a huge banner by the concession stand proclaimed "The Glacier Pilots: Anchorage's First Nationally Recognized Team". Take that, Buc fans!). I couldn't really get a feel if there was a rivalry between the two clubs. Talking to fans in line for tickets (prices range from $5 - $7, but a guy in a Red Sox cap gave me a voucher for a ticket and I got in with no problems...thank you, sir, whoever you are), the general consensus is that people in Anchorage will root for both teams but never for the Goldpanners (boy, I came on the right night).
Mulcahy is a servicable ballpark with a wooden grandstand that extends from third to first base. Aluminum bleachers line the outfield lines, pretty much like all the small fields I've been to but Mulcahy has more capacity for more people. The grandstand seats are built in benches on the upper level with the lower level, being the "box seats" area, are a series of platforms with folding chairs acting as the box seats. Well, you could move them, I guess.
Now, I've seen box seats in Fairbanks and Palmer, but there was always something homespun about those two ballparks that made the experience unique. People talking to me, proud of their club and the feeling that they all had something to do with it, especially the Mat-Su club. Here in Anchorage, Mulcahy gave the experience of any minor league ballpark in the States. The anonymity of being at a ballpark was here. Baseball as entertainment being first, community after that. Not that it's a bad thing but I had become accustomed to seeing things in the state as something uniquely their own. The "professional" approach to baseball was here.
The PA announcer was pleasant but always selling something. I saw my only sighting of a mascot in the ABL at Mulcahy: a huge, friendly moose in a Pilot uniform and old fashioned pilot's gear atop its head. He silently went about hugging and playing with children, as to be expected. Two waitresses served beer and hot dogs to those sitting in box seats only, just like back at home. The ballpark did have the wonderful smell of burgers and onions on a grill, and thats what they had at the concession stands ($4 for the Onionburger, $2 for hot dogs). Beer was $3 - $4 for bottles and a few choice brews on tap. The radio broadcast of the game can be heard throughout the ballpark so you never missed a moment. The Pilots were the only team on my trip that I saw that had their names on the back of their jerseys. And just like back in the lower forty-eight, the bathrooms were not all that sanitary.
The game itself was a laugher. I had seen both teams before: the Panners on Sunday night in Fairbanks and the Pilots just two days before at Mat-Su. But where the Pilots relied on bunts and "small ball" on Tuesday, tonight they were just rocking Alaska pitching with solid hitting to take a 3-1 lead in the third. And where the Panners I saw four days ago had some good slugging and wonderful pitching, tonight they looked inept on defense and couldn't get anybody on base past the second inning. The Glacier Pilots ended up winning the game 5 - 1.
But the thing that really stuck with me from this night was the on-feild announcer for the Pilots. From the first inning on, I kept wondering who this very pretty blonde woman was walking around the ballpark with a microphone in her hand. She wore very short denim shorts and a glittery pink halter top with enough space to show the tattoo on her back. She talked to the scouts with the radar guns with a sauciness of a truck stop waitress and wherever she went she got whistles from most of the men of the 500 or so in attendance that night. "Crazy as a fox, the Pilots management..." I thought as I watched this lady strut onto the field for between-inning promotions where she encouraged young girls to hula hoop, led a kindergarten chorus for "Take Me out to the Ballgame", and read raffle ticket numbers. Sex appeal, baby.
The promotion that I couldn't stop laughing at was the "Pepsi Crawl", sponsored by Pepsi, naturally. Two tweener-aged boys were selected for this romp as oversized hats were placed over their heads, then spun around by the pretty woman's two assistants, and then the boys crawl up the baseline ten yards or so to where a twelve-pack box of Pepsi is waiting for the one who arrives first. The comedy I drew was not necessarily by the boys doing this summer picnic exercise, but in the blonde lady's commentary on the proceedings. When she was explaining the instructions of the game, she had the emotion of a football coach with stern pronunciations of each word and the feeling that she would bite your head off if you asked a question. The game began with her barking, "SPIN 'EM!" and her assistants obliged. The drill instructor kept muttering "Spin them more!" as the spinning went on a little longer than I thought it should. Finally she commanded her minions to stop and help the guinea pigs to their knees. When the boys were ready, the pink lady bellowed, "CRAWL!". The boys went about in their dizzines with the laughter from the stands as the soundtrack along with the lady's "getting in their face" shouts. "You're not even close! Where are you going?", were some of the nuggets heard. One of the boys got to the box first and polite applause and pats on the back were given to both of the young men. "Good job!" the lady smiled as she turned off her mic and walked off the field laughing, satisfied. I looked at a person sitting next to me with the look of someone who couldn't beleive what he just saw. "Man, she's tough." he said to me as I nodded.
I guess that's just life in the big city.
