25 years ago, my old man got us tickets to the inaugural Devil Rays game against the Tigers at Tropicana Field.
It was a sellout. 45,369 people.
He grabbed seats along the third baseline so a younger, able-to-field-a-groundball me could see the likes of Wade Boggs and Kevin Stocker patrol the left side. Boggs took one deep in the sixth. The Dippin’ Dots were flying. Tampa Bay lost 11-6.
On Thursday, 25 years later, I took my old man to Rays Opening Day against the Tigers at Tropicana Field.
It was a sellout. 25,025 people.
We grabbed seats along the third baseline so an older, degenerating-hips me could see the likes of Wander Franco and Isaac Paredes patrol the left side. Franco took one deep in the eighth. The Dippin’ Dots were righteously still flying. Tampa Bay won 4-0.
The baseball was undisputedly awesome. And the Rays made sure to raise a fifth-straight playoff banner in the process. And yet alas, not everything was gravy at the ballpark Thursday afternoon.
I have, as they say, some gripes. The modern-day baseball fan experience and I do not see eye-to-eye. And I hesitate to specify the Trop because I have a feeling these gripes scale nationwide, and most certainly stem from me being a washed geezer stuck in his bygone days. (But are also kind of particular to the Trop.) So in the spirit of sons turning into their fathers and dad-son tropes everywhere, let’s get our Larry David on and let ’em rip.
It would have been a perfect day of baseball if not for a few things being completely backwards and dumb. My old man gripes from an otherwise beautiful day of Rays baseball. And not a single one of them involves the pitch clock.
I have a gripe with the Ballpark App
Order your tickets through the Rays or Ticketmaster? You’ll need to download the Ballpark App. Purchase your seats through a resale site like Stubhub or Seat Geek? You’ll still need the Ballpark App. Physical tickets? Lol, Ballpark App. Were you planning on buying your Rays tickets at the stadium where the Rays play and operate? Stop, turn around, get back in your car and rethink your entire day. And then download the Ballpark App. You’re not watching a baseball game for the rest of your life without it.
I have a gripe with the purchasing of the beers
Call me a romantic, but I had no problem with our prior method of buying beer at the ballpark. The one where you arrived at the concession, requested a cold beer, paid for said beer, and then enjoyed it back at your seat. Acquiring a ballpark beer in 2023 holds a closer resemblance to an Amazon purchase. Everything is touchscreen, to which your only option is a grabbing a mammoth 24-oz Bud or Michelob can from a cooler that dispatches you feeling like you’re holding a stick of dynamite. Oh, you wanted a draft beer? The foremost and definitively greatest vessel of beer to consume at a baseball game? Get in line behind 25 people at the Coppertail stand and wait for your 16-oz IPA for $16.99. Dropping this paragraph now before I come dangerously close to “When I was growing up…” territory.
I have a gripe with the scarcity of cupholders
It can’t be great that my first action upon sitting down at yesterday’s game was to Google whether or not Fenway Park and Wrigley Field—two of baseball’s most prehistoric ballparks—have cupholders. And it turns out, they do! Both Fenway and Wrigley have renovated in recent years to supply at least a percentage of their loyal fanbase with convenient, circular receptacles for their frosty beverages. Considering cupholders were concretely a thing when the Trop was built, why doesn’t every section have them? How did I not notice this last year? Is 2023 my official threshold for irritably demanding a cupholder?
I have a gripe with the parking
If you forgot to pre-purchase your parking on the—wait for it—Ballpark App, you may as well take your chances downtown in a two-hour zone. Now that the pitch clock moves games in good haste, you’ll probably make it back in time anyway. Your other opportunities are generally people hustling adjacent lots, to which, it turns out, have no authority to sell in the first place. Leaving your pockets $20 lighter and your car in a tow-away danger zone. It’s all super fun and simple after sitting in traffic for 90 minutes on 275. And yet for all of these gripes, I’m still psyched for another year of baseball in Tampa Bay. I have a suspiciously good feeling about Wander Franco’s ability to stay healthy and Randy Arozarena’s potential to become a league-wide star. And until a new stadium is built, I’m fine digging my enormous beer into a dusty pile of peanut shells on the ground. Rays up, baby!