THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, April 14, 1995 TAG: 9504140424
SECTION: FRONT PAGE: A1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY DAVE ADDIS, STAFF WRITER
DATELINE: NORFOLK LENGTH: Medium: 81 lines
Baseball is an unforgiving game. The difference between a hero and a hacker is just a millisecond of reaction time.
Similarly, about a milligram of brain cells is all that lifts most major-league owners above the level of your common tree frog, evolution-wise.
Those observations, and other truisms of the game, were open to a whole new season of debate Thursday night as a feisty crowd welcomed pro baseball back to town at the Norfolk Tides' 1995 home opener.
If the game itself is unforgiving, the same cannot be said of its fans. They know the difference between the guys who are making fairy-tale wages in the majors and guys playing for shipyard pay down in the minors, at places like Harbor Park. And they hold no grudges against the home team.
It was difficult, in fact, to find anybody in Harbor Park even discussing major league ball Thursday night as the Tides shut out the Rochester Red Wings, 3-0. The debacle that is big league baseball, where nobody has thrown a pitch in anger in nearly eight months, seemed as distant as Mars.
``Everybody oughta just boycott major league games,'' said Tim Jackson, a Willoughby construction worker. ``To me, this is baseball,'' he said, nodding at the Tides' fielders from a seat in deep left field.
``The majors - huhh. There's not a man alive worth $1 million a year.''
Jackson, in fact, had been debating a trade the pro football Pittsburgh Steelers had made. He and his friend, Brian Hetherington, were wearing twin Steelers jackets and had to be prodded into even discussing the major leagues.
``It's all gone, it's not even a game anymore,'' Jackson said. ``Can't even keep track of who's on what team from one day to the next. It's just business. Business and big money.''
``I'll watch it at this level,'' Hetherington said. ``These guys, they're busting their butts, they're pushing it, trying to get to the next level. Every one of them is trying to be as good as he can be.''
Harbor Park's season opener fell short of a sellout, but not by an awful lot. In wandering the park's concourses, bleachers and box-seat sections it was not readily apparent that something had gone terribly, terribly wrong with professional baseball in the past eight months.
Down behind the Tides' dugout, along the first-base side, season-ticket holders were renewing friendships, the only common thread being the proximity of their assigned seats. A nod, a handshake and a ``How-ya'-been?'' was all it took to re-establish relations.
One effusive fan in a gray tweed jacket was hugging everybody in sight, even the cop who was back for another season of guarding her section. She grabbed a passer-by, jammed a cardboard-box camera into his hand and ordered him to take a snapshot of her and the gang.
Though Harbor Park is opening just its third season, little rhythms, little traditions are beginning to take hold there. Seven tugboats let out a deafening pre-game whistle from the Elizabeth River, just past the right-field fence. Four skydivers plummeted into the park at game time, as they had on the previous two opening nights.
And there were heartening signs that a new generation of fans will grow into the game, innocent of the greed that endangered its reputation among the rest of us. Four-year-old John Parsons and his little sister Addison, 3, each had a hand plunged into a box of Cracker Jack as the pre-game festivities wrapped up on the field.
Addison already knows the words to ``Take Me Out to the Ball Game'' and will sing them for you with very little coaxing. And, as a Navy band struck up ``The Star-Spangled Banner,'' Addison's mom, Cheri Parsons, took her daughter's right hand, showed her how to hold it over her heart, and in a lilting soprano began to teach her daughter the words to a new, more difficult song.
Both the tunes have a lot of meaning to a baseball fan. Somebody should make everybody in the major leagues listen to Addison sing them sometime. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo, top, by Paul Aiken, Staff and color photo by Beth
Bergman, Staff
Above, right, Jay Conti, 7, and Chris Simms, 15, top, greeted
opening night at Harbor Park with varying degrees of enthusiasm.
KEYWORDS: OPENING NIGHT NORFOLK TIDES PROFESSIONAL BASEBALL
MINOR LEAGUE by CNB