As many of you lovely people know by now, I have a deep love and appreciation for minor league baseball. Not to the degree that I could tell you, say, who's currently in third place in the Pacific Coast League; but generally speaking, I do enjoy going to minor league games a helluva lot more than major league ones. Much as I still think Dodger Stadium is one of the most beautiful ballparks in the bigs, the hassle-prone parking, shitty food, overpriced beer, increasingly expensive seats, a generally heavy moron quotient and the fact that my money goes into the pocket of a mealy-mouthed shitbag greedhead like Frank McCourt all conspire to keep me away from Dodgers games these days. Throw in the fact that the Dodger organization, apparently in fear of being seen as a bunch of limp-wristed commie pinkos, has decided to further sap the fun out of every home game by shoehorning an extra-maudlin "God Bless America" into the 7th inning stretch, and you'd pretty much have to pay me to go to Chavez Ravine. Or at least throw me a freebie...
Okay, maybe that's a little harsh. I do still love major league baseball, and attending major league games can still be fun, but I also increasingly find that it's more enjoyable to watch MLB games on TV or the internet, where you don't have a bunch of bozos behind you prattling on and on about whether or not that's Jerry Seinfeld sitting with Tommy Lasorda, and you don't feel ripped off if the game winds up sucking, or (as) annoyed when a player who's making more money this year than you will ever see in your lifetime can't be bothered to run out a slow grounder to short. When I'm jonesing to see some live baseball action, going to a minor league game is a considerably more enjoyable and wallet-friendly option. It's kinda like going to a hole-in-the-wall mom n' pop pizza joint versus a high-end, white tablecloth restaurant; the fare may be less remarkable and the surroundings less glamorous, but it's still a consistently satisfying experience, and one that comes with little in the way of pretension, hassle or cost. In other words, baby, it's my kinda scene...
Luckily for me, there are at least seven minor league teams within a two-hour drive of LA — and even luckier, one of 'em is in my own back yard. The Palm Springs Power, a summer collegiate league team, have been in business since 2004, playing their home games at Palm Springs Stadium (above), the same ballpark where the California Angels, San Diego Padres and the PCL's Seattle Raniers all used to hold spring training in the 1960s. It's a modest affair, just a grandstand with steel benches, but it's a veritable heaven on earth to me. This past Friday night, I met up with my friends MJ and Michelle for the opening game of the Power's season; shit was talked and laughs were had over some decent grub (the grilled pepper and onions on the bratwurst was a nice touch) and many three-dollar drafts (which, early birds, are only a buck before first pitch), as we watched the Power roll to a 9-1 victory over the Casa Grande Cotton Kings.
The level of play wasn't exactly exemplary — at one point, the Power scored two runs on two consecutive wild pitches, and probably would have scored a third had there been anyone left on base — but it was a lot of fun to watch. Unlike your average Dodger game, the players obviously wanted to be there, and so did the couple hundred or so fans scattered across the stands. The evening was unseasonably cool and pleasant (about 70 degrees), and there were lots of "oohs" and "aahs" as we watched lightning flash in the sky to the north; looked like Joshua Tree was getting some rain, but we stayed dry. (With the exception of a couple of spilled beers, of course. And I'm still wondering how I ended up with mustard on my socks...)
The capper to the whole experience was that MJ and I wound up being quoted in the next morning's Desert Sun (we're on the "Page 2" of the article) with me weighing in on the rather unsettling off-season makeover undergone by Rocky, the team's mascot. The old Rocky was goofy and cuddly; this one is just plain disturbing, like something out of Anton LaVey's prop closet. Seriously, check him out:
Creepy, right? This mascot doesn't want you to root, root, root for the home team — he wants you to pledge your eternal fealty to the Prince of Darkness, and bear his hellish brood. Here he is, exerting his demonic influence over the Power's announcer...
A tomato was spotted in the stands that night, as well. Whether it's also in league with Satan is something I have yet to determine; more research (i.e., more Power games) is definitely required. The fact that it walks, talks and has an actual face would certainly be considered blasphemous in some circles, however.
