Sidelines
NOT everyone can fully appreciate the majesty that is the Rainbow Easter Tournament. Not everyone can take in four games, back to back to back to back, in one day. One glorious day. A day in the sun. Musing over a
day at the parkKids on spring break can. Retired people can. People sneaking away from work can. Degenerate sportswriters can.
But you've got to pace yourself, like the young man sitting behind home plate for the 9 a.m. opener.
This guy had it figured out. His head was tilted over to one side in the morning sunshine, and he was dead asleep. Chatter from the dugouts didn't wake him. New innings didn't wake him. Foul balls crashing into the screen just a few feet from his face didn't wake him. This guy was comatose.
But finally, it was the familiar sound, the thoomp! of a catcher's mitt cradling a third strike that roused him. "Heyyy-heyyy!" he said, shouting his approval.
And he went back to sleep.
It was invigorating being in the stadium, near the players, the noises, the game. Baseball! America's Pastime! And as you sit, drinking in the richness, the history, the flavor of this great game, you can't help but think one, singular thought: I want an ice cream sandwich!
And you can. (It's just that easy.) It's all OK at the ballpark. Besides, you need to keep your strength up.
There's a full day ahead, like:
>> A 65-year-old man wearing a "Hooters" T-shirt.
>> Mynah birds in the rafters squawking, "Eh! Lucky you live Hawaii!"
>> An enormous Santa Barbara fan removing one article of clothing too many.
>> A Kita-Kyushu outfielder flipping into the bullpen after a foul ball.
>> A small boy singing an Elvis song. (It was "Return to Sender.")
>> The Lewis-Clark State coach saying "Criminy sakes!"
A COUPLE OF SPECTATORS were serenading the L-C State coach with cries of "You tell 'em, Big Ed!"
"I really love Big Ed," one fan said. "I love Big Ed. No, I'm sorry, but I really love Big Ed."
Ed Cheff had coached Lewis-Clark State to 11 NAIA national championships and over 1,000 victories.
"He's a damn great coach. You think he would leave?"
No, they decided. Big Ed would not come to coach the Rainbows. He likes it where he is in Idaho, with all those potatoes.
"They should call this place Murakami Stadium," the first one said. "They should call this place Murakami Stadium and it would all come together."
"And have 50-cent beers!"
"This place would be rocking."
"It would work. Murakami Stadium. And if the beers were just $3.50 ..."
"Two dollahs!"
"This place would sell out. Murakami Stadium, sit anyplace you like."
"Uncle Roy would come."
"We would have to carry him home."
And so on, as they continued to chase the sun down the third base line.
Nightfall came. New faces appeared, familiar ones dropped out. Not everyone is in proper condition to sit in the stands and watch four games in one day, not unless you've trained for it. Like me.
Twelve hours in Rainbow Stadium. One ice cream sandwich. The Easter Tournament marches on.
Kalani Simpson's column runs Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays.
He can be reached at ksimpson@starbulletin.com