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Thursday, Jan 8, 2009
Minor league baseball is bittersweet. The players are praying for a ticket out, and it's even worse when the team is looking to move, too.
Apr 3, 2000 | As is the case most years, they held a World Series last October. And as is so often the case, the New York Yankees won it. There followed the usual parade and emotional speeches, the players relishing that sweet period between the final out of the season and Daryl Strawberry's next drug suspension. A happy ritual, playing out as it should.
A month earlier, there had been another World Series -- the Triple-A version. The minor league championship differed from its more famous parent in a number of ways. It was held in a neutral site -- in fact, probably the most neutral site in America, Las Vegas, where fan loyalties await the publishing of the morning line.
The underdog Vancouver Canadians took the series, defeating the Oklahoma Redhawks. Although the team celebrated in traditional jumping-jack fashion, they did so in front of nearly empty stands. But the real difference between Triple-A and the Show became evident the next day -- unlike the victorious Yanks, the Canadians did not return home in triumph. They didn't return to Vancouver at all, nor have they since. This spring the defending Triple-A champs are congregating in Sacramento, Calif., as the newly renamed River Cats. For the now-defunct Vancouver Canadians, victory was truly final.
Named for a Vancouver fast-food king, the city's Nat Bailey Stadium is an old-fashioned gem, generally loved by the fans. Tommy Lasorda called it one of the prettiest ballparks in the world (despite the odd fact that the spectators with the best view are the three outfielders; the gorgeous Coast Mountains are on the wrong side of the stands). But a couple of seasons back, the conventional wisdom suddenly changed -- or so the park's owners would have us believe -- and the old gem wasn't quite so lovable.
The Canadians home park was revealed to be a hopeless relic: crummy player facilities, no luxury box revenue, seating for only 5,000. "Not financially viable," the owners said, and the death watch was on. Before the 1999 season, a deal was struck -- the Canadians would play one more year in Vancouver, then head south to the California capital.
Early September 1999: It's the night of the last regular season game. From his seat behind home plate, longtime Canadians fan Bob Hilditch looks around at a packed Nat Bailey. "Everybody loves a winner," he says. Sure, and everybody slows down at a car wreck. It's a toss-up which principle is at work here. True enough, the team ran away with its division and will shortly begin its successful playoff run, but it's also the beginning of the end for a longtime Vancouver institution. Whether it's the smell of a winner or the smell of death, something is bringing a throng through the doors of the Nat. Maybe they're looking for bargains -- liquidation prices on nacho cheese sauce and giant vats of mustard.
Tinny speakers play the Verve's "Bittersweet Symphony." It fits. "California Dreamin'" would work, too; the Canadians are the farm team of the Oakland A's. With the possible exception of the security guards there's not a uniformed employee in the park who isn't hoping to reach the Golden State long before the Canadians do.
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