In 2013, I worked for a Minor League baseball team. The Minors for players are a stepping stone to the Majors. But for the fans and staff, it’s their world — a culture forms at the ballpark. I’ve been thinking of a way to capture this and a fictional story popped out. I don’t know how many parts this will be or how often I will write them. But this was fun. I hope you enjoy it too.
Also, it’s not autobiographical. Yes, one of the main characters is a video guy, but that’s where my similarities with him end.
Just to hammer that point home:
Louis, the marketing intern, was a St. Louis Cardinals fan, and we will forgive him for that. But that’s not very relevant to our story outside of the fact that, yes, the name Louis came from the Cardinals (his mother wouldn’t name him Pujols).
There’s a man selling popcorn, a mom with two kids and a college boy with a camera sitting next to a pretty girl; they’re all together just about every Friday night from May to October in section 102 of McKee-Walker Stadium, home of the Rogers Rockets since 1971 (minus a brief spell when the owner moved the team up to Meltonville because of a dispute over stadium rights with the town council, but they resolved it).
The Rockets had been mostly independent of Major League Baseball and very few Rockets made it to the majors, but in the 90s, Rusty McGraw passed through for a season. He’d had a brief stint with the Brewers, but spent most of his career at Triple-A. The roster was always a different crew of college players looking for somewhere to swing the bat for the summer.
The man selling popcorn was Bob, and he also served as the usher. He’d been manning his post since the stadium opened and his brother hadn’t come back from Vietnam.
The college kid with the camera was Louis, the Rockets marketing intern. He was in love with Rachel, one of the “Rocket Squad” girls who didn’t pay any attention to him because he wasn’t wearing pinstripes.
Kelly, the mom with two kids, loved baseball because her dad had a “cup of coffee” with the Orioles in the 90s. Now she brings her boys to as many games as she can. Her youngest, Millie Ray, thought Louis was the coolest because he got to pick the people to be on the “Smile Cam.” They even had a secret handshake.
The rest of the season ticket holders, like Fran, Tony, and Juanita, adopted the boys on the team as their own. Every year. Because the team was never the same, but the fans were.
It was a warm night in May, the Rockets were up two runs on the Washington City White Sox, and the sun was setting beyond the faded green outfield walls. All was right with the world in the minds of everyone in section 102 of McKee-Walker Stadium:
Fran was inviting anyone within ear shot to her church’s potluck (she knew there’d be a gospel presentation that night and she wanted to make sure their souls were saved). Bob was hoarse from yelling “Popcorn! Getcha Popcorn!,” and Kelly was fighting off little Mikey’s request for a helmet full of ice cream.
Louis was manning his camera, waiting to shoot the trivia contest between the second and third innings. Rachel was on the microphone tonight, so they were there together in Row 13. Rachel had asked Tony to participate, he was beaming. He’d won 3 games of Trivial Pursuit in his life, so he felt up to the challenge.
Tony was an adorable old man in a bucket hat who always had lottery scratchers with him. He’d wait to scratch them until he was around enough people to cheer with him if he won something. His wife Juanita was next to him fanning herself with the 2024 program.
“You two together?” Tony said to Rachel, looking at Louis.
“Me and Louie? No, sir,” Rachel laughed at that in a way that bothered Louis.
“Bet he makes more money than them players,” Fran said from the row in front of them.
“It’s true … For now,” Tony said.
Louis blushed.
“You’re embarrassing poor Louie,” Juanita said. “Y’all hush now. Watch the game. Come on! … What’s this kid’s at the plate’s name?”
Fran picked up the player sheet, and raised her eyes to look through the bifocals “Kleinschmidt. From Georgia.”
“Sounds like he’s from Germany,” Tony mumbled.
“Says here he’s from Donalsonville. That near Germany, you big oaf?” Fran said. “Wait, you’re not getting off that easy, girl,” Fran said turning back to Rachel.
Rachel smiled in a way Louis felt in his chest.
“You gotta boyfriend?” Fran said.
“No, no I don’t,” Rachel said. Louis thought she might have glanced towards the dugout when she said it.
“I’m too old, so don’t ask me,” said Tony.
Juanita hit him with her program. “Quit bein’ gross. You could be here great-grandfather. And put more sunscreen on your nose. You’ll get another lesion.”
“You got a girlfriend?” Fran asked Louis who promptly swallowed his gum.
“You asking?” Louis said, recovering. That got howls of laughter.
“Youth is wasted on the young,” Fran shook her head. “You never forget your first love, y’all. You might leave ‘em. But you won’t forget ‘em.”
Louis couldn’t help but steal a glance at Rachel. And she was looking back—
CRACK. Kleinschmidt grounded into a double play ending the inning.
“No runs on one hit for the Rockets. Now it’s time for the Okie’s Bar & Grill Trivia Contest! Let’s throw it down to Rachel!”
Louis flipped up his camera, Rachel put on a sweet smile, and Tony couldn’t remember which Rockets player had the team record for home runs in a season:
Rusty McGraw, 1999, and he’d hit 27.
Juanita hit him with her program because they’d been season-ticket holders since 1995 and she’d really wanted that free appetizer.