TLDR: Assorted Notes on the Ideal Ballpark Experience

The author, in his capacity as a member of this country’s Leisured Poor, recently made a journey to the Duck Pond at Warner Park in Madison, Wisconsin — baseballing home of the Madison Mallards of the summer college wood-bat Northwoods League. This is something I’ve done before — both with the internet’s Common Man and also the internet’s Jackie Moore — however, in the present work, I’d like to address, specifically, what a Mallards game reveals about the ideal ballpark experience.

There is, of course, reason for me to delude myself into the opinion that a Mallards game represents something close to the ideal ballpark experience. Both (a) living in Madison and (b) having no car, my options for live baseball are limited. The Brewers are about 75 or 80 miles to the east; the Beloit Snappers (Low-A affiliate of the Twins), about 50-55 miles south. As such, the Mallards represent my only real opportunity for live baseball.

Even so, games at Warner Park satisfy the criteria that I (and I’m guessing many fans) consider when evaluating the quality of live baseball as entertainment — have, perhaps, helped me to understand what those criteria are, in the first place.

Criteria like these:

Proximity — As in, how far the stadium/park is from my house, in minutes. And also how easy it is to park or commute via public transit, too.

Intimacy — As in, how intimate is the ballpark experience. See below for discussion.

Affordability — As in, the amount of dollars it costs. Unless I can go — and afford to go — with some frequency, I’d prefer not to go at all.

On-Field Talent — Not as in the overall quality of the players on the field, but rather how interesting said players are to me. In this way, for example, watching a Northwoods League team, with the knowledge that the next Curtis Granderson or Chris Sale or Max Scherzer (all alumni) might be playing, is preferable to seeing the Twins, for example, who are miserable.

Other — As in, there are probably other considerations that I’m ignoring. Like the quality of the concessions, for example.

It’s not my intent — because merely the thought of such an exercise is tedious — to comment on Warner Park in light of all the criteria above; however, I would like to address briefly the idea of intimacy in a ballpark setting — and, specifically, how it manifests itself at a Mallards game.

A little reflection suggests that Mallards games cultivate a sense of intimacy by at least three different means, as illustrated below.

The Crowd
Ideally, a ballpark is crowded. And while I feel inclined to add “but not too crowded,” I don’t know that a park could be too crowded — or, at least not that I’ve witnessed. This isn’t to suggest that other people don’t behave abominally. Like every other reasonable adult, I harbor some natural level of distaste for everyone who is not me. But it’s also the case that merely by consenting to attend a game, one has also typically steeled oneself for interactions with The Public.

I can’t say precisely what the appeal is of a well-attended game, but I think it has to do with the sense it creates for the fan of participating in the most relevant event of the moment. When I lived in New York, I was perpetually of the opinion that — regardless of where I was or with whom — that there was probably something better going on somewhere else in the city. Because it’s New York, is why, and there are wealthy, beautiful people everywhere — way wealthier and more beautiful than my friends.

A well-attended game gives one the impression of being at the epicenter of relevance. People have gathered — not only to see the game, but to see each other and to see each other seeing the game. Furthermore, it allows the people of a town to consider — and to reinforce — what it means to be from said town. On July 1st, for example, the first 1,000 fans at Warner Park will receive a Protest Maynard Bobblehead, which depicts the team mascot holding a picket sign. This isn’t common fare, you wouldn’t say, for people in Huntsville, Alabama, or wherever else people are living these days.

Indeed, Mallards games are very well attended. In 2011, the team drew over 6,000 fans per game. That’s more than double the next-highest mark among college summer leagues, the ca. 3,000 fans per game recorded by another Northwoods League team, the LaCrosse Loggers. More impressively, it’s actually more than all but 26 affiliated minor-league teams drew in 2011. Moreoever, the team’s average attendance is about 85% of Warner Park’s listed capacity of 7,500, which suggests (correctly, in my experience) that the park is almost always near full.

Human Scale
I’ve been led to believe that, in the field of urban planning, human scale is a principle that refers to the degree to which a space is suitable for humans or pedestrians — as opposed (usually) to automobiles. Generally speaking, humans prefer walking lanes that are narrow, with something of height — be it trees or storefonts — on either side.

Here’s an example of human scale at work in Sao Paulo, Brazil:

And in Malton, UK:

For obvious reasons, many ballparks are built to human scale, so this is not something that necessarily sets Warner Park apart; however, it’s in considering Warner that I’ve realized that human scale is an important part of the stadium experience.

Because I’m a shortsighted moron, I don’t have a good photograph of human scale at work at Warner Park; however, in the image below, I’ve utilized a program not unlike Adobe Photoshop to draw the reader’s attention to an area of the park — a sort of corridor — through which I very much enjoy walking because it’s narrow.

PA Announcer Aaron Sims
There is a law at Warner Park which dictates that, for anyone who recovers a foul ball, the recoverer is entitled to a free hot dog.

Indeed, here is PA announcer Aaron Sims informing the crowd of said, real law during the first inning of the game I attended:[audio:http://www.fangraphs.com/not/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/Wiener.mp3|titles=Wiener]

While the reader is compelled to acknowledge that this practice is frigging droll, what’s like a thousand times more droll is the manner in which Sims reminds the audience of of the real, actual law. After every foul ball. Without fail.

Regard, evidence:[audio:http://www.fangraphs.com/not/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/Wiener1.mp3|titles=Wiener1]
[audio:http://www.fangraphs.com/not/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/Wiener2.mp3|titles=Wiener2]
[audio:http://www.fangraphs.com/not/wp-content/uploads/2012/06/Wiener3.mp3|titles=Wiener3]

Of course, Aaron Sims himself is not available for PA duties at all of America’s ballparks. What Sims does, however, is something that can be roughly approximated in other parks — whether by the PA announcer or by some other means — which is to establish traditions and practices that are unique to the park in question.