Years ago, before so many major-league baseball franchises began tearing down or deserting their classic ballparks, there were a lot of wonderful places to go watch a ballgame. These ballparks were the models upon which today's "retro" parks, such as as Camden Yards, Jacobs Field, Coors Field and the Ballpark at Arlington, were built.
Among the gems was Cincinnati's Crosley Field, which was widely regarded as the most intimate park in the National League.
Today, we take you out to Crosley Field . . . and some of the other classic parks.
We take you out to the ballgame and we invite you to imagine which features from the classic stadiums of the 1950s you might like to see in the Reds' next ballpark.
There was a time when you could tell the city you were in just by looking at its ballpark. Sometimes that is still true: the "Green Monster" left-field fence at Fenway Park in Boston; the double-decked overhanging bleachers at Tiger Stadium in Detroit, the ivy-covered walls at Wrigley Field in Chicago.
But long gone are what distinguished many of the old parks: the slanted scoreboard and right-field wall at Ebbets Field in Brooklyn; the huge Ballantine scoreboard in left field at Sportsman's Park, the tree-framed light tower and left-field scoreboard at Forbes Field in Pittsburgh.
Shibe Park, Philadelphia.
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Philadelphia's Shibe Park, with its distinctive French Renaissance exterior, no longer is a home to baseball, but instead has become what it always resembled: a church. Specifically, the Deliverance Evangelistic Church, seating 5,100 worshippers (which is decidedly more than Shibe drew for games in the mid-to-late '50s). There was a billboard-sized advertisement on the wall at Shibe. It read: "The Phillies Use . . . LIFEBUOY SOAP. On the same sign, a Phillies fan had scrawled the words: "And they still stink."
What a cantankerous old ballpark, Shibe.
In 1956, the old Yankee Stadium scoreboard was installed in front of the right-center field wall; later, a clock was added. Balls that hit the 75-foot high clock were homers. And, oh, those wacky bounces off the right-field fence.
Most of the pre-1960s ballparks were intimate, all of them were idiosyncratic and many had an aroma all their own.
Robert Creamer, who grew up in New York City and visited all of the ballparks of the National League as a baseball writer in the 1950s, recalls listening to the World Series on the radio when he was in the Army. He felt "detached" from the game until a sergeant sat down at the table. He was smoking a fat cigar.
"Ah, the Polo Grounds!" Creamer thought. "That stinkin' cigar makes me feel right at home."
At Crosley Field, fresh-popped popcorn - with its distinctive smell - permeated the air in the grandstand from the concession stands below. It was served in megaphone-shaped containers, which when emptied gave the owner an instant forum.
Also filling the nasal passages, especially during day games, was the strong scent of freshly mown grass. Crosley smelled a lot better than the Polo Grounds, but Crosley's closer outfield confines (328 to left, 387 to dead center and 366 or 342 to right, depending on the era) did not allow for the spectacularly long running catches such as those made by New York Giants center fielder Willie Mays.
But that was the beauty of baseball. Every park was different.
Today, however, not even the modern-day "retro" parks, built to remind us of the old parks, are distinctly different. For example, they all have asymetrical outfields, but not uniquely so. These retro parks are beginning to assume a cookie-cutter look.
Their outfield dimensions are not bold.
A ballpark doesn't need to have huge power-alleys or a distant center field to put excitement into a game. Short porches down the right- or left-field line can provide some exhilarating moments without turning baseball into a mockery of itself as Coors Field has done with its high-altitude arena ball.
Ebbets Field, the Polo Grounds and Yankee Stadium all had short porches down the line. Crosley Field didn't have that, but what it did have were sufficient nooks and crannies in the outfield wall that made for unexpected doubles, can-you-believe it triples and occasional inside-the-park home runs. And this in a park where all of the fences were within 400 feet.
Remember how as the seats along the first-base line continued out, they got closer and closer to the field until about 30 feet from the right-field fence these seats were practically on top of the foul line? And how between that spot and the fence there was a 30-foot wide nook near where the batting cage was stored, and batted balls that entered this zone had a good chance of emerging as relay throws bound for third or home?
Anticipation is the key to baseball excitement. And the crooks and corners of the old parks only heightened that sense of suspense.
Time was when the national pastime drew kids to it. Now, the kids must be enticed inside. Because there are so many other distractions today, and because the pace of the game is slow compared to other sports and video games, there is a tendency to think baseball is declining, if not dying. But the new "retro" parks in Cleveland, Baltimore and Denver (and the exciting teams that play there) are as attractive to youngsters today as parks like Ebbets and Crosley Field were years ago.
And the retro parks go the old parks one better: Kids don't have to get down on their bellies to try to get a peek into today's parks. These new parks have been designed to give us at least a glimpse of the glittering glorious green. A ticket takes us the rest of the way.
Intimacy is at the heart of it all. About many things, the retro parks are right: a batter needs to be able to bat the ball completely out of the park and into a street or onto the top of a building at certain spots; a scoreboard on which scores of the day's games around the league can be posted by hand should be part of the outfield fence and in play; the outfield wall should make for some odd bounces.
Time was when no ballpark had a dark chasm separating the outfield seats from the outfield.
When outfielders at Comiskey Park or Yankee Stadium went back for a deep ball, the fans went right back with them.
Crosley Field, Cincinnati.
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And intimacy is what Crosley had. In the book Lost Ballparks, the words "Crosley" and "intimate" are used interchangeably. ("The stands in the old parks like Crosley were built close to the field, along the foul lines, near to home plate. Athletes talk of getting a crowd 'into' the game. At places like Crosley Field, it was hard for fans not to be in the game.")
It was this geographic "closeness" of fans and players that made so many of the old parks so intimate.
Fans who went to Crosley Field still talk of being able to clearly hear second baseman Tommy Helms whistle and out fielder Pete Rose chatter to the pitcher and hitter.
Fans who were at Crosley Field still talk about the foul balls that appeared headed for the stands and how a fielder would reach in and you could see the color, sometimes the sparkle, in his eyes.
Fans still tell of the leisurely stroll the players would take from their clubhouse, through the public area beneath the grandstand near the concession stands, where they would often stop and talk to fans and then go into a players' ramp that led to the dugout.
It was this walk that initiated the close connection between player and fan at Crosley Field.
Fans still speak fondly of the field-level, knee-high chain-link fence that was no barrier at all between spectators and players.
We were all in the game.
Bill Lawrence, 46, tells of the day Frank Robinson was playing right field and motioned him to hoist his glove. Why? Because Robby was going to warm up his arm by playing catch with the youngster out there in the right-field bleachers. Back and forth, the yellowing practice ball went between the young slugger and the 11-year-old kid until, on the final catch, Lawrence looked into his glove and there was a brand new baseball.
The working companies and offices in the buildings beyond the center-field wall at Crosley and other ballparks - whether it be "The Crowe Engineering Co." or "Superior Towel & Linen Service" - added to the ambiance of ballparks, especially when the windows filled with heads and binoculars and banners.
At Crosley home games, Eleanor Kluszewski, wife of the great Reds slugger Ted, would watch the games from her seat six rows behind home plate and look out at the full windows and think, especially on Opening Days: "It's like the game and this ballpark are pulling the city into it."
Al Smith, 1956 World Series, Comiskey Park.
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It is no coincidence Crosley Field lost a lot of its feeling of intimacy when those buildings beyond the outfield walls began to come down in the early 1960s to make way for I-75 and parking lots.
The best of today's ballparks come with a view: the skyline in Cleveland, the Rocky Mountains in Denver, the B & O warehouse in Baltimore, the apartment buildings on Sheffield and Waveland Avenue beyond the walls of Wrigley Field in Chicago.
The best ballparks of any era come with quirky features such as Crosley's terrace, that distinctive incline of ground that served as a warning track in front of the outfield fence.
It may not be possible to resurrect the terrace; the players' union and safety regulators would likely oppose it.
The man who played the left-field terrace for so many years at Crosley believes the terrace merits revival. How strongly did Frank Robinson feel about it? Years ago, when he was an Orioles executive, he tried in vain to get a terrace incorporated into the design at Camden Yards.
"Of all the places I played in either league, Crosley Field was my favorite ballpark," he said. "It was a unique, quaint ballpark."
Rebuild Crosley, Robby says.
It would be retro and bold.
It would make the mystical connection between a team and its storied past. It would bring the whistle of the second baseman, the crack of the bat and the thud of the ball off the scoreboard back into the game.
Open your glove, Cincinnati. A brand-new ballpark awaits.
