The traffic during the drive was very heavy and slow. At times while sitting at a stop, I would wonder if the traffic up ahead would ever move again. My son, Sal, sat observing everything from the front passenger seat. At the age of nine, he always had a never ending supply of questions for me to answer. Some questions seemed logical for a nine year old to ask, and I answered them as best as I could. Other questions though were actually follow up questions to the last one that I answered. In short, he had a sure way to sort of drive you crazy.
"Wow Dad! There sure are a lot of cars out here today!" "Yes, the traffic is really bad today," I answered. "Dad? Is this the worse traffic jam you have ever been in?" "Pretty much," I nodded. "Really? This is the worse? Even worse than when we lived in New Jersey Dad?" "Yes." I fibbed. There was no way I was going to open the doors for more questions by admitting New Jersey traffic was worse than Georgia's. If I did, it would be followed by a salvo of who, what and where questions.
"What time does it start Dad?" "Seven-thirty five Sal," I answered. "What time is it now Dad?" "Six-forty," I said. "Hey Dad?" "Yes," I sighed. "Are we going to get there in time?" "I hope so," I replied. "If we don't, will they wait for us to get there?" "No, they won't, but don't worry. We'll get there in time," I promised. "Are you sure Dad?" Glancing ahead at the traffic, I knew I wasn't sure, but again, I wasn't about to admit it. "Yes, I'm sure," I answered.
Driving over a crest and almost crawling downhill, I spotted the next exit. Although this was a couple of exits before our destination, I turned off the exit and started to drive a route I remembered that took us right where we wanted to be. Where are you going Dad? This isn't our exit, is it?" "Today, it is Sal. We're going in the back way," I replied. Nearing our destination, I turned into one of the many parking lots. "Are we here Dad? What time is it?" Five after seven, yes we made it." Handing the attendent a five dollar bill, I parked the car. Locking the car, I took Sal's hand and started the walk to our final destination.
Once out of the parking lot, we walked with the crowd a couple of blocks, still clutching his hand, his questions never ending. "What time is it now Dad?" "Seven-ten, don't worry." "Do we have to wait in line to buy tickets Dad?" "No, I bought them already, they're right here Sal." "Can I see them Dad?" "No, not in this crowd. Maybe later." Coming to the corner, there stood our destination, Atlanta Fulton County Stadium. The flashing sign stood between it and interstate 75/85, flashing the present series, Braves vrs. Pete Rose and the Cincinnati Reds........7:35 pm.
Making our way through the turnstiles, we went straight to our seats. I normally splurge at the stadium and go for the five dollar seats on the lower level between home plate and first or third, but tickets for this series were in hugh demand. Tonight's seats were on the upper level behind the Brave's dugout, presenting a great view of Rose at first base. His hitting streak was still in tact as he tried to break the all time record. Getting to our seats was no easy chore. Still clutching his hand, questions still flying, I had to steer him past three concession and two souveneir stands.
We barely sat down when the Braves took the field. A few minutes later, it was time to rise for the National Anthem, then the umpire's yell, "Play ball!" Spotting a vendor, I interupted Sal's next question as soon as he said, "Can I." "Want a hot dog?" I asked. He silently nodded his head yes. Four dollars later, we both had a hot dog and soda. He didn't ask too many questions while he was eating. As we ate, Pete failed to get a hit during his first at bat.
Taking his postion at first base, you could hear the jeers and heckling from the first base seats. "Not too many people like him, do they Dad?" "No, they don't," I said. "Why?" Knowing there were quite a few reasons why people didn't like Pete Rose, I answered, "I don't know." Minutes later Pete completed a ground out play at first, and spiked the ball into the ground, showing one reason why some people didn't like him. The ball park erupted with thunderous boos.
Dad? "I need to go to the bathroom." Perfect timing. Rose won't be due to bat this inning. "Ok, let's go," I said. While in the rest room, we heard the crowd roar as the Reds scored. A stop at the concession stand could not be avoided this time. We returned to our seats with popcorn, two more soft drinks and a sausage dog for me. We sat down just in time to jump up with the crowd as the wave came at us from the left. As the wave moved past us, the crowd erupted into another round of boos, as Rose spiked the ball again after the third out.
Looking to my left, Sal was quiet, as he gobbled up his popcorn and sipped his drink, until a batter flied out with a high pop up. "Wow Dad! That ball was sure hit high!" "Yes it was," I said. "Can a baserunner score on a pop fly?" "No, they can't. They have to stay at their base until it is caught." "Oh," came his reply. Looking to my left again I could see the look of concentration on his face, and knew he was reloading his question guns.
"I know this probably can't happen, but suppose the bases are loaded. Do you think someone can hit the ball high enough that all the runners can score before it comes down and is caught?" "No Sal. It can't happen." "I know it can't happen, but just suppose it does Dad. If all the runners score before the ball is caught, do the runs count?" "No. All the runners have to return back to their bases." Looking down, he says, "Oh." A few minutes later I hear, "Hey Dad?" "Yes," I answered. "I have to go to the bathroom again. You don't have to take me. I know where it is." Not caring if he did know where it was, I took his hand and said, "Let's go."
Returning to our seats about twenty minutes later, we sat down with his ice cream and another sausage dog and soft drink for me. Now I'm positive he not only knows where the restroom is, but he also knows that the concession stand is between the restroom and our seats. Trying to catch up on the game, I see that Pete hasn't gotten a hit yet. His streak is on the line. Maybe, we'll have something to cheer about, even though we were losing.
The questions continued. He asked me what the longest game ever played was. When I told him it was a 26 inning 1 - 1 tie he asked, "Don't they have to keep playing until someone scores?" He fired off the questions and I answered them as best I could. Pete beat out an infield hit sometime after our third trip to the restroom and concession stand, keeping his hitting streak in tact as the Reds beat the Braves. After stopping at the souveneir stand, he took my hand again as we started the long walk back to our car. He was pretty quiet during the trip home. I think he actually might have dozed off for awhile.
Today my nine year old son is now thirty- two. Sitting here thinking of what transpired that night, I can say that I didn't watch much of that game. The questions and trips to the restrooms and concessions kept me pretty busy, and the actual game was secondary. I can also quote some prices. Parking - $5.00, tickets - $7.00, food and drink - $17.00, souveneirs - $10.00. Sitting here remembering all that happened that night, his hand cluching mine everywhere we went, and wishing it can be relived again - PRICELESS.
