Baseball at the Big A

There are two very different ways to watch Major League Baseball in Southern California. One involves traffic, expensive parking, expensive tickets, 50,000 people, and enough noise to make every pitch feel important. The other involves thirty bucks for a club-level seat next to the broadcast booths, easy parking, a hot dog, a beer, an entire row mostly to yourself, and hecklers who know the players can actually hear them.

Welcome to Angel Stadium.

This was my second trip to the Big A this year, and once again I was reminded that if your primary objective is simply to watch a baseball game, Angel Stadium may be one of the great bargains in professional sports. My ticket was about $30. Club level, excellent view of the field, close to the broadcast booths, good sight lines, and just enough proximity to foul-ball territory to remind you to pay attention.

And the cheap seats can be had for around ten or twelve dollars. Think about that for a moment. For roughly the price of lunch, you can walk into a Major League Baseball stadium and spend an afternoon or evening watching big-league baseball. If you like baseball and don't need luxury, Angel Stadium is simply a good trip.

Of course, there is a reason the tickets are inexpensive. Angel Stadium wasn't exactly packed. I'd guess considerably less than 20 percent of the seats were occupied. That makes getting in and out remarkably easy, although Anaheim deserves some credit. This is a city designed to move large numbers of people around Disneyland, the convention center, Angel Stadium, the Honda Center and everything else without turning every event into a transportation crisis.

Parking at Angel Stadium is also roughly half what I normally expect at Dodger Stadium, and the tickets can be a fraction of the price. But there is a tradeoff. A baseball stadium with nearly 50,000 people reacting together is an experience. The cheers, groans and boos roll through Dodger Stadium in a way that 10,000 or 15,000 people scattered around the Big A simply cannot duplicate.

On the other hand, a mostly empty stadium produces something else: professional-grade heckling. When there isn't a wall of crowd noise, one determined fan can project remarkably well, and baseball stadiums are built to carry sound. Those players could hear these guys. I am certain of it.

The Great Beer Crisis

It was 96 degrees when I arrived. Naturally, after finding my seat, I went looking for the traditional necessities of baseball: hot dog, peanuts and a draft beer.

The hot dog and peanuts were easy. The beer became an adventure.

One club-level concession that normally served draft beer was closed. At another, I was informed that because of the heat on that level, the draft system was producing massive quantities of foam. Apparently the expression on my face communicated that this explanation, while scientifically fascinating, did not solve my immediate problem. I was also somewhat persistent.

Eventually a manager appeared, and what followed was perhaps the finest example of customer service I have encountered at a ballpark. The man brought out what appeared to be a five-gallon bucket and began draining foam so he could coax one actual beer out of the system for me.

It wasn't as ice cold as I would have preferred on a 96-degree afternoon, but after watching the effort required to obtain it, I wasn't about to complain. I had my beer. I had my hot dog. I had my peanuts. Baseball could begin.

Baseball Delivered to Your Seat

Angel Stadium has also entered the age of app-based eating. There are QR codes at the seats. Scan one and the menu comes up, and if you're already using MLB's Ballpark app with your tickets, the system knows where you're sitting. You confirm the seat, order your food, and an Angel Stadium employee delivers it.

Throughout the game I watched employees carrying orders directly to fans. I didn't use it. Part of going to a baseball game, at least for me, is getting up and wandering around the stadium a little.

I also checked out Brewery X on the club level. It was cooler inside than outside, although on a day that hot it wasn't cool enough to make me want to spend an hour sitting there instead of watching the field. And there was plenty of room everywhere.

Then I Solved the Mystery of “Day-O”

There was something I had noticed during my previous visit. Every once in a while, the stadium sound system would blast something that sounded very much like “Day-O!” And the crowd would answer: “Day-O!”

I immediately thought of Harry Belafonte and The Banana Boat Song. Daylight come and me wanna go home. But why were Angels fans suddenly doing Harry Belafonte between pitches? Nobody explained it, and this happened several times.

Then, somewhere around the sixth or seventh inning, the sound played again and I happened to look at one of Angel Stadium's enormous video boards. There was the word:

HALO.

Oh.

They're not saying Day-O. They're saying HALO. As in Angels. As in a halo.

Mystery solved.

It only took me two trips to Angel Stadium and six or seven innings of concentrated investigative work. Retirement has apparently not completely destroyed my observational skills.

And Then Comes the Rally Monkey

There is another Angel Stadium tradition that requires considerably less detective work: the Rally Monkey.

Late in the game, when the Angels have runners on base and there is the possibility that something might happen, the Rally Monkey appears on the giant video boards. In this game, the Angels had a couple of runners aboard late, I believe when the game was tied in the ninth, and suddenly there he was, running around on the screen while the stadium tried to will the Angels into bringing somebody home.

But the Rally Monkey isn't confined to the video board. Look around the stands when he appears and you'll see people screaming and waving monkeys over their heads like rally towels. The stadium sells the little monkeys dressed in Angels uniforms, but some fans have apparently decided the factory version isn't sufficient. You'll see all kinds of homemade, knitted, dressed-up and otherwise customized monkeys being swung over people's heads.

It's wonderfully ridiculous.

And it is completely Angel Stadium.

Every ballpark needs things that belong to that ballpark. The Rally Monkey is one of those traditions that would seem strange almost anywhere else but makes perfect sense at the Big A. When the Angels threaten to rally, out comes the monkey, up go the stuffed animals, and for a few minutes even a lightly attended stadium gets considerably louder.

The monkey didn't deliver the victory this time, but you can't blame him for trying.

There Is Still Such a Thing as Baseball Etiquette

I had an end seat and, for most of the game, essentially had the row to myself. Perfect. Until one of the best plays of the night developed and the people in front of me decided that this precise moment would be an excellent time to stand up and work their way into their seats.

I missed part of the play. Fortunately, Angel Stadium's giant screens gave me the replay, but I maintain that baseball needs something resembling opera rules. You enter between innings. You do not wander down the aisle with the bases loaded. You do not make six people stand up while the count is 3-and-2. And you absolutely do not decide that the middle of a developing play is the proper moment to locate Row C, Seats 7 and 8.

Perhaps I am the last man in America who believes in baseball etiquette. So be it.

Four Home Runs and Free Baseball

The game itself was worth the trip. There were four home runs, some excellent defensive plays, plenty of offense and, as the sun disappeared, the temperature finally fell from the mid-90s into the low 80s. A slight breeze arrived, and suddenly it was one of those nearly perfect Southern California summer evenings for baseball.

And nine innings weren't enough.

Cleveland eventually walked away with an 8–6 victory in the tenth, but I got an extra inning of baseball for my thirty dollars. Hard to complain about that.

Angel Stadium also does home runs well. When the Angels put one out, the giant video boards come alive and fireworks go off beyond the outfield. Between the fireworks, the Halo chant, the Rally Monkey and those enormous screens, the Big A has developed its own collection of traditions. They're different from what happens across town, and that's probably exactly as it should be.

Dodger Stadium still wins the atmosphere contest for me. The organist, the music between pitches, and especially the sound of a nearly full stadium reacting together create something the Big A simply cannot duplicate when most of its seats are empty.

But Angel Stadium wins some categories rather decisively. It's easier and cheaper. Parking is simpler, getting out afterward is painless, the sight lines are excellent, and thirty dollars can buy a genuinely terrific seat. And if you don't care where you sit, ten or twelve dollars can simply get you into a Major League Baseball game.

That's what I keep coming back to about Angel Stadium. It's just a good baseball trip. You don't have to make a major financial or logistical commitment out of it. Buy an inexpensive ticket, park without taking out a second mortgage, get yourself a hot dog and a beer—even if somebody has to sacrifice a five-gallon bucket to produce it—and watch some baseball.

So I'll take both Southern California experiences. Give me 50,000 people roaring at Dodger Stadium when I want the spectacle. Give me the Big A when I just want a beautiful summer evening, a good seat, a hot dog, some peanuts, a hard-earned draft beer, professional hecklers, four home runs, a Rally Monkey flying over somebody's head, and ten innings of baseball.

Sometimes that's all a baseball trip needs to be.