ST. PETERSBURG, Fla. — Never has a World Series game had more cowbell and less soul.
Since the first pitch was thrown in a Fall Classic more than 100 years ago, has baseball’s showcase ever been played in a more unworthy dump or been witnessed by more so-called fans who could not tell you the identities of their hometown players even with a scorecard?
Philadelphia beat pitcher Scott Kazmir and the Tampa Bay Rays 3-2 on Wednesday.
Was anybody really surprised?
“The Rays? When they were first talking about major-league expansion around here, I thought they were asking me to buy bigger pants,” said Ben Farrell, whose big bones shook with laughter as he stood behind the cash register at Lenny’s, a local restaurant filled with baseball memorabilia and operated with love by his family for decades.
Commissioner Bud Selig wants us to believe the gritty, no-name American League champs and their modest $44 million payroll are proof positive that competitive balance and fiscal sanity has returned to the game.
That makes for a very nice bedtime story, especially on a night Game 1 ended at one minute past midnight on the Florida Suncoast.
But, sorry, I ain’t buying this fairy tale.
During a summer when gas prices skyrocketed and the economy went in the tank, major-league attendance slipped for the first time in five years.
Could the golden era of sports, when owning a pro franchise was a license to print money, finally be showing a little tarnish?
Well, the Rays not only won the AL East, they led the toughest division in baseball for 111 days. And they still finished No. 26 among 30 major-league clubs in attendance.
“All of a sudden, you gain an identity,” said Joe Maddon, the Tampa Bay skipper who looks cooler in glasses than anybody since Buddy Holly.
In the hours before Game 1, Maddon traveled the streets of St. Pete and saw a “55-year-old dude like myself, wearing a Kazmir jersey.” Maddon took it as an undeniable sign of civic pride that’s here to stay.
But could Maddon be wrong? In a state better known for grouper sandwiches than baseball passion, something’s fishy.
Before folks began pinching pennies in earnest this year amid worries about paying the mortgage, you saw evidence there were more big-league games available than people were willing to buy in Florida, where spring training has long provided fans with greater fun in the sun at lower ticket prices. Look at the Miami market, where 81 home games have generally been met with a collective yawn, despite two championships won by the Marlins.
“The Rays have been a non-entity in baseball forever. Their stadium was like playing in somebody’s empty garage. You went to games to see your old favorite team from back home beat up on the Rays,” said Farrell, who serves breakfast until 3 p.m. and caters to snowbirds flocking to spring training for Phillies games at a cozy ballpark across the street from his diner in Clearwater.
By contrast, the home of the Rays is a gray elephant on the sunniest of days. Its personality can be as annoying as those cowbells, inspired by an old “Saturday Night Live” skit and struck incessantly by fans until everybody in the joint has a migraine.
“If you want to shut the cowbells up, hit some home runs,” said Phillies manager Charlie Manuel, who got a two-run dinger from Chase Utley in the top of the first inning.
In a dome where all the grass is fake and even the warning track is made of plastic that’s painted brown, I went looking for one, true passionate thing at this World Series.
And there he was, wearing a spiky crew cut dyed bright blue and a homemade T-shirt proclaiming “Go Rays!” and “It’s my birthday!”
“I’m 9 years old today,” proudly announced Drew Steele, seated in Section 351, at least 500 feet from home plate. “I never was a fan of the Rays until I was one.”
He fell in love with baseball this year, when he joined a peewee team named the Rays. Then he fell head over heels for outfielder B.J. Upton and the AL champs, who made a kid believe any crazy dream can come true.
“Why do I like the Rays?” said Steele, his eyes wide with excitement. “Because they have a chance to be the best in the world.”
Feed that childlike wonder and maybe, just maybe, baseball in this town has a chance to grow a soul, after all.
Mark Kiszla: 303-954-1053 or mkiszla@denverpost.com
