Two Days in the Life of a Stadium : Some Spirit Can Be Found Among Fans of Angels, Rams

Memo: The Boss wants me to spend a day at the ballpark. Well, two really. Watch the Angels play Oakland on Sunday, then come back for the Rams-San Diego Chargers exhibition game Monday night. “Go out and get a feel for what it’s like to spend a day, or a night, at Anaheim Stadium and write a story for Tuesday’s paper,” he said. Other than that I’m on my own, free to write about what I see, what I feel. It’s more like an essay assignment from senior English, and really it sounds like a couple of days off. Call it beer and loafing at Anaheim Stadium.

Noon, Sunday. The parking lot looks packed already. It’s Photo Day. Guess the Angels hadn’t planned on being 12 games out and in dead last in the AL West. Well, heck, this could be the fans’ last chance to get a snapshot of Wally Joyner in an Angel uniform. He’ll be a free agent after the season, and who knows what the Angels’ plans are these days.

Photo Day means no batting practice, which means no long-ball show from Jose Canseco. Instead, there’s Angel public-address announcer Dennis Packer acting as emcee, introducing Angel players who walk around the field as fans, five-deep behind barricades take photos of their favorites.

“Coming out of the Angel dugout is . . . “ Packer said, “Donnie Hill.”

Donnie Hill? Does he play for the Angels?

Aisle 146, row L, seat 31 didn’t exist when Anaheim Stadium was built, for $24 million, in 1966. Then, it was a cozy little place holding 43,250.

The landmark was the Big A, a 230-foot-high scoreboard just beyond the left-field fence. The scoreboard identified the stadium the same way Sleeping Beauty’s Castle identifies Disneyland.

Then the Rams came to Anaheim, and the stadium was enclosed in time for the 1980 football season, losing much of its charm, including the scoreboard, which was moved next to the freeway. Now it seats 64,593 for baseball and more than 70,000 for football.

We settled into our seats, just as the Angels take the field. “Walking on Sunshine,” by Katrina and the Waves blared over the sound system. Anaheim was one of the last holdouts against rock ‘n’ roll. Even at venerable Yankee Stadium, you can hear R.E.M. instead of the traditional organ music between innings.

Though we abhor artificial turf, the designated hitter and night games, we prefer R.E.M.

Play ball.

Oakland’s Willie Wilson stepped into the batter’s box, and a neighbor, dressed in an A’s hat, T-shirt, shorts and even green-and-yellow lowtops, clapped. He and roughly half the stadium cheered as Wilson drilled a double down the left-field line. The A’s don’t score, though.

The Angels’ Luis Sojo homered just inside the left-field foul pole in the first inning. Gary Gaetti hit another one in almost the same spot in the second, and the Angels led, 2-0. It looked good to the other half of the stadium.

The game rolled on. Vendors hawked ice cream sandwiches and red licorice ropes. Angel announcer Al Conin’s voice drifted out of portable radios in the center-field sections. A guy wearing an Edmonton Oilers jersey walked by.

In the fifth, Luis Polonia misplayed Wilson’s line drive into a two-run triple.

“Get a job,” someone nearby screamed above the boos (Angel fans) and cheers (A’s fans).

“Where is Oakland ranked?” a guy with a camera asked a few moments after Wilson scores on a wild pitch. “How about the Angels?”

Told the A’s are in third place and the Angels in last, he turned to his son and laughed. They seemed to be average Angel fans, interested in the game as a day out, not life or death.

The biggest cheers of the day were for a teen-aged girl who bolted out of the stands in the right-field corner and made a beeline for Canseco. She gave him a big hug, and the crowd went nuts. Later, Canseco said all she wanted was to trade caps. “Don’t you dare kick her out,” he told a security guard.

More huge cheers as the answer to the guess-the-attendance quiz was c) 41,424.

The Angels had the bases loaded in the eighth and two on in the ninth but failed to score.

“Can you believe Donnie Hill?” a guy walking toward the parking lot said after the game. “The bases loaded and he strikes out. Ugh.”

Here are the totals for Sunday’s game: two hot dogs, one beer, one bag of peanuts, five beach balls and three fans on the field, one aborted wave, 25,000 happy A’s fans, Oakland 3, Angels 2. Drive carefully on the way home. See you again Monday night.

DAY 2

5:30 p.m., Monday. Hey, there’s some joker in my seat.

What was the worst seat in the house Sunday isn’t half bad Monday. The end zone looks close enough to touch. Ol’ aisle 146 certainly isn’t in the general admission section for a Ram game. This guy probably bought his ticket months ago. Oh, well, we’ll watch this one from the press box. Besides, we’ve got a deadline tonight and we haven’t written a word yet.

Anyway, Franz Kafka should be here to see this. Overnight the stadium has undergone a metamorphosis.

The outfield fence is gone, replaced by a set of bleachers in right field. The foul poles have come down. The pitcher’s mound has disappeared. The visiting dugout has been covered by an orange tarp. There’s a band next to the end zone. Guess that means no Katrina and the Waves. Florescent yellow goal posts have sprung up.

On the way upstairs we passed Henry Clark, an usher for the past five years.

“I love it,” he said. “I think it’s a neat job. I have another job as an inspector. In the construction business.”

So, are Ram fans rowdier than Angel fans?

“Oh, always,” Clark said.

But not as rowdy as the Big Seed would like. The Seed, wearing a No. 54 Ram jersey with “Big Seed” on the back, sat on a railing next to the bullpen about five rows up from the end zone.

“Fire up the boys, John,” the Seed yelled to Ram Coach John Robinson during warm-ups.

Hey Seed, why Big Seed, anyway?

“We’re the melonheads,” the Seed said. “Ever hear of us?”

Did you play on a bill with Katrina and the Waves?

“We put real watermelons on our heads, hollow it out, clip that baby on our heads and scream our brains out,” the Seed said.

No melons tonight, eh Seed?

“We save it for the real season,” he said. “We’ll be here Sept. 1. We try to fire up the guys. It’s tough in the preseason. I’m not up for it yet.”

The Seed, aka Lance Goldberg, hails from Santa Monica and has been coming to the stadium to watch his beloved Rams for the past eight years. He was the first to don a melon, hence the moniker Big Seed. Now, he has three melonhead friends.

“I used to live in Florida and I rooted for the Rams, so this is close,” the Seed said of his commute from Santa Monica.

“There are not a crazy bunch of fans right here in Anaheim,” the Seed said of his fellow Anaheim Stadium denizens.

After two days, we could have told him that.

We dropped into our chair in the press box just as the Rams’ Tony Zendejas kicked off into the end zone.

It’s time to grab something to eat and start writing. Where do we start, anyway?

Type, type, type.

Totals for Day 2: One hot dog, two sodas, zero watermelons, 41,616 happy Ram fans, Rams 24, Chargers 3. Drive carefully on the way home. See you next weekend . . . at the beach.