Entering the stadium, I look down on the field and the outfield grass is as green as the color has ever been. The theme from The Natural, Robert Redford’s classic baseball flick of pasts becoming present, reverberates as the players are introduced with a tip of their cap, the boys of summer taking the field for another season in the sun.
With the red, white, and blue bunting lining the outfield fences the scene drips Americana like a hot dog-scented Norman Rockwell. You feel the ghosts of baseball greats — Mickey Mantle and Roberto Clemente are the two names my mind selects — somehow taking it all in and smiling. The coaches and the umps shake hands at home plate like they’ve been doing for more than 150 years and the
game begins.
In the top of the first inning, the Rainiers’ first batter of the season reaches on an error by second baseman
Tommy Troy; in a game as superstitious as baseball it’s not a good omen for the home team, but Aces left-handed flamethrower Kohl Drake bears down and strikes out the second batter. He’s the game’s “K batter,” and his swing-and-miss, per the PA announcer’s echoing voice, means that all draft beers are half price until inning’s end. Though most folks have just sat down, many quickly stand back up and scurry for the nearest concession stand.
Drake proceeds to strike out hotshot shortstop Colt Emerson, and then blows one by former San Francisco Giant Connor Joe to strike out the side. In the bottom of the first, Troy makes up for his error by wrapping a sharp single to right and moves to second on LuJames Groover’s walk.
Then strides to the plate a man made for baseball lore — cleanup hitter Luken Baker, all 6’4” 285lbs of him, first baseman, Texas-born, biceps as big as the Babe’s. But Baker quickly shows he’s not all brawn. On a low-and-slow inside curve, though slightly fooled, he keeps his hands back and deftly drops bat-head onto ball, wristing the red-seamed sphere down the left field line for a standup double that scores Troy.
The Aces 1-0 lead holds until the top of the third. With a runner on first, the left-handed hitting Emerson drives an outside fastball over the left-centerfield fence to give the Rainiers a 2-1 lead, the ball nearly hitting the bullseye on the Tahoe Truckee Lumber Company billboard en route to its resting place on the train tracks beyond the stadium.
The jumbotron reacts with a romping closeup of Steve Carell as Michael Scott from the T.V. show The Office. “Nooooooooo!” he shouts in his adult-toddler schtick. “No! No! No! No! No!”
Laughter cleanses the stadium’s palate, and Drake retires the side. The vibes are good — and the Aces rip three hits in their half of the inning, culminated by A.J. Vukovich’s two-out RBI single scorched to center to square the game at two.
Fast forward to the sixth
Cloud-cover has encroached and the Aces find themselves down 4-2. Vukovich starts off the inning by smashing a double deep into the right-centerfield gap, the stadium coming a-roar with chants of “Vuuuuuuu.” A hit batsman, two walks, and an infield single create a rally that scores two runs to retie the game. With the bases still full of Aces, LuJames Groover — the slick-fielding third baseman who already has two hits on the day — connects on a fastball and delivers a shot over the shortstop’s head.
The base hit drives in two, and the crowd is lit like a birthday cake as the Aces take a 6-4 lead. The sun breaks through the clouds, and it seems like the ghosts of Mantle and Clemente have lined up an easy pathway to victory for the home team.
But no.
Baseball will break your heart. Writer and one-time Major League Baseball commissioner Bartlett Giamatti even said, “It’s designed to break your heart.” And so, out of design or whimsey or simple athletic prowess, those darn Rainiers from tepid Tacoma score three dang runs in the top of the seventh to take a 7-6 lead, the clouds returning to dim the sun as sweatshirts are donned and heads shake slowly from side to side.
The home team fails to plate any
runs in their half of the seventh or
the eighth, so we head to the bottom of the ninth with the Aces still
trailing 7-6.
But there’s hope! LuJames leads off the inning with a liner just above a leaping Connor Joe and his outstretched first baseman’s mitt, and Groover is aboard the bag with his fourth hit of the day.
Luken Baker lumbers to the batter’s box and the crowd roars. The big man already has two big hits — and everyone’s hoping he’ll send us home happy with a walk-off homer. But Luken gets down in the count and then watches a hissing fastball streak by on the outside, the ump raising his arm to the sky to indicate that it caught the corner for strike three.
But it’s okay, it’s all good. Vukovich is up next, and the crowd incants its “Vuuuuuuuu” to spur him on. Still, the Rainiers’ closer makes him look foolish and gets two quick strikes. Us fans are on our feet, all manner of rally caps being worn backward and sideways and inside-out in hopes of appeasing the ghosts of Mantle and Clemente into gifting us a groundball with eyes or a little bloop that finds safe haven in that green outfield grass.
But Vukovich chases a curveball in the dirt for strike three, and the Aces are down to their last out.
If we were in Mudville watching the Nine, it would be time for Casey at the Bat. Alas, we’re not in a great American poem from 1888 but rather a real-life game in 2026, so it’s Kristian at the Bat; Kristian Robinson, from Nassau, the Bahaman with number 59 on his back now number one in our hearts. “Let’s go, Kristian! … Come on, Kristian!” He stands tall in the box, bat held strong as he works the count to three balls and a strike.
LuJames leads off first base. Kristian gets a pitch to hit. He swings! He connects! A hard-hit line drive rocketed to right. It’ll get LuJames to third and heck he might even score …
But the game will break your heart. It’s designed to break your heart. The Rainiers’ right fielder charges in on swift feet and extends a long arm, the leather of his glove snagging the sinking liner in its web to record Reno’s 27th and final out.
The stadium exhales a sigh that is a groan, and the game is over.
Us fans pick up our things and head for the exits. But before we leave, we turn, back around to the diamond, to the green of all that outfield grass. It was a beautiful day at the ballpark, and we know it. And Mantle and Clemente nod down from above, and another season of baseball has come back to us, as it has for so long, once more.
