Tom Glavine wins 300

I like Tom Glavine. Even when he was an Atlanta Brave and whupping my Cleveland Indians in the World Series as part of one of the most formidable starting pitching lineups all those years ago. I congratulate him for winning 300 games and becoming, most likely, the last pitcher to achieve that status. Now what does that have to do with food, you are likely asking. Well, let me tell you....

I really, really like baseball. In spite of the controversies that surround the modern game, I still love the game. I really like going to games, even though it is god-awful expensive to see a major league game these days. I like to watch the people and roar with the crowd. Some of my favorite memories are of attending Cleveland Indians games back in the days when they set a major league record for consecutive sold out games. I often went with my dad or my nephews. I had a friend that had partial season tickets in those days. I still have the friend, but he doesn't have the season tickets! The package was originally bought because he had a baseball-loving son that went to Case Western Reserve University, and there were always some tickets available because the boy couldn't LIVE at Jacobs Field and earn a doctorate in microbiology. The seats were near the Indians' bullpen, overlooking right center field. Good home run territory in the days when Jim Thome and Manny Ramirez were in the lineup, and a good view of the whole field most of the time. Those were the days of Omar Visquel at shortstop, and I'm glad I got to see him play. And Sandy Alomar. Never much cared for his brother Randy, but Sandy was a journeyman catcher and it spoiled me for watching any other catcher because Sandy was It was a time when it meant something to watch the boys play the Seattle Mariners because you got to watch Randy Johnson pitch when he was at the peak of his power. Even out there in right center field, you could hear that ball pop into the catcher's glove when he threw.

These days, the modern ballpark is a virtual smorgasbord of food. Something there for just about every taste, really, but I am something of a classicist when it comes to ballpark eats. I like to have a hot dog, which in Northeast Ohio means an all beef dog on a plain white bun with minced onions and Bertmann's Ball Park Mustard. The mustard, near as I have determined, is a cross between Dijon mustard and Gulden's Spicy Brown Mustard. No ketchup, puh-leeeze! I like to have a beer and some peanuts in the shell. Don't care for peanuts most of the time, but there is just something about peanuts at the ballpark. Preferably purchased from a vendor inside the park. It is probably all in my mind, but to me they just taste different. Cracker Jack and popcorn are acceptable nibbles, too, with a nice cold diet Pepsi (who can afford more than two beers maximum, and they don't sell beer after the 7th inning anyhow. Largely to forestall any repeat of the Great Nickel Beer Night Debacle of the late 70s, I think. Even the normally taciturn and staid Mike Hargrove's eyes still widened at the memory of being a player on the field that night and watching as scores of drunken fans came onto the field over the wall at the old Municipal Stadium before running for the dugout!). Nachos are remotely acceptable if I am in the right mood. Always get the deluxe nachos, though. You get a 1/4 cup of salsa and some jalapeno peppers to go with your garden variety tortilla chips and melted Cheese Whiz. On a really hot day, a nice lemon ice is good, too. It's a cool and refreshing thing that starts out as a rock-hard cup of something like lemon sorbet that gradually melts into something more like a lemon slushy as you sit there in the full afternoon sun.

These days, Dad and I usually take in an Akron Aeros game sometime over the summer. The park is closer, the parking is cheaper, and, being the AA affiliate of the Indians, you get to see the up and coming prospects and the occasional big leaguer that's recovering from an injury. In AA ball, the players are still human enough to sign bats, balls and gloves for the kids and the stands aren't full of memorabilia collectors fighting for home run balls. The players still make dumb fielding errors, but it's not met with nearly the same outrage as when watching a guy making a million dollars a season do it. It's a more laid-back atmosphere. There are guys who won't get the chance to play any higher level of ball, and, while everyone is hoping to make it to The Show up in Cleveland, most of them are really just playing for the chance to get to go to Buffalo with the club's AAA Buffalo Bisons. It's one of the few places where you can meet people who actually WANT to go to Buffalo. And the hot dogs, peanuts and beer all taste just as good as they do up at Jacob's Field on a warm summer afternoon or evening.