Friday nights were our night.
Planted in our seats in the front row of Section AA at Hi Corbett Field, watching our beloved Arizona Wildcats baseball team. A roster in one hand with a souvenir cup in the other, my son and I are ready for a great evening together.
My son Mac and I started going to Friday games back in 2005, when he was a year old. We enjoyed lazy afternoons at Sancet Field with (maybe) 150 of our closest friends. We would munch on homemade peanut butter and jelly sandwiches as we raced up and down the grass area along the third base line.
We followed the Wildcats when they moved to Hi Corbett Field in 2012. That year, we bought season tickets down the first base line. For the last nine seasons, we’ve spent Fridays there, talking about our weeks.
Every year, the conversations got even better. Mac started high school this year, and so we’d talk about teenage stuff: That day’s algebra quiz, the game he played in intramurals after school, or the chicken and waffles they served for lunch.
No detail is ever too small. Everything matters. And when you’re at the ballpark, there’s time. There are two or three (OK, usually four) hours to talk.
Time is part of what makes a baseball game so special. The lack of a clock allows the game to flow unlike any other sport. A game at McKale is a great experience, but there is no way we could have the same type of conversations there as we do at Hi Corbett. The time is what I am missing the most right not now, a 45-minute first inning that would allow us the freedom to let our conversations drift in any direction.
Mac and I really miss talking about the little things, whether extensive analysis of the piping on the visiting team’s pants or why the UA’s starting pitcher chose a specific jersey/pants combination.
(And in case you’re wondering, Arizona’s best uniform is the blue jersey, white pinstriped pants and blue cap. Under the bright lights, this combo is striking. The Cats have exceptional gear, but are missing one piece: A blue cap with red brim. The Arizona softball coaches have worn a version of this cap, so we already know that it looks great on the field. Sorry for the digression, but Mac would kill me if I didn’t use my platform to push for a new design.)
Mac Tronsdal, right, catches up with College World Series champion pitcher Kurt Heyer.
Today, the gates to Hi Corbett are locked. The disappointment in an unfinished season has crushed our spirits. While we have always enjoyed our Friday night games, this season felt different for us. More than any prior year, there was a huge desire to be at the games together. If we had a free minute, Mac and I wanted to be at the ballpark. Being at a game just felt right.
UA coach Jay Johnson recently wrote an open letter where he described the things he is going to miss this season — certain instances that he knows can’t be replicated. He’s right. It is the missed experiences that make us sad. That’s a big part of our grief. Because Mac and I have experienced so many wonderful times at the park, we know that we will most likely be missing something memorable.
It’s not just the wins and losses, although the wins are a lot fun. It’s the people.
The second game Arizona ever played at Hi Corbett, back in 2012, was a perfect example. A 7-year-old Mac and I were hanging out in the far end of the bleachers, where he practiced the pitching motions of old-time baseball players.
I heard a voice from over my shoulder tell Mac that he threw just like Walter Johnson.
First of all, who would even know that? Second, who was it?
To my surprise, it was Jerry Kindall. Mac sat down with the Hall of Fame coach, and the two of them talked about their favorite players. That night, a friendship grew from a shared love of Lou Gehrig and Mordecai “Three Finger” Brown. After that evening, Coach Kindall continued to reach out to Mac to talk baseball. He would bring photos and cards from home to share.
As Coach began to attend fewer games, Mac and I always kept an eye out for him so we wouldn’t miss the chance to say hello. I still look for Coach Kindall in his seat, even though I know he isn’t there. No. 9 still looms large at Hi Corbett.
Two years ago, we were very lucky to have several of the players come by the house to deliver our season tickets. Mac was so excited to have his heroes visit him so he could show them the baseball museum that is his bedroom. The players were amazing. They hung out in Mac’s room looking at bobbleheads, figurines and discussing their new walk-up songs for the season.
A few days later, Mac was set to fly on an airplane by himself for the first time. Sure, it was only to San Diego, but his mom and I were nervous for this solo venture. As Mac and my wife Amanda made their way to the boarding gate, an assortment of Arizona players walked by and said hello to Mac. See, they were also on the flight, headed to San Diego for a tournament. Mac’s solo trip suddenly became a road trip with 25 sets of watchful eyes. Any nervousness he (or we) felt disappeared as Mac hung out in the boarding line.
Mac’s baseball friends date back years. Former pitcher Kurt Heyer reached out to Mac during a tough year for us, and still makes time to talk with Mac when he visits Hi Corbett. Robby Medel, a player whose love for the game inspires both Mac and myself, ended up on my Monday night softball team. It was on this team that Robby finally won the championship that had eluded him during his collegiate years.
When we first started going to the games, Mac wouldn’t leave my side. (Actually, he wouldn’t leave my side anywhere we went).
Over time, the ballpark became the one place where Mac would go exploring. Now, instead of chasing foul balls across the grass berm, he navigates the ballpark with his camera, taking pictures of the game. He is confident and secure as he maneuvers his way to find the best angle of the action on the field. Mac is truly safe at home.
Mac Tronsdal, in blue shirt, was surprised by a visit from the UA baseball team. The Wildcats delivered season tickets and took a tour of Tronsdal’s room, a veritable baseball shrine.
Our Friday nights are now spent at home, watching baseball documentaries and organizing our baseball card collection. Mac and I still talk about all the little things, but we know our world is a lot different today. Outside, our community is engaged in a battle to stay healthy and to stay alive. While so much of our energy is directed toward getting through each day, Mac and I also stay focused on the promise of a new season.
Now, when we talk about the sport we love, we are also talking about the future. We carry the hope of more games, more memories and more time together in our favorite place.
Until then? We’ll wait, as the saying goes, until next year.
