This lost season has brought some actual good developments, among them Emily and I embracing the joys of “ambient baseball.” That’s baseball as an amiable companion, welcomed but not fussed over, and happening nearby as you have a conversation or eat something or just enjoy a peaceful moment.
You can make an MLB game into ambient baseball — I love a good baseball nap, when your eyes close on the couch and the middle innings of a weekend afternoon game melt away, to be reconstructed later if needed. I suppose the All-Star Game works too, though that’s due to its bedrock pointlessness. But ambient baseball really shines when watching minor-league ball — you’re not living and dying based on the scoreboard’s verdict, the players you’re watching are wayfarers whose ambitions lie elsewhere, and the people in charge of in-house entertainment don’t fight against this sense of passing through.
A while ago Emily and I earmarked this long weekend for the latest chapter in my quest to visit all 3,144 U.S. counties (this is a terrible idea), targeting the last four Pennsylvania counties I needed and the Finger Lakes region of upstate New York. That lent itself to baseball explorations as well — I designed a route that passed through Binghamton and Syracuse, two parks I’d never seen.
Binghamton was our first stop, where the Rumble Ponies were hosting the Akron RubberDucks, the Guardians’ Double-A club, at Mirabito Stadium. Binghamton is scuffed and scruffy, still searching for a new direction after being hollowed out as a manufacturing center, but it’s a place you instinctively root for, and the stands at Mirabito were full of Rumble Ponies gear in its various forms, of which there are a lot.
Binghamton has been a baseball town for a long time — the Mets have had their Double-A club here since the 1990s, and the Triplets were a Yankees farm team from the 1930s through the 1960s. So the stadium’s wall of fame includes the likes of Edgardo Alfonzo and Bobby Jones, as well as Whitey Ford, Lefty Gomez and Ken Harrelson. I was pleased to see a plaque for local legend Rob Gardner, he of the 15 shutout innings and phenomenal Game Score, and a portrait of Bud Fowler, a pioneer in baseball integration who played for the Binghamton Bingos in 1887. (Not mentioned: Fowler moved on, as he often had to, after white teammates refused to play alongside him.)
We were free to wander Mirabito as we liked, nearly tripping over a gigantic Chris Suero as he left the batting cage down the right-field line shortly before the game. Rowdy and Ruby, the Rumble Ponies’ mascots, were much in evidence, as were more sessile carousel horses scattered around the ballpark. (That’s the source of the team nickname.) We bantered with our seatmates, ate hot dogs and soft serve (as one does), and enjoyed a lovely summer evening.
Another benefit of ambient baseball? You don’t feel any pain if the home team is getting absolutely shellacked, as the poor Rumble Ponies were. They’re in last place, with the IL full of names you vaguely know. R.J. Gordon — whom we saw pitch last year as a Rumble Pony up in Portland, Me. — didn’t have it and none of his successors fared much better; we shook our heads at multiple fruitless ABs from Kevin Parada, whose once upon a time status as a top draft pick has proved a heck of an employment guarantee. With the Rumble Ponies down 11-0 in the top of the ninth we decided to put a bow on the evening and walk back to our hotel.
The Mets didn’t play that night; the next day we listened to a few innings of Met haplessness against the Phillies, some of it while parked at a Finger Lakes winery during a downpour too torrential for safe driving. The downpour took down our MLB Audio signal shortly before the same weather system forced a rain delay; we shrugged and got on with our drive when the skies cleared. Ambient baseball, y’all.
Sunday brought us to Syracuse and NBT Bank Stadium, home of the Triple-A Mets. Every member of the starting lineup was someone with big-league experience, a mix of recent Mets and quite possibly future Mets: Hello, Nick Morabito, MJ Melendez, Ronny Mauricio and Hayden Senger! So this is where you’ve gone, Christian Arroyo, Cristian Pache and Christopher Morel! Hello again, admirably cheerful momentary Met Robert Stock!
(That must have been confusing when Morabito played at Mirabito. Sometimes a promotion is welcome for multiple reasons.)
NBT is a bigger park than Mirabito but has the same cheerful vibe, with decks in the outfield offering good vantage points and artificial-turf berms where kids can safely release their pent-up sugar-fueled energy. The park also showcases Syracuse-area favorites: I don’t recommend the coneys (at all, blecch) but the butter-dipped salt potatoes are sublime, a prime example of not complicating things unnecessarily.
Once again, the baseball proved less compelling than the atmosphere around it: Tobias Myers elicited sighs in Syracuse just as he has in Flushing, though an Arroyo home run then tied the game. The Mets in waiting were tied with the Buffalo Bisons at three-all when we returned to our hotel, lured by the prospects of the World Cup final (Emily) and a nap (me), so we didn’t see things fall apart for the hometown nine in the ninth.
Also missing from Sunday’s experience: the actual Mets, though this was by design. I checked in on them from the NBT stands, registering with mild surprise that they were up 3-0 and then 5-0, and then got back to not really watching their organizational undercards.
The details, once filled in, were heartening: Francisco Lindor once again looked like the guy who put us on his back for the run to the 2024 postseason and not like the hobbled, weirdly befogged player he’s been this year, while Nolan McLean continued to make the mental and strategic strides needed to take full advantage of his arsenal of cruel and unusual breaking balls. Holding the Phillies’ lineup in check on a summer day at Citizens Bank Park is no mean feat.
But as I said, these details were filled in later. The baseball was mostly ambient, and more pleasant for the lack of effort. I recommend it — particularly if it comes with a side of salt potatoes.
Minor League parks are fun. When I was a kid we used to go to Oneonta. Not that I was a Yankees fan but it was a 30-minute drive. Though some friends of mine used to brag about hopping the D&H train and riding it down. I’ve been told – can’t say it’s a fact – that near us was the highest grade on the line so it moved at a crawl. Oneonta was another story. Never sure if I should believe them or not.
The Mets looked decent. No obvious extra outs given. Ewing had a baserunning snafu and we sure left a lot on base but we got some runs and McLean really looked good. I’ll be curious if he starts gaining in the ROY race. Wetherholt’s been solid but not spectacular and with an ERA under 3 I’d think he’d have a strong case.
Welcome to Upstate (this is where true Albanians-those of us whose families have been here for four generations spanning a century- think of this area.I was shocked to learn that most people from Buffalo as well as many from west of Schenectady think of Albany as “Downstate.” Perspective is everything ).
You are visiting at the best time of year, especially for baseball. Are you concluding this trip next weekend in Cooperstown to see Carlos Beltran inducted into the Hall of Fame? I’ve seen this twice. My father took our whole family to see Willie Mays inducted in 1978, a ceremony that took place on the steps of the Hall and spilling into the adjacent street. By 1992, when Tom Seaver was inducted, it was a much bigger event when I took a carful of Mets fans, including my brother and mother, to the festivities. That ceremony was held adjacent to a cornfield six blocks from the Hall, and almost everyone took a pic of themselves climbing out of the stalks à la Field of Dreams. But the induction itself was wonderful again, with the same mix of wonder, gratitude and appreciation from both inductees and fans alike. (Granted, we enjoyed it much more being able to drive in from Albany and skipping the then-$500/night hotel room. Heaven knows what it is now. But it’s something people should see at least once if they love baseball).
You’re right about minor league baseball. My husband and I spent our July 4 at the local Tri-City Valley Cats game, despite a light rain through the first four innings , and had a grand time. (We opted to leave after the seventh-inning stretch , so we could go home and calm our dog while the bigger fireworks displays boomed around us. He had a hot dog and I picked at popcorn and we got ice cream on the way home. And it was fine for this year and intentionally not making a big fuss).
You are so right about ambient baseball. I love summertime day games when we can sit on our deck and listen to the Mets on the radio; or when I run errands and make multiple stops and get in and out of the car catching up on what I missed; or going out at evening time very casually, to a burger or ice cream stand, parking the car where we have good reception and, taking in a couple of innings. I have very fond memories of spending weekends at the lake, surrounded by dozens of cousins on hot summer days, swimming and hiking and cooking out, and always there was a radio on (sometimes Mets, sometimes Yankees, sometimes Red Sox) in the background. I still follow the Mets because they are a constant throwback to my youth, and they are always there – whether we like it or not – a constant reminder of the passage of time.
Speaking of the Mets, they are still with us for another two-plus months, and Lindor’s game yesterday was worth missing the first half of the World Cup final and its halftime show. McLean looked fantastic. If the Mets can play like that for the rest of this season, there’s a spark of hope for the future as well as the delights of summer ambience ahead for us.
PS – You are so right about the coneys – tasteless and kind of unappealing visually. But my husband loves them as a true child of Buffalo and a Syracuse U grad. Luckily hot dogs on the grill are fairly easy to customize, so he grills coneys on the grill for himself (and then puts ketchup on them, like Keith Hernandez!) and a true kosher hot dog for me. Compromise is the soul of marriage, LOL.
No HoF ceremony for me this year alas, but maybe one day. And definitely want to get back to Cooperstown — talking village and
museum alike!
I took my Binghamton Trip 10 years ago. Among other things, got to see Wilmer Flores rehabbing at 1st base.
You’re right about the neighborhood. I guess we did about the same as you, stayed Downtown and walked to the game. Stopped at a couple of Breweries on the way (among the reasons why we walked).
At the time there was a vote going on to rename the team. Somehow Rumble Ponies wound up being chosen. Anyway, at one stop while discussing this with The Beer Pourer Girl (do they have a title? Bartender or Barmaid doesn’t really seem right) she said her write-in vote was The Binghamton Meths in honor of the neighborhood the stadium is in.