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The Burnham Baseball Project rolled into Atlanta on Sunday, October 4, the last day of the 2009 baseball season. As mentioned in my column on Scams, our committee had met in Charlotte, North Carolina, and Atlanta seemed not far away. Indeed, it was not, as we set out from Charlotte at a reasonable hour and reached the Holiday Inn two blocks from Turner Field at noon. They kindly let us check in at that time, so we strolled over at about 12:30 to catch the game at 1:30.

Me and Hank Aaron

Me and Hank Aaron

One cool thing about the park is that they maintain their connection to the past, and claim they are the oldest franchise in baseball. I knew them in my childhood as the Boston Braves, but since they left Boston for Milwaukee when I was seven, and I doubt my Dad saw much point in taking very young children to games to which he had to buy tickets (recall from my post on Fenway Park that his business had tickets to the Red Sox), I suspect that I never went to a game. But the Turner Field statuary and murals nicely celebrate players from earlier eras.

This was also a pleasant gathering of friends. On a recent visit to Missoula, I had had dinner with Sally Weaver, who is taking my place this year (and doing so well that I fear I am not missed) and her husband, George Maxwell, who has remained in Atlanta and was visiting for the weekend. George expressed some interest in joining us, but I was skeptical that he would be able to, as he has recently become a rector in the Episcopal Church, and Sunday is not exactly an easy day for him to get away. But not only did he come, but he came up with some tickets! They were great seats, just a bit up the first base line from home and about 20 rows back. In fact, from my seat I could look straight down the third base line.

Me, John, and George (where's the 4th Beatle?)

Me, John, and George (where's the 4th Beatle?)

We were also joined by John Mastin, a student of mine who graduated three years ago. John took a job with a high-powered Atlanta firm and earned more money his first year than I earn after 25 years. But he admittedly also works a bit harder. He reported that he is billing 3000 hours a year and recently took his first time off in three years. John assisted me in my circumnavigation of the park and search for unusual beer. He spotted one with which I was not familiar – Sweetwater 420, a local product. I returned for one later. Now this is indeed an unusual beer. It is to ordinary beer as Earl Gray tea is to ordinary tea. I suppose those are hops that provide its aroma, but it does taste like someone dumped in an overdose of perfume.

While I got the beer, Terry got the hot dogs, since we hadn’t spotted any more interesting food. She came back with my dog covered in mustard and reported that ketchup and mustard were the only available condiments. This is not right, and I have to put Turner Field at the bottom of my culinary scale for its absence of variety in foods, and especially for its absence of condiments. You have to have relish on your dog, even if it comes in those tiny packets that are impossible to open. Sauerkraut would not be asking too much, and onions are much appreciated. So I washed down my undercondimentized hot dog with my overperfumized beer. I got a bit hungry later in the game, but by that time they were no longer serving alcohol and the food stands pretty much closed up. This turned out to be a big mistake as the game lasted 15 innings.

The Atlantas had made a surge in the final week of the campaign, but it had petered out and they were statistically finished by this game. Their opponents, the hapless Washington Nationals, had the worst record in baseball. The Nationals had put together a seven game win streak to close the season, however, which was not too shabby. So other than honor and better stats to bargain with, I don’t think much was at stake this final day. Which must have frustrated the players as the innings began to pile on. And waiting in the wings was Creedence Clearwater Revisited who were giving a post-game concert. I will have to research their connection to the famous band of the 60’s (I found a website at but it is a pretty unreadable imitation of the psychedelic style).

I will also have to research an interesting baseball rule question. Rain threatened throughout this game. If it had been called because of rain, I doubt it would have been made up. So if called after more than 5 innings, would it go into the books as a tie, or would it not count? And if it did not count, what about the individual statistics? It seems to me you can’t have it both ways. The books have to balance, so if it counts as statistics it would also have to count as a game, but I don’t see any room in the won-lost column for ties. I would therefore guess it would not count as a game, and because it did not count as a game, it would not count for statistics. That is my guess.

In any event, the Nats got a run in the top of the 15th and I’m not sure how hard the Bravos tried to win in the bottom half of that inning, but they did not succeed. John had left before the first nine were finished (probably to rack up a few more billable hours) and George left after a few of the extras, but Terry and I were enjoying ourselves. We even stayed for a couple of CCR songs before leaving at about 6:30. We then had trouble finding any food within a three-mile radius of the park and ended up taking food from the Holiday Inn restaurant up to our room.

The next day we ventured out in the morning to the Jimmy Carter Presidential Library. Last January I had gone to Austin to visit my brother Clarke just before he died and we had visited the LBJ library. There I got a list of Presidential Libraries. It was not that long a list – not as long as the list of baseball parks – and I realized I had gone to a number of them, so I thought I might undertake the Burnham Presidential Library Project. This does not have the priority of the Burnham Baseball Project, however, and will not be reported here in depth. It was a pretty cool library, however. I learned a number of things about Jimmy and Rosalynn and also enjoyed the pretty grounds.

We then headed “home” from Atlanta, stopping for the night in Corbin, Kentucky, where Colonel Sanders started his first fried chicken restaurant. We then met up with my nephew Ralph for lunch in Cincinnati; well, technically across the river in Newport, Kentucky. From there we could see the ball park, to which we will return in April with a view toward putting The Park Where the Reds Play in the Parks Visited column.

A preview of parks to come

A preview of parks to come


What wonderful cooperation the Burnham Baseball Project has had from the weather! On Saturday we drove to Wheeling, West Virginia through torrential rains. Why Wheeling, you may ask (but even if you don’t, I will tell you). [That last sentence was hard to punctuate, as “Why Wheeling” cries out for a question mark, but a question mark would appear to be sentence-ending. But the sentence itself is not interrogatory and would be confusing if it ended with a question mark. Suggestions for a good solution to this problem would be appreciated.]

The long-awaited answer is that when I planned this weekend trip to Pittsburgh, I first determined that the Pirates were in town. I next searched for hotels near the ball park, and was shocked to discover that the first ones I tried were sold out. I don’t recall what I then clicked on, maybe something about Events in Pittsburgh, but I then discovered that the G-20 summit was taking place in Pittsburgh at the end of that week. This was not a good time to go to the game, because even if we could get a hotel room, I do not enjoy the smell of tear gas while watching a game.

In thinking it would be best to stay outside of Pittsburgh, Wheeling somehow leapt to mind, as I has seen ads for the Wheeling Island Casino when we drove through on our way to Columbus, and the availability of this casino was also reinforced by reading about how World Series of Poker chip leader Darvin Moon got his entry there. When I checked and found that there was a tournament at 3 on Saturday, that sealed the deal. So the plan was to drive the two hours to Wheeling on Saturday, play the tournament and spend the night there, then drive the one hour to Pittsburgh Sunday morning for the 1:30 game, and drive the three hours back on Sunday after the game.

All seemed to go well except for the weather. We arrived at the casino at about noon. I discovered that I had to have a players card to play in the tournament, so we got in the long line for that. Terry was reluctant to get one, but I pointed out that they gave you $10 in free play, which is the only time I invest in a slot machine. We finally got our cards at about 12:30. Signup wasn’t until 1:00, so we had lunch at the casino. The food was pretty good at the sitdown restaurant there, and the service was excellent. I had second breakfast of omelette and Terry had the special, which was cabbage rolls and mashed potato.

She ordered an “Arnold Palmer” off the menu. This was something I had never heard of. In response to my inquiries, she did a google search on her cell phone and found that Palmer (who was from nearby Latrobe, Pennsylvania) was fond of mixing at home a drink of half lemonade and half iced tea. The story is that when a woman overheard him ordering it in a Palm Beach clubhouse, she then asked the server for one of those “Arnold Palmer drinks” and it soon spread across the country. The entry said that it is now licensed to Arizona. I mention this because it raises an interesting trademark question. It seems to me that if it had started life as a bottled beverage, then you could not put it on your menu without infringing the trademark of that company. But since it started life as the drink that Arnold Palmer drinks, you are not infringing a trademark. However, you may be interfering with his right of publicity, as you are using his name for commercial gain. When the very helpful waitress brought the check, I asked her whether they were serving a commercial product or mixing it themselves, and she said they were mixing it themselves.

After lunch I did the tournament signup and then we drove to our motel, which was about two miles away. The drive through Wheeling reminded me of Wallace, Idaho, the city where the last construction of 1-90 took place. You used to have to get off the highway and drive through town, and then get on again. The narrow valley made for tricky construction, but they finally got it done. I guess the similarity shouldn’t surprise me, for West Virginia is The Mountain State and Montana means the mountainous place. Both also have a resource-based economy. It was also cool to drive on The National Road, which was the first interstate, taking settlers to what was then the West in the 1830s. There is a very cool suspension bridge over the river at Wheeling, much like a miniature Brooklyn Bridge.

After we got settled, I made my way back to the casino and did very badly in the tournament. I then set out to find a slot machine I understood. Actually, the only one I understand (in addition to the ones with oranges and cherries, which are hard to find these days) is video poker. Of course, in Montana they claim that video poker is not a slot machine since we allow video poker and not slot machines. This is a carryover from the idea that video poker is merely poker, which is a game of skill, played on a machine, while a slot machine is a game of chance. Nice theory, but the video poker machine, which plays draw poker, has default settings so you don’t have to use your skill to decide which cards to hold. It is also programmed to retain a certain percentage of the money, sometimes in Montana approaching a whopping 17%, so even with perfect play you cannot come out ahead. To my mind, this makes it a game of chance. In a game of skill, if you are a better than average player, in the long run you will come out ahead.

Anyway, the attendant finally took me to a machine that I had not realized was a poker machine because the face of it was a menu of different games and you had to choose video poker. There were about four of them, but since she had indicated one of them, I decided that had to be my lucky machine. I put in my card and downloaded my credits. I have to admit I am not quite sure what happened after that. I tried to remember to push the maximum credits button before I played each time, but I think I forgot sometimes. It seemed I won every hand I played. But I couldn’t figure out from the machine what I had won, since it just recorded a bunch of credits. I also knew that I wanted to play down the credits on my card without using up my winnings, but I wasn’t sure how to do that. So I decided to cash out, thinking I might have earned a dollar or two, and was surprised when the credit slip said I had $35! I then did the same with Terry’s card, and while I thought I had won less than when I used my card, when I cashed that one out I found I had another $55! I do not, however, conclude from this that video poker is either profitable or interesting, but I do conclude, as we say in Montana, that winning $90 is better than a kick in the face! I then played a little poker, without much success, and left the casino, driving back to the hotel in the rain.

I would make a good poster boy for Proposition 3, the Ohio constitutional amendment that would bring gambling to Ohio. They are running a very subtle campaign. Most of the ads just say something like “Keep jobs in Ohio – vote for Prop 3” and show the map of Ohio with money flowing out in all directions, without telling you exactly what the proposition is all about. Since I have made visits to Greektown Casino in Detroit and Wheeling Island in West Virginia, I guess I exemplify those who are taking Ohio money out of the state. But while I don’t expect to regularly leave the state for that purpose, I would frequent a poker room if they built one in Columbus.


PNC Park from Roberto Clemente Bridge

The next morning we drove in more rain to Pittsburgh. We drove on the expressway (we call them that in Boston) past the park and got off on back streets and made our way to the park. There was parking for $20 right in a lot right in front of the stadium, but I thought that was a lot of money, plus it might be hard to make a getaway. So we drove another couple of blocks and found a parking structure where parking was $12. This turned out to be great, as we were able to back into a spot right on the first level not far from the exit, and the exit led right to the entrance to the freeway (we call them that in Los Angeles). We donned our rain gear and headed out to the park. It was now about 11:30, two hours before game time. A number of park personnel were also making their way to the game. We went past the stadium, pausing to check out some of the many statues – Honus Wagner, Roberto Clemente, and Willie Stargell were all so honored – continuing to the river and found (as I had read somewhere) that there was a nice riverwalk. We walked west on that to the Roberto Clemente Bridge, which got some award as the most beautiful bridge of 1928, but I thought it was pretty ugly. It did, however, afford wonderful views of the city and, looking back, of the park. While the park is fortress-like on the street side, on the river side it is very open, which is obviously why it is celebrated for the views of the city you get when you are in it. We then walked back across, took in some of the artwork, and entered the park in left field with about an hour to go. We were seated behind home plate, so we started our circumnavigation toward left field. We walked past Manny’s Barbeque and made a note that this was a likely candidate for food. You can look right in at the pitchers warming up in the bullpen. At the little-used right field entrance, we saw a small crowd and discovered fans getting their pictures taken with players. I got mine taken with Andrew McCutchen (as I found out later) who ended up being one of the batting heroes of the game.


Me and Andrew McCutchen (I'm on the right)

We found our seats, which were just a little bit up the first base line from home plate and about 20 feet back. We were just under the overhanging seats above us, so we would probably stay dry if it started to rain again, which it did a little bit. We then made our way the rest of the way around and back to Manny’s. This little nook is operated by Manny Sanguillen. I must say I have a hard time following the career of a lot of players, especially National League players, but I remembered him as the Pirates catcher in the 1970’s. Terry was sucked in by the burgers that were actually being barbecued, while I got sliders of half pork and half beef. Along with baked beans and cole slaw, I thought this was a pretty good deal for $8. We then made our way back to a draft beer stand we had seen. I got a William Penn Dark, which I thought was a pretty good stout. This meal confirmed my view that beer goes with barbecue. We were really stuffed after polishing off that grub, and I was still burping it up two days later. We forewent (if that is a word) any other food at the park, even though we had spotted some pretty good looking caramel corn in our tour, and we made a meal out of Starbucks beverages that night.

The game was probably the best I have seen this season. But I think this is the point at which I have to confess to my marital infidelity. You will recall that in my post “On Rooting” I said that in a contest between the Dodgers and the Pirates playing at home, then I would root for the Dodgers. Terry even says this is part of our marriage vows, but I doubt that, and even if it were true, that is not like a contract, right? Well, as the game progressed, I began to get a warm feeling for the Pirates. Here they are the last place team in their division with a budget of about $100,000 (the guy in the stands behind us who was a font of statistical data that he didn’t mind sharing with all around him would be pleased to confirm the exact amount) while the Dodgers are guaranteed a playoff spot and have a budget of about $200 million (admittedly a lot but less than a certain team that thinks it can spend its way to a world series victory). Plus my man Willie McCutcheon was tearing up the field, going 4 for 5. Plus the Pirates got behind in the top of the ninth and staged a rally to come back, aided by some bonehead plays by the Trolley Dodgers. So this is all leading to a confession that I slowly succumbed to their charms and began rooting for the Pirates, quietly at first, but in the bottom of the ninth, actively standing up and cheering as they rallied for a victory.

I am now finishing this post a couple of weeks later. I have been faithfully rooting for the Dodgers, who just beat St Louis in the division series, but nevertheless I am constantly reminded of my infidelity.

We had an easy trip home after the game, stopping, as mentioned, for the Starbucks that became our dinner. I like going to Pittsburgh. Maybe we will have to go again to see some of the city (and possibly to pause at Wheeling on the way).

Kauffman Stadium

This promises to be a short entry, as I remember very little about our visit to see the Royals play. I moved to Montana in 1981, and after Trevor was born in 1985, we pretty much criss-crossed the country every summer for the next 20 years, going east to visit my parents in Boston and southwest to visit Terry’s parents first in LA, and then in Reno (I think the latter was chosen after their retirement because it was as far north as they were willing to go, and they thought that being in a town with poker would attract their son-in-law. In this they were not mistaken). The kids were incredibly good long-distance travelers. I don’t recall a single “How many more miles” query. If only they had been as good at sitting for the duration of a ball game, about which we will have more to say later.

Most of our cross-country road trips did not take us as far south as Kansas City, but we spent the 1991-92 school year visiting at the University of Tennessee in Knoxville, and that trip to and from Montana would have brought us through that area. I recall that on leaving Tennessee, I wanted to go through Arkansas, which was then the last of the 48 continental states that I had not visited, so we took a slightly more western route than the crow would have flown, and cut through the Ozarks. We would have emerged in southern Missouri, heading northwest, so that was probably the path that led us through Kansas City. If I were a betting man, I would wager that we saw a game around August of 1992.

That might also explain the lack of crowds, another memory of the visit, for the Royals had some success before that time, and some after, but the early 90s were not a good time for this team. I remember a lot of spaciousness and informality. We stopped there during the day, and we were able to drive right up to the park and check it out. It makes me wonder how we determined to go to a game, for in those pre-internet days, it wasn’t all that easy to get information about who was playing when. It might have been a pretty spontaneous decision.

I remember we had a couple of kids with us (if I am right about the date, probably three) and I distinctly remember measuring one of them to see if she could get in for free. It was probably Grace, who would have been just turning five at that time. My recollection is that we had to pay for her, but Faith, who would have been two and a half, probably passed. I also remember the cool waterfall in the middle of the outfield.

The mention of kids and the shortness of this post leads me to think this might be the time to rant about the cross I have to bear. We have the three kids mentioned variously in this post and not one of them has the slightest interest in baseball. Not the slightest. In fact, not one has the slightest interest in any sport. To complete the picture of rebellion, not one has the slightest interest in poker. Nevertheless, they are great kids.

It was always a struggle to take them with us to a ball game, however, as it is pretty hard to sit there for three hours when you are totally bored. I will probably rant elsewhere about the constant entertainment that most parks think they have to provide for the fans, but sometimes it does provide interest for the kids. I can remember taking them to see a game in Seattle, and the only time they came to life was between innings when the mascot came out to perform. Imagine putting up with watching a game in order to enjoy the time between innings!

Speaking of mascots, Monte, the mascot of the Montana Grizzlies, is a very cool mascot. His official site isn’t very interesting, but search “monte grizzlies” at Google Images. I understand that one of the guys who performed him, and helped bring him to national fame, is now performing as Benny the Bull of the Chicago Bulls. Nevertheless, I think that baseball mascots are kind of stupid, and I was disappointed when the Red Sox decided they had to have one. But if they contribute nothing to my appreciation of the game, at least they do no harm, so I can’t complain too much. Terry, feel free to consume your beverages out of the Slider cup you brought home from Cleveland without any comment from me.

With that rant completed, we bid farewell to Kansas City.

When you are in a particular ball park for no reason other than the fact that it is on your “Ballparks Yet to See” list, and the visiting team you are watching was dictated by the fact that this was a convenient date to visit that particular ball park, who do you root for? Like most of the rules we study in law school, the rule for this situation initially appears to be fairly simple, but as we apply the rule to different factual hypotheticals spun by the professor, we see that it is rather complex.

Back when I lived in New York in the 70’s I had a friend who said that he liked to watch baseball because it was a beautiful game, but he did not care who won. I suppose that kind of aesthetic approach could work for art. You can admire a Picasso and a Pollock and say they are both aesthetically pleasing without having to think about who would win if they were to duke it out (my money is on Pollock). But as far as baseball is concerned, he is full of shit. You have to have a rooting interest in the game.

So what do you do when Cleveland is playing Minnesota, as was the case when I watched a game at Progressive Field (just testing whether you have learned the stupid names for parks. In case you have not, and I don’t blame you, that is The Park Where Cleveland Plays) last Friday night. I don’t particularly care about the Clevelands, and it seems kind of mean to have anything against poor Minnesota, but the default rule is simple: You root for the home team. This is dictated both by common courtesy and by the song:

Root root root for the home team

If they don’t win it’s a shame.

Footnote (I can’t figure out how to make this program create a footnote, so you will have to pretend that when I write “Footnote” you are reading a footnote). At Cleveland when the song was appropriately sung before the bottom half of the seventh inning, the aesthetically unpleasing scoreboard (more about which you will read in another post) commanded something like “Sing on Key.” This command was supposed to be a plug for Key Bank, but it was offensive to those of us who feel we are entitled to belt out the song even if we are incapable of singing on key. The fact that the Indians have a politically incorrect name should make them more sensitive to those who are differently abled, and proud of it. I recommend that Cleveland adopt a policy of inclusiveness, which might lead them to say something more like, “Key encourages all to sing, irrespective of their sex, race, creed, color, sexual preference, or singing ability.”

Back to the rule. The obvious exception to the rule is if the team is playing the Red Sox, or if you happen to be at a game at Yankee Stadium. This corollary to the rule is dictated by the moral imperative, which holds that:

Red Sox = good


Yankees = bad (make that evil)

Since good is better than evil, the default rule must give way when the outcome dictated by the default rule would either lessen the amount of good in the world or increase the amount of evil.

Now here is where we play law professor, and spin hypotheticals that test your ability to apply the rules. In a couple of weeks we will be visiting The Park Where Pittsburgh Plays and they will be playing the Dodgers. We have no rooting interest in the Dodgers (except that Orel Hershiser was a Dodger and I have had the Me and Orelpleasure of playing poker with him), but my wife does, since she was born in Los Angeles. I am not sure this counts, because she was born in 1955, and the Dodgers didn’t arrive for a few more years, but I suppose what matters is not that the team was there when you were born, but that it was there when biology says you are ready for imprinting with loyalty to a baseball team (I will check this with the Human Genome Project and report back as to where that particular allele is located), and that probably came a bit later. So do we root for the Pittsburghs or the Dodgers? If this were an SAT exam, we could create an analogy question like:

Red Sox is to Scott as

Dodgers is to Terry

Although it isn’t quite the same, because nothing is like loyalty to the Red Sox, in the interest of humoring the wife, we will say that it is. So the Preserving the Marriage Rule trumps the Home Team rule, and we will root for the Dodgers.

Here is a more difficult hypothetical. Assume that you are at The Stadium Where Texas Plays and the Yankees are visiting. This appears to be a simple situation where our default rule, root for the home team, is further supplemented by our corollary, root against evil. But further assume that the Red Sox are in a battle for the Wild Card with the Rangers and a Yankee victory over the Rangers would help the Red Sox secure the Wild Card. Do you then root for the Yankees? You are right if you thought that this is a trick question, for there is no dilemma at all. If you are going to support the triumph of evil to achieve a short-term worldly goal, you have lost all moral perspective and there is no longer any hope for humanity. Go Rangers!

Having established the Rooting Rules, we bring this post to an end.

Oh no, my reader (at the moment I think that means my wife, if I have not lost her attention already) groans, not someone else who is going to rhapsodize about the green cathedral in Boston.

Not exactly. I have to start with Fenway because it is where my baseball experience began. In fact, I am pretty sure I didn’t attend another park for the first 22 years of my life, and I grew up going to Fenway.

My earliest memory is not of the park itself, but of finding the park. A child of the depression, my father appreciated the value of a dollar. In fact, I think the only time he gave me wordly advice was when he told me, “Buy your peanuts outside the park and bring them in.” Actually this is good advice. He was probably not the only one privy to this information, however. I recall a few years later the park being surrounded by vendors of grilled sausages. These were unbelievably good, and the diversion of sales to food outside the park no doubt caused the quality of food served inside the park to become more competitive. Anyway, we will have more to say about park food later. Right now we are talking about getting to the park.

In order to save money, my father parked some distance away, I believe on Commonwealth Avenue. This was a handsome, wide boulevard, quite a contrast to what was to follow. I had little sense of Boston geography then, and little more today, so what happened then was totally bewildering. My father led me (and this was not easy, as his step was brisk and he did not believe in holding hands) through a labyrinth of back alleys. I recall that some were literally paved with cobblestones, probably dating them to the 18th century. Other of the faithful would join us from a confluence of alleys, like the rabble rising to join arms against the foe in some inspiring movie, the small rivulets becoming a mighty river of fans. Eventually we would emerge into a wider street and there, spread before us, was the park (more often referred to as “the pahk”).

While the fact that that journey always ended at the park never ceased to amaze me, the next part of the visit never ceased to inspire me. That is when you would emerge from the maze of steel and concrete in the bowels of the park to see the green field spread before you. That sight always takes my breath away. There is nothing as green as the green of a baseball field. Well, maybe Hempstead Heath in that Antonioni movie Blow-up. I read somewhere that to make it so green, however, he had it painted. Since that doesn’t count, we can safely say that there is nothing as green as the green of a baseball field.

Since we will have more to say about Fenway in another post, this one will be titled Fenway I.

What is the Burnham Baseball Project?

The Burnham Baseball Project records my attempt to attend baseball games at all the Major League Parks, and provides me with an excuse to discourse on whatever strikes my fancy in connection therewith. New readers may want to read my first post, Pre-game Warm-up, to get an introduction to the Project. From there feel free to read chronologically or by Team by clicking on the list below.

Ballparks Visited

American League Teams:

* Baltimore (Oriole Park)

* Boston (Fenway Park)

* Chicago (U.S. Cellular Field)

* Cincinnati (Great American Ball Park)

* Cleveland (Progressive Field)

* Detroit (Comerica Park)

* Kansas City (Kauffman Stadium)

* Los Angeles (Angel Stadium)

* Minnesota (The Metrodome)

* New York (Yankee Stadium)

* Oakland (Oakland-Alameda County Coliseum)

* Seattle (Safeco Field)

* Tampa Bay (Tropicana Field)

National League Stadiums:

* Atlanta (Turner Field)

* Chicago (Wrigley Field)

* Colorado (Coors Field)

* Florida (Land Shark Stadium)

* Milwaukee (Miller Park)

* New York (Citi Field)

* Philadelphia (Citizens Bank Park)

* Pittsburgh (PNC Park)

* San Diego (PETCO Park)

* San Francisco (AT&T Park)

* Washington (Nationals Park)

Ballparks Yet to See

American League Teams:

* Toronto (Rogers Centre)

National League Stadiums:

* Arizona (Chase Field)

* Houston (Minute Maid Park)

* Los Angeles (Dodger Stadium)

* St. Louis (Busch Stadium)