Older Than “The Nat”

I still remember the first time I walked into Civic Stadium in Eugene, Oregon back in 2008.

One of my first roadtrips in Minor League Baseball was to the old wood stadium that was the only park in the Northwest older than Nat Bailey Stadium (1938).

The broadcast booth was narrow, smelly and had a ol’ wooden trap door that you pushed up to see the field and held it in place with a broomstick.

Some fly balls you couldn’t see because of the old wooden roof that blocked your view and there was no washroom anywhere close.

The food was cold, the staff was grumpy and at times arrogant, and the field was a place that really didn’t play very well.

The clubhouse where the players prepared was old, musty and had a bathroom stall that didn’t have a door, just a small curtain. It was rusty, had concessions that were outdated and the walkway was uneven.

Yet today, as I walked just steps away from the old structure, just days after I found out Civic Stadium had burned to the ground in a massive fire, I was heartbroken.

When I looked back beyond those facts I just mentioned, I remembered the other side of Civic.

This was where I learned my craft, with no bells, whistles or excuses. It was baseball in it’s purest form.

Sure the broadcast booth was uncomfortable, but I didn’t deserve a comfortable booth. I was new, inexperienced and needed to understand the luxuries that awaited a more seasoned veteran.

Losing a ball because of the roof made me learn how to watch an outfielders footwork and positioning, and how to anticipate the crack of a bat.

The field was tough, but for both teams and the staff was likely arrogant because yet another new, inexperienced broadcaster had just walked in and wasted little time telling them everything Civic wasn’t.

The food was cold – likely because by the time I got around to eating it, it should have been.

The clubhouse was a reminder of the work that each and every player needed to do so that they would never have to come back and take another cold shower in the dark.

I walked around back then on the uneven pavement and learned about the city, team and ballpark through the people I met and experiences I ran into.

This ballpark was everything good about Minor League Baseball.

It had countless stars play on its uneven turf. It had legends look back and remember their moment on the same field I moaned about and sat in the clubhouse I shunned.

I was young. I couldn’t hear the walls yet.

But today, I hear it all. Gone within an hour because alledgedly a group of youngsters got into some mischief that got out of hand in a matter of minutes.

It’s been days since this stadium burnt to the ground, and yet I can still taste the fire. The ash still coats anything within 100 yards of the inferno and yet my only thought is to say ‘thank you’.

I was so lucky to broadcast there. To be challenged by the quirks and history of that ballpark.

It made me better, made me learn my craft and made me work. Plain and simple, it made me love this game.

I will miss the ol’ ballpark in the middle of a residential neighbourhood and never forget the lessons I learned.

A sad day for sure, but one that made me realize how lucky I was to see it when its heart still beat strong.