Benjamin Hill travels the nation collecting stories about what makes Minor League Baseball unique. This excerpt from the Baseball Traveler newsletter, presented by Circle K, is a mere taste of the smorgasbord of delights he offers every week. Read the full newsletter here, and subscribe to his newsletter here.
Happy Halloween.
As someone who filters everything that happens all year long through the lens of Minor League Baseball, I find myself asking the following question: What was the spookiest thing I experienced at a Minor League ballpark this season?
For the answer to that, I present to you a seemingly innocuous locale: Pelicans Ballpark in Myrtle Beach, S.C.
I visited the Pelicans -- Single-A affiliate of the Chicago Cubs -- on a Friday in late May during what was a celebratory time for the franchise. Myrtle Beach City Council had just approved a 30-year lease extension. After much agitation -- and a dramatic intervention -- the longtime future of the Pelicans was secure.
All appeared set for a beautiful evening of baseball in South Carolina's 12th-most populous city (and number one tourist destination).
The concourse was hopping prior to the game, an early indication of the big crowd that was expected for this 7:05 p.m. tilt against the Augusta GreenJackets. It was Bluey Night, and Bluey and her sister Bingo had made the trip from Australia for the occasion. We live in an era where costumed facsimiles of cartoon heeler dogs are great for the box office.
However! Before the ballgame could begin, a mighty thunderstorm blew in and the power at the ballpark went out. I sought shelter from the deluge on the concourse and, amid a crush of people illuminated by the harsh glare of emergency lighting, soon opted for the safety of the men's room. Dozens more joined me, with no regard for gender distinction, seeking refuge from nature as opposed to heeding its call.
OK, perhaps this was all more "surreal" than "spooky," but when you have a premise you’ve got to keep rolling with it no matter how thin.
Before the rains came, I had an enjoyable conversation with Pelicans photographer Larry Kave.
Larry, originally from Parkersburg, W.V., spent many years working as a NASCAR photographer. 12 years ago, he moved to Myrtle Beach.
“I retired, came here [to the ballpark] and started taking pictures,” he told me. [The Pelicans] didn’t have a photographer at the time. So, I was retired for one day.”
At the time we spoke, Larry said that he had taken more than 1.2 million pictures as the Pelicans photographer (1,200-1,400 per game; his milestone one millionth photo was of a play at the plate). In the winter he works as -- or perhaps is -- Santa Claus, appearing at events throughout the area.
“The kids here [at the ballpark], they look at me. They follow me. ‘Santa’s on vacation. Hey, Santa, I’ve been good this year,’” he said, before concluding thusly: “I’ve got the two greatest jobs in the world.”
Once the rain subsided, I ventured out of the men's room and into the front office area. Slider the bat dog was hanging out in one of the offices, seemingly unperturbed by the evening's turn of events.
The game was ultimately postponed. Not because of the rain, but because the power did not come back on. Harper Keel, who had been selected to be my Designated Eater that evening, was deprived of the opportunity to sample the Pelicans’ concession specialties.
Next time, Harper, next time.
Harper did get to meet Bluey and Bingo, though. And so did I! Posing alongside cartoon characters in a ballpark with no power following a game postponement -- this, for me, was a first.
Good night from Myrtle Beach. Next time I’m there I hope to spend less time sequestered in the men’s room and more time watching an actual Pelicans baseball game. Dare to dream.
