It’s a weekend sort of thing. It’s an especially Memorial weekend sort of thing. With baseball. Beer. Hot dogs. Peanuts. And, Cracker Jacks. Families come out. Dads bond with sons. Sons dream of playing the game.
I was born a New York Yankee fan. Supposedly I saw the great Yankee Clipper, Joe DiMaggio, play during his last season. That’s family lore. You know how family lore goes. It’s mostly myth and legend. DiMaggio retired after the 1952 season. I came along in November of 1953. I wasn’t even a gleam in my parents’ eyes. Oh well. I did get to see Mickey Mantle play. I saw him hit one of the longest balls ever hit in the old, yet to be remodeled Yankee Stadium. In 1963. I was nine years old.
As much as I like major league baseball, I like the minors almost as well. The ballparks are smaller. The crowds are much less. And, you get to see the stars of the future as they hone their craft. You can also move around. The stands aren’t patrolled by ticket takers. You can see a game from a couple of different locations. And, you can make pictures.
Surprisingly, making pictures is not my first priority when I go to a game. The game is. I can be an awful baseball nerd. But, every now and then…
I don’t photograph the game itself. I’m way too under lensed for that. Instead I do the same thing that I do on the streets. I look for moments. Light. Contrast. Life.
These two pictures were made in Albuquerque. At an Isotopes game. They were the real thing, not just a cartoon fantasy on The Simpsons. They were a Los Angeles Dodgers farm team. The Dodgers farm team has moved to Oklahoma City. I forget who replaced them.
For those of you in other countries, where baseball isn’t your thing. Sorry. I hope that you enjoy the moments. For those of you who live in The United Kingdom, I just read that my team, the Yankees are coming to London next year to play a league game, not an exhibition.