Baseball Is Life: Center of the Field

Baseball Is Life: Center of the Field

Cincinnatians at a certain age grew up and connected baseball with the city center. For those of us who grew up post-suburbia and post-multiuse stadium, a live baseball game was Of Downtown. You had to go abroad. You needed to worry about parking. There were one-way streets, and people in suits.

Even now it is a whole thing to participate in a ball game. Only minimum, you order a stranger on your phone to drop you off at the gate. Rarely is the cincinnati who can look up from dinner and randomly decide to walk down to the ballpark.

Crosley Field was a neighborhood park that sealed the downfall; The central location of this new riverfront stadium removed the parochial nature of how Cincinnati played baseball. It definitely connected the East Side and the West; although the stadium remained just west of what most of us agree on as the dividing line (Vine Street, also the whole thing, also located in the center), it was here that we presented a united front.

The fact that Great American Ball Park was located in almost the same place, albeit from an artistic angle, cements the unspoken agreement that we baseball in the middle of this city. None of this sticks the stadium well outside the area code, because that’s where the tax credits are.

GPS understands this. You can see how the rest of the world looks at us, geographically, if you zoom out enough. If you call the city as if you were just aiming for it from North Dakota, for example, the needle falls in the general downtown area. Stadium.

Only latitudes and longitudes obscure neighborhoods, and where anyone who decides to measure measures: Cincinnati is 482 feet above sea level. Yes, but which one go? Because if you measure at the edge of the river where Anderson Ferry docks, it’s different from the upper part of Clifton. And this is the kind of city where you are, tend to say a lot about who you are.

Therefore, in the large number of moves I have made, the scariest was by far the last. After understanding the townspeople, I picked up the coffee cup and laid it down again two centimeters to the right. It is 14 km. It should have nothing to say, especially when it comes to zip codes that are already swaying me. In my life I have implemented the following steps:

  • Ohio to Florida, alone, without knowing absolutely no one at the other end, but the guy who gave me the job interview and the other guy who showed me where the staff salon was
  • DC area to Oklahoma, with my husband, into a house shared with two strangers, no basement, and these disgusting sheets waiting for the bed that I balled up and banished to a closet
  • Alabama to Myrtle Beach, again with my husband, from a three-bedroom house to a one-bedroom apartment, again knowing no one but each other, even though the apartment leasing office guy seemed down to party

But this time I left Delhi to Adams. In other words, the moving truck passed the stadium.

When I revealed this news to my sister and her husband, they received it with the equality of two people who had seen us shuffle our belongings to four different addresses for the past six years alone.

“It is East side,“I pointed out when we were standing in their regular West Side kitchen.

“Not really,” said my brother-in-law. “Mt. Adams is the demilitarized zone. ”

I’m not sure. The day we found the place in Mount Adams, we saw a woman driving an Audi and a guy taking a small dog in a front-facing backpack, both activities that on the West Side may not give you killed, necessarily, but definitely degraded from working with the beer stall at the ward festival.

I have lived everywhere but on the east side; a whole thing. Consider:

DAY WE KNOW THE HOUSE WE LAUGH: appeared in a dress to look nice for six-figure debt; real estate agent gave us a wooden sign with our names on; celebratory lunch at an affordable chain restaurant

TODAY WE SELL THE HOUSE WE LAUGH: crying in Kenwood McDonald’s transit line at 10:18 pm with torn nails from all the packing and box lifting, and my husband decided to push McNuggets into my pussy hole was the best way to stop crying

But I want to tell you a story that Jimmy Buffett told me (and 20,499 other people, and Marty Brennaman, and everyone else who watched last week’s live stream of the Riverbend concert): His inspiration for the first line of the iconic “Ends“Partly came from scenes in the Mt. Adams, in part from a stay in Daytona Beach. Land sharks by the river. Land sharks by the sea. Wherever you go, certain elements follow. He went and took the text with him. When she came down from Cincinnati, she came down from Mount Adams.

Now I have also lived in Daytona Beach, which is far more sharky than anywhere in this city. But as for the song, as far as the rest of the world knows begins in this city. The whole city, the center of the stick in the center stick, where you can see the ballpark.

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