Once I realized that the last four minor league games I attended were repeat performances, I figured out why my attempts at posting about last Sunday’s game were so stale. I turned to friend, passionate Orioles fan, and companion for his assistance.

Dang gum, did Russ come through like Tippy Martinez, back in the day. Without further ado, here is Russ Letra (completely unedited). I’m sure you’ll enjoy!

Five Days of Midwest Nice 

One of the highlights of my five-day vaca to Wisconsin was taking in a Sunday afternoon baseball game with my long-distance tion baseball buddy, Bob. I made the short drive from Green Bay to Grand Chute (part of the greater Appleton metro area) while Bob was nice enough to drive all the way up from suburban Chicago. 

The ballpark might be in a “metro” area, but I didn’t see any sign of a city, big or small, when I got off I-41 and took the access road into Neuroscience Group Field. I’m sure Appleton is a nice town, but I couldn’t see any of it on the way to the ballpark. 

Bob and I met at the main gate about an hour before the first pitch. I was surprised that the gates were already open. Unlike my “home” parks in Maryland and Central Pennsylvania, NG Field opens their gates 100 minutes before game time. By the time I arrived the 1,000 Brice Turang giveaway bobbleheads were long gone. 1,000 fans in the ballpark that early is not something I’m familiar with in Bowie, Frederick or Harrisburg. 

Bob and I took a lap around the stadium. I declined the offer from some locals to tackle the very tall slide behind the left field corner, but the kids were sure enjoying it. Instead, I opted for the sedate walkway connecting the left and right field foul poles.  

The right field pasture was filled with scores of parents and kids having a catch. The scene was a slice of Americana, and I only wished they had these promos when I was a kid. Playing catch with my dad on a professional ballfield would have been one of my cherished memories. I hope it is for these kids down there on that Sunday afternoon. 

I experienced first-hand “Midwest Nice” in each of my stops during my Wisconsin get-away. That feeling continued when I ordered a pre-game cheeseburger only to discover that I left my credit card in the car. The two young ladies at the concession stand told me not to worry.  

“You can go out to the parking lot and re-enter. We’ll have your food ready by the time you get back.” 

Upon my return, the girls waved me to the front of the line and completed our transaction without any of the impatience that I sometimes experience in my native Mid-Atlantic. 

Speaking of the parking lot, this is the first time I’ve ever seen tailgating at a minor league game. I guess it’s in the DNA of Wisconsin fans. You go to the stadium, you bring the grill, beer and corn hole.  

The time of the game was 2 hours and 48 minutes. Bob and I are two, rare, birds of a feather. We like keeping score. We also like talking baseball, so the 2:48 was way too brief for me. Before I knew it, it was the ninth inning, and Bob had to prepare for his long trip back to Chicago and for his workweek. 

Me, I was hoping for extra innings. I almost got my wish until Eric Bitoni hit a two-out grand slam in the bottom of the ninth to give the Wisconsin Udder Tuggers a walk-off 8-4 victory of the Cedar Rapids Kernels. 

Of course, the Wisconsin team is officially known as the Timber Rattlers, but to move more merch, minor league teams bring out alternate identities and alternate uniforms. But these were more like costumes than uniforms. The jersey is made up to look like the top of overalls while the pants appear to be the denim bottom. There’s something wrong with seeing a professional athlete dressed like a farmhand. Nothing against farmers, it would be just as bad watching a farmer milk a cow in a Cubs uniform.  

Anyway, I found out that Midwest Nice has its limits. When 4,813 people get in cars and try to leave through only two exits, a traffic jam is going to ensue. There was this one young man who had the difficult job of funneling three lines of traffic into one exit lane. He used his wand to alternately wave each line through, but for some reason, he seemed to shortchange one line of traffic. This tested the patience of those aggrieved motorists and Midwest Nice melted like an ice cube in a skillet.  

The high school kid seemed to handle the invectives hurled his way. Once he let the angry drivers go, he simply said, “Have a blessed Sunday.”  

I wonder… was that sarcasm or a genuine example of Midwest Nice?