I write to you from a proverbial deck chair suspended by one thousand, nine-hundred and eighty five bright blue balloons drifting 3 miles above scenic Kansas City, Missouri. While I might easily lose myself in the finery of Kansas City’s stately landscaping and architecture, surveying the many fountains that adorn this metropolis of the Midwest, or concern myself with the odds of survival from a fall of this awful distance, I choose to direct my downward gaze upon one, definitive landmark that absolutely spellbinds me. I speak today of Kauffman Stadium, third smallest baseball stadium in the country, stemming boldly from the endless asphalt of I-70, one and only home of the Kansas City Royals. You, of course, are all more than familiar with this team, as you represent some of the most prominent figures in the Royals’ venerable 38-year history. Fellows, I write to you today in regards to something of utmost significance.
As I study the brilliant, oval-shaped stadium that forms a tremendous eye that seems to oversee the passage of immense trucks heaving thousands of pounds of the very produce we as Americans live off from the Atlantic to Pacific Ocean, I see a great many things. A revolutionary park built ahead of its time, capitalizing on one of the most appetizing climates and backdrops to host the American pastime across the entire fruited plain. A ballpark at the vanguard of American cultural progress, home to the longest running franchise in the history of Negro League Baseball, where Jackie Robinson himself played shortstop before expunging baseball’s color barrier. A home to a World Series Championship, one of the most unlikely in history, as the Royals came from behind a 3-1 series deficit to upset their in-state rival St. Louis Cardinals in 1985. Home to three generations of Kansas City’s great people, undeniably die-hard fans, and one of the most aesthetically pleasing fields to be erected in the 20th century.
In October of 2007, at the end of this very season, provided the Royals do not make their first playoff appearance in 22 years, renovations will commence on Kauffman Stadium, transforming it into what is currently referred to by initial press reports as “a ballpark of tomorrow.” With the installation of high definition televisions, seating mounted in the grassy expanse of the outfield, suites developed behind home plate and cement lain to provide a 360 degree walkway around the park, Kauffman stadium will be what legislative chairman Dan Tarwater deems “brand new.”
What Tarwater fails to see, essentially, is that this renovation is easily the biggest mistake proposed in Kansas City since the unmentionable Jermaine Dye trade of 2001. How 250 million dollars might be thrown toward gearing Kauffman Stadium up for a best-in-show vote by robot judges of the future when the team is currently suffering through its ninth losing season in ten years is beyond me. The truth of the matter is, there is no flatscreen television large enough, no definition high enough to teach the Royals how to refurbish their win-loss record. No alteration or enhancement of what has already become a quintessential, historic host of baseball tradition will teach our pitchers how to win 20 games in a season, as Saberhagen did in ’85, or earn 45 saves, as Quisenberry did two years prior. No Dodge truck perched inanely in left field will bring a .400 hitter back to the K, and every one of you knows it in your heart.
Why is it so important for Kansas City to boast one of the most technologically advanced stadiums in baseball for a team that posts the worst record year after year? Has it ever occurred to David Glass, owner of the Royals for seven of the worst seasons in their history, that perhaps his affiliation with Walmart, the Soviet Union of business, suggests potential for a more generous payroll than the 67 million Glass shelled out this season, for seventh lowest in the MLB? Mind you, this is the most generous year yet, as Kansas City just a few years back stooped to third lowest in the majors, behind the two pitifully impoverished affiliations in Florida. Coupled with notoriously bad trade records and an unapologetic reliance on unverified rookies, the Royals have earned every loss in the past ten years, allowing themselves to be surpassed in nearly every facet of the game. Without the undying love of hardnosed fans that have donned t-shirts with catch phrases such as “revive-85,” Kauffman stadium may easily have been trundled away by now on the backs of massive mack trucks bound for expansion sites outside of Orlando.
But it hasn’t. Kauffman is the same stadium now as it was when George Brett fell to his knees and literally kissed home plate at the end of his legendary career. Every home game Brett ever played was played right here. That great crown overlooking the bustling traffic and proud fountains have remained unfettered for the posterity of the future, and countless generations to come. So why now, when the Royals most need an injection of star-power, a new Bo Jackson, a new Frank White, do they propose to add bigger wings to this penguin? What consumer-oriented mind believes that shining, glassed-in hall of fame walkways are vital, when in truth there aren’t enough retired greats to fill the picture frames? Baseball commissioner/marionette Bud Selig has indeed given Kauffman the go-ahead to host the All Star Game between the years of 2010 and 2014, provided the city pass basic ordinances. While this momentous honor would most certainly require extensive scrubbing of the Hi-Vee upper decks of eighties-era relish residue and the installation of new urinal troughs, who exactly are we trying to impress?
Not that 250 million dollars shouldn’t be invested in some way, shape or form to the team, because we can use it. The Royals shouldn’t need the Steinbrenner “cure” of a magical stuffy wallet, nor should they endure antiquated facilities in the modern age, but that simply isn’t the case. Kauffman is one of the most beautiful parks in America, and its modesty presents its most appealing quality. The feeling of unoccupied space, a wide-open range, and endless possibilities inhabit this park, gracing it with a serenity that no major city will ever again replicate. Call me conservative, but what sets baseball apart from more antagonistic, consumer-oriented sports like football is the fact that bigger rarely translates into better. The Royals are an underdog team, always have been, and likely always will be. Kauffman Stadium is the only home built for this distinctive team.
Observing the newly publicized animated fantasies of what the future of “the K” might look like, one has to wonder where these architects pledge their allegiance. Will there be anti-missile defense turrets mounted along the new bullpens to ward off alien attacks? What future are we preparing for? The concept of highlighting the rich culinary culture of barbeque in Kansas City is a worthwhile development, however easily accomplished for less than the pricetag of the movie Waterworld. Unless Buddy Bell is having a hard time reading the pitch count off the fifty foot screen already erected in left field, the last thing the Royals need is a new television set. Before we realize what’s happening, Kauffman will be joining the ranks of commercially named parks, a trend that must be universally recognized as a bad, bad progression regardless of your affiliation to baseball. May we all rue the day that Tony Pena’s son stands up in class and proudly proclaims “my father plays shortstop at Exxon Mobil Park.”
If Dayton Moore is genuine in his campaign to “revive 85” and reinstate the glory of days passed, why is it that we seem to be chasing trends of every other faded ball club across the country? What have renovations done to help the Pirates? The Phillies? These were the parks the architects claimed to have emulated in drafting their designs. But the question nobody wants to ask is how much longer will we wait before the powder blue road uniforms made famous by the greatest Royals to walk the earth are brought back to the lineup? Who the hell is Sluggerrr? Is there anyone perched in the presidential skybox remotely aware of what it actually takes to turn a team around, from the dregs of the American League into playoff contention, or are they deliberating just how many more dollar hotdog days “the K” can afford before Mark Grudzielanek’s girlfriend has to start doing the team’s dirty laundry at home?
Everybody but the Tigers wants the Royals to get better, some of us with the passion of a thousand suns. We have been down for longer than anyone stays down, and still the suits at this organization direct their spotlights on excruciatingly frivolous priorities. The last thing we need in center field is an eighty-foot tall robotic George Brett talking head that spews ketchup over the outfield every time Alex Gordon is hit by a pitch and reaches base. We all need to stop, look inside ourselves, and latch desperately onto that inexpressible force that keeps us rooting for the Royals, and really think about how to turn this ship around. I doubt that spending close to 300 million dollars to seat people in the fountains is the right place to start. From the very cheapest seat in the lowest tier of my round, blue heart, Let’s Go Royals.
Will Weston, San Francisco CA.
