Where Has the Summer Gone?

A Journey Back to Mid-Season at Dwyer Stadium

Apologies for the delay since my last dispatch. As the title to this post suggests, it’s hard to believe we will soon be bidding farewell to August! It feels like just a few days ago that I was sitting in the bleachers at Dwyer, enjoying the company of new friends, one Muckdog game slowly giving way to the next, with seemingly no end in sight.

Well, the season is now over, and so I invite you to join me on some brief journeys into the recent past as I continue to highlight some of what makes small town baseball so special. Hopefully these accounts will help soften the transition to fall and winter by evoking the sights, sounds, and smells of an amazing summer in western New York.

A local Boy Scout troop presents the colors for the National Anthem.

The Geneva Red Wings visit on a lovely Friday night in early July. It’s 77 degrees, and, after an overcast afternoon, the sun is starting to peak out, some blue slowly muscling the gray clouds off the horizon. Local product Tyler Prospero is on the mound, taking on a soft tossing lefty from Geneva. The grandstands are about sixty percent full. As I scan the crowd, I’m happy to see some of the regulars I’ve gotten to know and like, as well as note the absence of others. I’m disappointed to see that Betsey Higgins and Ginny Wagner, Muckdog season ticket holders who routinely make the 45-minute trek from their homes in Buffalo to Batavia, aren’t in their usual section. I’d been looking forward to catching up with them and learning more about Betsey’s appreciation of British novelist Thomas Hardy, an author that - even as an English major - I had to confess to her I’d never read. I text Betsey to ask why they aren’t there, and she explains that she isn’t feeling well, and Ginny is preparing dinner for a family gathering, but that she would be tuning in to the game at home on the team’s YouTube channel.

By now, I’ve begun to appreciate the extent to which as much of what makes these nights special occurs off the field as on it, as the relationships formed and nurtured over the course of leisurely conversation help fill a hunger most of us have for human interaction and connection — a hunger that years of COVID-related lockdowns left unsatiated for many.

Kids play catch alongside right field as the sun sets, in the same spot many of their parents had played decades before.

The game rolls along at a brisk clip, with Prospero in firm control on the mound, and Batavia’s bats breaking things open in the middle innings. As always, you see things rarely seen in the Major League game today, such as a wonderfully executed sacrifice bunt by Jerry Reinhart moving two base runners over to second and third. These periodic throwbacks to another era of “small ball,” with a focus on situational hitting and baserunning, provide a nice change of pace from today’s home run-obsessed majors.

I stop by to visit with Cathy Preston, another Muckdog season ticket holder who religiously keeps score from her seats above the third base dugout. Tonight she had hoped to be joined by her daughter, who ultimately decided to stay in to rest up for her early 5AM shift at McDonald’s tomorrow morning. Cathy is a trivia aficionado who has appeared on Jeopardy, and often greets me with a question from her regular circuit of trivia nights at Batavia’s bars and restaurants. I sometimes suspect that she just feeds me softballs, as I’d been getting a lot right, despite the fact that I’ve never shown much of an aptitude for trivia. Tonight is no different as she asks “What hedge fund billionaire recently bought a baseball team?” Since she knows I am a Mets fan, this is about as close to a layup as one can get, and I answer “Steve Cohen” correctly.

Cathy then surprises me by pulling out a pack of Star Wars cards, each with a different character on them, for me to give to my son, Bates. I’d told her that he’d developed an obsession with all-things Star Wars, and am amazed that she both remembered, and took the time to gather them together for him. I’m even more touched to discover that they are from her late husband’s collection. We get to discussing the baseball - though I am careful not to interrupt her scrupulous scorekeeping - and how the college summer game differs from the minor league professional games of previous summers. One of the more dramatic differences, we agree, is the noticeable lack of power displayed by these undrafted players. Whereas this summer’s home runs can be counted on one hand, Cathy (and others I’ve spoken to) recall some monster home runs by the likes of Phillies’ great Ryan Howard in years-gone-by.

Games in Batavia, like those in many rural, small town ballparks across America, are overtly patriotic, and Paul Spiotta, the Public Address announcer, soon asks all veterans to please stand and be recognized. Though I appreciate efforts like this to recognize and welcome veterans, for some reason I’m never comfortable calling attention to my military service. Still, I somewhat awkwardly stand for a few moments while the crowd cheers. I’m heartened to see that there are quite a few fellow veterans in the crowd, though most appear to be from the Vietnam era.

Some rare gray clouds make their way overhead. Overall the weather has been shockingly wonderful all summer, and hardly recognizable in comparison to my winter visits. I’m again reminded of how these games are so treasured by the locals who spend long winter months hidden from the sun by a shroud of clouds, and frequently buffeted by fierce snowstorms.

After starter Tyler Prospero surrenders a base hit followed by a walk to begin the sixth inning, Batavia manager “Skip” Martinez calls on right-handed reliever Trey Bacon, a versatile athlete and Tampa native who also plays middle-infield, to take over on the mound. Skip has known the Bacon family for years, having coached Trey’s older brother, now a pitcher in the Braves organization, on a travel ball team. Bacon’s smaller stature and easy delivery belie a live arm and fastball that can hit 90. This, coupled with impressive command, allows him to make short order of Geneva in the final four innings, with Batavia going on the an easy 12-3 win.

The following week brings Geneva back to Batavia for a doubleheader that kicks off at 5PM on a cloudless 80 degree afternoon. In keeping with my routine, I grab a sandwich at the nearby Northside Deli, where I run into a few players doing the same in their pregame t-shirts.

The crowd is small as Game 1 begins before most people get off work. I’m joined, though, by sixth grade teacher Arron Brown and his son, Nolan, whom I’d briefly met a few weeks prior when Arron had helped arrange an outing for the Pembroke School District where he teaches.

Arron and his son are no strangers to Muckdogs games, and he’d even thrown out the first pitch last summer when nominated as “Teacher of the Game.” His son had especially enjoyed being invited to play catch on the field last summer with Muckdog (and now Pepperdine player) Cam Conley, so much so that when signed jerseys were auctioned off at the conclusion of the season Arron had bought one, framed it, and hung it in his basement alongside signed jerseys of Bills’ icons like Bruce Smith, Thurman Thomas, and Jim Kelly. He credits Nolan’s experiences at Dwyer with the Muckdogs for cultivating his love of baseball, as he now plays on an Under-8 team.

Arron tells me knew he wanted to teach since he was in “Mrs. Owen’s kindergarten class,” and that his wife is also a teacher. He explains that some of the Pembroke kids he teaches have tough home lives and that he’s grateful to try to be a positive influence in lives that can sometimes be challenging. He says he loves how people in the stands have different views on the world and political issues, but that “when someone turns a double play all that goes out the window.”

Lovely day to play two.

As I enjoy my chat with Arron, Muckdog starter Nolan Sparks continues his season of dominance, shutting down Geneva with a fastball in the low-90s and impressive control. He will end up scattering four hits over 5.2 innings, giving up only one unearned run, and leaving no doubt as to the outcome of what will go on to be an easy 8-1 Batavia win. The Muckdog victory is punctuated offensively by Columbia University and New Jersey native Kyle Corso, who led the way with three RBIs. As someone who spent a few seasons playing baseball in the Princeton program, I’ve enjoyed seeing this fellow Ivy League player emerge as one of the better players on the Muckdogs.

Game two of the doubleheader, billed as a night to honor local law enforcement, begins with several police cars driving along the warning track with their sirens going off, the song Bad Boys playing on the public address system. Dewey, the Muckdog mascot, is poking his head out of one of the police cars to the delight of the kids in the crowd.

While this occurs I chat with John Carubba, who does play-by-play for home Muckdogs games on their YouTube channel. I’d been watching some of the games I hadn’t been able to attend on YouTube, and had grown to enjoy Carubba’s broadcasts.

His enthusiasm is contagious, and the fact that the only visual component to the broadcast is through the lens of a single camera that doesn’t move forces Carubba to be more evocative in his descriptions, almost more radio announcer than TV. I ask the young High Point University alum what drew him to sports broadcasting. He tells me how, at the age of thirteen, he was involved in a terrible car accident that left him in a wheelchair for nine years, doubting whether he’d ever be able to walk again (he now walks with the occasional help of a cane). As he spent years convalescing in pain at his home in Buffalo, he recalls how Yankees broadcasts on Spectrum Sports Buffalo were one of the only things that could bring a smile to his face. He explains how that is what he aspires to do now… put a smile on people’s faces and help them to hopefully escape whatever troubles they may be having for a few hours.

The notes that John Carubba prepares prior to each game.

Game two of the twin bill picks up where game one left off, with Tyler Prospero sharp on the mound and the offense providing timely run support. Kyle Corso continued his hot hitting, driving in Tyler Cannoe and Daniel Burroway with a base-clearing double in the bottom of the first. These guys, who comprise the heart of the order, have been clicking of late, which will prove tough for opponents to overcome if it continues to be accompanied by solid pitching. The stadium has filled a bit from the first game, the stands now about half full. Meanwhile the evening is shaping up to be another gorgeous one, the shadows cast from the light poles gradually approaching the infield dirt as the sun sets beyond the left field fence.

Sunset at Dwyer.

Over the course of my many reporting trips so far, I’ve noticed that if not careful, I can spend the entire game so engaged in discussion with all the people I’ve gotten to know that I miss fully appreciating other elements of the experience, such as the simple grace of a shortstop smoothly fielding a grounder and firing the ball to first, the giddy happiness of the kids playing catch alongside right field, or the taste of a sausage and beer. With this in mind, I resolved to spend at least one inning a game sitting alone with some food and beer in hand, an opportunity to savor a degree of solitude and the ability to quietly absorb the game. So I drop by the concession stand, where the owner Robbie is working the register as always, order a sausage and beer from the Eli Fish craft beer tent across the way, and settle into a seat a few rows behind the first base dugout.

Sneaking a quick look at my email, I notice a message from the local chapter of my college alumni association concerning a planned outing to see the Pittsburgh Pirates. The message reads: When we brought back the PAAWP Pirate game this summer after a two-year hiatus, we assumed the same level of pre-pandemic demand and bought our usual 20 tickets in our standard right field section. Unfortunately, three years of futility by the Bucs and mounting disgust with the Pirate ownership have clearly taken a toll, and we're stunned to report that not a single ticket has been ordered by an alum. Consequently, the PAAWP Board has voted to give the tickets away on a first-come first-served basis, so they won't go to waste.

It is a depressing message, and while the Pirates are an extreme example, the issue goes beyond Pittsburgh, with 21 of MLB’s 30 teams having reported a decline in attendance at the season’s halfway point. Indeed, MLB attendance has been falling each year since 2015. 14 straight seasons of average attendance reaching 30,000 per game ended in 2017, and hasn’t occurred since. I find myself reflecting on the myriad reasons for MLB’s struggles before being reminded that this game will only be seven innings since it is part of a double-header, and so I try to escape these sobering thoughts and turn my attention back to the field.

Michael Swanson comes in to close out the seven-inning game for the starter Prospero, who had pitched six strong innings, giving up two earned runs on eight hits, while striking out five. After a few hiccups leading off the inning result in one unearned run, Swanson goes on the strikeout three consecutive Geneva batters, closing the door on a 7-4 Batavia win.

While I have my concerns about the long term future of baseball, and the decisions being made by its major league stewards, for now, at least, it continues to deliver happiness to the people of Batavia. I can’t help but think of the famous quote from Field of Dreams:

People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.

I have real doubts as to whether they still will be in 25 years, but for now, at least, in Batavia and in countless cozy ballparks across America, they still are.