Reminiscences from an Israeli baseball game
Posted on August 20, 2007 • By Michael Weinberg
Category: Art and Culture, Featured |
The dusty, twisting dirt roads leading to Kibbutz Gezer have me wondering if a baseball diamond and green grass are truly anywhere to be found. The unpaved stretch that serves as a parking lot is just beyond the outfield fence. There are no parking attendants, police officers, or turnstiles at this game of the Israel Baseball League. A man sits at a wooden table selling tickets: this isn’t Yankee Stadium. But just as “the House That Ruth Built” is an oasis in the Bronx, the field at Kibbutz Gezer is likewise an oasis.
The players in Israel’s National Baseball League wear uniforms with Hebrew letters and managers don jerseys with names written in Biblical text. The smell of grilled meat permeates the heavy summer Israel air. The eight-wide lines at most Major League ballpark concession stands, are a sight not sorely missed here. There are no closed circuit televisions for the inning and a half of baseball you may miss buying a soda, abeer, and a burger. Food and beverage prices are reasonable and the service thorough.
Bryan Adams or Hava Nagila?
The speakers blare music from the Beatles to Bryan Adams ‘Summer of 69’ between innings. One spectator suggests Israeli or Jewish music as more appropriate. Another spectator beside me, this his sixth game this season thinks aloud: “Nice pitching today. I hope this league makes it.” YMCA blares on the speakers as the final out of the third is recorded. A senior member of the crowd dances to the tunes to hearty laughs from his adult children; a few younger fans are inspired and the area behind home plate becomes a Bar Mitzvah-like celebration.
The feeling at Gezer Park is one of “total access” and excitement. The energy is contagious from adult to child and child to adult. The players mingle with fans prior to first pitch and wait on-line for Burger’s Bar with fans after the game. The personnel, managers, and umpires are serious and personable. My notes are interrupted by a mid-inning announcement: “Davening Mincha behind Burger’s Bar, now.” This is definitely not Yankee Stadium. This is no-frills, no concrete, no dugouts(rather a metal frame and a few tarps), no nosebleed seats and no Cracker Jacks. And that which is missing is barely noticed as Matisyahu reverberates through the speakers!
I am interrupted from conversation with a friend at the beginning of the next inning as Willis Bumphus smashes a ball deep over the left field fence. Several young fans stationed in front of the sunflower fields run after the ball. The magnificent backdrop of Tal Gezer looms behind the field, the sun blaring off a sign that reads: ‘Kibbutz Gezer Olive Oil’.
I look up to the sky in thought and notice no Jumbo-747’s screaming through the light-blue cloudless sky while drowning the music, the talking, the announcer; a small single-engine Cessna-type buzzes several hundred feet above…about the nosebleed seats I stand corrected.
Focusing back at ground level I notice over the course of the game “good-wood” contact on some occasions, subpar fielding skills and decision making, and some nice pitching and ball movement. The scoreboard is reminiscent of days before my time: small, ground-floor, changed by hand, and letters inked in white on a dark-forest-green background: No Stencil Required.
Willis Bumphus strikes again! A towering shot to the outfield and over the fence to the sunflower fields. No Jumbo-tron replay. What you see is what you get!
The bottom of the 7th inning and ‘Paradise City’ rocks the speakers. I notice the several tour busses of American students are laughing and eating; a father and son engaged in reliving the last botched play or well-hit ball; friends enjoying company and conversation. Could ‘Paradise City’ simple be a parable for ‘Field of Sunflower Dreams’?
The Modi’in Miracles lose this 7-inning game to the Petach Tikva Pioneers 7-1. I ask Art Shamsky, Manager of the Miracles how he feels about the league: “This is a professional league. I don’t enjoy when we lose. This is professional baseball and we are here to win.” His is sincere and personable and serious.
Losing pitcher Matt Bennett, from Australia, drops to 4-1 this season and adds: “There are a great group of guys here. The league has a few things to work out and I know we will see good things in the future.” I asked if he will return for another season and he responds with a grin: “If they will have me back.”
As I walk from the oasis to the dusty sandlot where my friend’s car is parked I feel fulfilled. I feel baseball in Israel is born. I know it needs tender care and nurtutring. I see colors and shapes of every variety playing baseball, trying hard, smiling and I see the towering Dominican Maximo Nelson, of the Miracles instructing a young little-leaguer how to throw a slider and curveball.
I speak with Nachum Kletzel, his brother Yonatan Kletzel, and friends Moshe Brum and Noam Glaser, their excitement is brimming. They speak at times almost in sing-song unison, at times barely-audible-garbled-voices falling one over the other: “The league is great! I hope it continues. There are already two no-hitters. I can’t wait to play here!!
I can’t wait to watch you giving instructions about sliders and curveballs and lighting up my children’s faces by throwing no-hitters.
Learn more about Israel’s new professional baseball league on the Israel Baseball League site»
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