Word: clevelandism
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...LAST TIME I SAW Cleveland, her park was worn and gray. The press box in Cleveland Stadium was shrouded in cobwebs. The Indians on the field that season--1985--were on their way to losing 102 games. A solitary fanatic in the last row of the distant bleachers was banging a drum slowly to wake up either the offense or the ghosts of the past. George Vukovich stood where Rocky Colavito once stood. The 5,000 people rattling around the 74,208-seat Temple of Doom looked as if they wanted to wipe the stupid grin off the face...
...something of a shock to see a capacity crowd of 41,948 stream into brand-new Jacobs Field last Wednesday evening to root, root, root for the best team in baseball, the Cleveland Indians. The press box was crowded; Manny Ramirez stood where George Vukovich once stood; and people were grinning like, well, Chief Wahoo. The fanatic with the drum, a computer programmer named John Adams, was still banging away in the back row of the bleachers, but he couldn't be heard through all the crowd noise. "Cleveland," said Indians pitcher Dennis Martinez, "is the baseball place...
...days, which swept across the past five decades, the Mistake by the Lake was host to geriatric front-office people, eccentric players and the entire entomological kingdom--one pitcher swallowed a moth while delivering the ball to the plate. Indians pitcher Bud Black, who made a brief sojourn in Cleveland in the '80s, says, "At the old ball park, it was always overcast, even on a sunny...
...pitchers and injured another; the savvy of general manager John Hart, who traded for Kenny Lofton, Jose Mesa, Carlos Baerga and Omar Vizquel, among others; and, of course, the new ball park, which is slightly derivative of Baltimore's Camden Yards but not at all derivative of depressing Cleveland Stadium. "What do I miss about the old ball park?" asks Hargrove. "Nothing...
...long ago, Cleveland was such a lonely place that, as John Hart put it, "you half-expected to see tumbleweeds." But now the people are patronizing downtown restaurants, buying everything that has the chief's visage on it and calling radio hosts for advice on what to do on the nights the Indians aren't playing. "I always knew this day would come," says Herb Score, who has been a pitcher or broadcaster for the Indians since 1955. "I was kind of hoping it would come a little sooner though...