A Case for Rethinking the Post-Modern Ballpark Paradigm
1. The View from Section 212
Unique is
the only way I can describe it. No other ballpark can be transformed by its
fans into the equivalent of a 737 at takeoff. No other stadium has the
booming, echoing, audible resonance of this one. None has the quality of
plastic white light. Or the spatial intimacy created by its artificially
lowered sky…
Retro is
all the rage in baseball today. Retro jerseys, retro memorabilia, and
above all, retro stadiums. Ever since Camden Yards opened in 1992, stadiums
have gone out of their way to make reference to baseball’s early century “glory
days” when the game was played in parks called Ebbets, Forbes, and Crosley. The
success of such schemes (as defined by dollars and cents in a short-term
analysis of profit generated) has guaranteed that the ultra-conservative world
of baseball’s power brokers continue the retro building craze until something
more fashionable comes along. Proponents point to the old-fashioned materials,
the urban experience, and the quirky dimensions as the reasons that these new
parks are clearly superior to any version of the pre-1990s stadium, except
perhaps the Wrigleys and Fenways upon which the new versions are loosely based.
Some of the new parks [I’ll name SBC, PNC, Camden Yards, and Safeco Field]
approach spectacular. But the majority [in this class I’ll list Miller, Minute
Maid, BankOne, Ballpark at Arlington, Great American, Comerica, and Citizens Bank]
leave one wanting more at best; disappointed and depressed by the experience at worst. None of this second tier of new parks adds to its city’s urban context, one of
the major arguments for wrestling hundreds of millions of taxpayer dollars from
the locals to subsidize construction. None show any notable originality
or substance in their configuration or architectural styling. And none
will still be considered novelties in twenty years time.
I am
convinced that several of the nearly extinct modern ballparks from the
mid-twentieth century are just as valid, and in some ways more valid, than the
post-modern retro park that is fashionable today for the following reasons: purity,
memory, and authenticity. For the same reasons, I feel that all pre-Skydome
stadiums (including our own Metrodome) have a certain intangible je ne sais pas that has
disappeared with the invention of the amusement/baseball typology. I am not
trying to defend the cookie-cutter as the best type of stadium; nor am I
decrying the retro park as wholly superficial and inadequate. Rather, I am
suggesting that new does not automatically equal better; and also that the
future of ballpark building (especially a proposed new ballpark in the Twin
Cities) could learn from all generations of stadium design, avoiding cliché,
aspiring to authenticity, and doing what all great ballparks do best: provide a
graceful setting for the beauty of the game.
2. Purity of Form and Function
The
cloud-like white roof seems to emit a soft, dynamic glow- like a fabric filter,
diffusing the intense afternoon sun. The artificial sky mediates the warm
summer sun and a late spring snowstorm equally. We take the good with the bad…
The modern
era of architecture emphasized purity of form and clarity of
function. While often regarded as inconsiderate of context and human
interaction, this movement transcended what some would consider the eclectic
and unrefined styles that preceded it. Modern designs were unified, often
geometric, and operated without obvious historical references. Many unique and
inspired post-war stadiums were decidedly modern: Memorial, Dodgers Stadium,
Shea, Astrodome, Busch, Kauffman, and Olympic Stadiums. The trend continued
with a series of more brutalist, utilitarian buildings constructed during the late 1960s
and 70s: Fulton County, Veterans, Riverfront, Three
Rivers, and the Kingdome.
While this generation of stadiums lacked some of the flair of more eccentric
stadiums before and after, there is something to be appreciated in their
utility.
The modern
ballparks were typically geometric in their field dimensions. Baseball is
unique among the major professional sports in that the field of play can take
many different forms and dimensions depending on the particularities of the
particular arena. While the symmetrical layout of a Dodgers or Kauffman Stadium
may seem like a lost opportunity to articulate the uniqueness of the field, I
find something satisfying in the purity of such a layout. There’s something
democratic and simple about it that does not distract from the game at hand, or
bring into question the fairness of the playing field. The same cannot be said
for the strange short porch, dangerous angles, and tilted warning track in Houston’s new stadium,
for example. These features seem rather arbitrary, serving only the purpose
of providing some strange and identifiable quirk that could lead to some
bizarre, unexpected, or comedic situation during the game - like a cheap
homerun or severe knee injury.
Such quirks
lend themselves to the marketing of the ballpark experience, mixing identity
and commerce. The older generation of stadiums was unique in that each of the
stadiums had a name of some civic or team related importance. In contrast,
corporate sponsorship and selling of naming rights has become standard in the
newer generation of ballparks. Beyond that, the newer parks have been blanketed
in advertisements, sponsorships, restaurants, amusement attractions, hotels,
and gimmicks that make the true baseball fan nauseous: the contemporary stadium
is equal parts amusement-park and ball-park. The merry-go-round, the swimming
pool, and the choo-choo train certainly attract another type of fan; as do the
posh luxury suites and catered box seats. But the unfortunate side-effect of
these attractions is the distractions they create at the ballgame. Their
visual, spatial, and audible clutter take away from the beauty and simplicity
of baseball; and in some ways cheapen the game around which they revolve. One
more point I will add to the corporate complication of the ballpark experience
is the undesirable side-effect of increasing ticket prices and exclusivity of
seating. From 1991 to 2001, the average ticket price for a family of four to
attend a baseball game basically doubled, from $76 to $146. Most diehard fans are
priced out of the better seats and banished to the far reaches of the outfield
bleachers. In their place, cell-phone toting business clients and VIPs more
interested in making their presence known on the jumbo-tron than enjoying the
game occupy the prime seats.
The older
stadiums come with a sense of informality, of equality that is absent in the
hierarchical layout of the newer profit-generating stadium. The coliseum-like
layout of Shea or Busch Stadium puts all Mets or Cardinals fans in the same
vintage seat, in essentially the same seating bowl. As a contrast, the Ballpark
at Arlington
chops each price group into a separate, disjointed clod of seats which vary in
comfort and amenity as the price increases. One promotes the civic unity that
sports, at their best, are unique to promote; the other suggests the economic segregation of
society and disjoints the camaraderie of the fans in attendance.
3. Real and Synthetic Memory
3. Real and Synthetic Memory
A seven year old boy is oblivious to those around
him who bemoan the insufficiencies of this engineered bubble that passes for a
ballpark. Instead, his gaze is transfixed on Texas Rangers third-baseman Steve Buschele.
This man who existed previously as only statistics and a static image, frozen
like a mannequin on a baseball card, has come to life before his very eyes. The
game takes on a new meaning…
Baseball is
a game of tradition. Memories of
players and records past are cherished by fans. The ballpark, too, is a place
of tradition and memory. Every visit recalls championships won, players past,
and the bonding with friends and family that is facilitated by the casual pace
of the national pastime. The ballpark is the register of baseball memories.
More than statistics, uniforms, players, and mementos, the ballpark is the
physical manifestation of our recollections of the game; the tangible space
that connects us, through all our senses, to events of the past.
Strangely,
when we collectively recall the tradition of the game, we often skip over the
recent past and mid-century years to focus on the “good old days” of the
pre-war years; an era that few if any of us have any real memories of. There is
a societal tendency to imagine the distant past as some sort of idyllic era,
free of the problems and complications of contemporary life. These notions of a
utopian past are generally based more on wistful imagination than on any
substantiated truth. Of course, it should also be noted that these notions of
historical nostalgia are often cyclical, much like fashion, changing as the
years pass and memories become blurred. Who’s to say that the next generation
won’t adore those buildings which we condemn today?
New
stadiums today aspire to an early century ideal that is today fashionable- a
reminder of what we consider a vibrant urban and social period in our past. The
result is all too often a display of false nostalgia- replacing real, acquired
history with reminders of a synthetic, imagined memory of the “way things used
to be.” Far from compensating for a lack of history, this type of remembering
through architecture tends to come across as regressive and without substance.
Instead of developing a richness of their own, these buildings exist as empty,
rhetorical shells of an imagined and arbitrary past.
While we
now adore the timelessness of Wrigley and Fenway, we should remember that these
stadiums too went through a period when they were considered out of date,
unsuitable, and unsightly. Because they were able to ride out the first boom of
stadium construction, they are cherished today for providing us with a physical
connection to a bygone era. The modern, mid-century stadiums similarly
represent an entire generation of baseball tradition and memories- albeit a
presently underappreciated one that is on the verge of extinction. The presence
of classic ballparks from the 1950s and 60s in the landscape of professional
baseball lends validity to this colorful era of the game’s past. Preserving the
gems of this period is, in a sense, the preservation of the physical monuments
to our memories of those decades of baseball history.
4. Authenticity of Meaning
In
1983, a heavy snow load deflated the largest pressure-supported dome in the
world, and forced postponement of a scheduled contest between the Twins and the
visiting California
Angels, a reminder of the fragility of a 1/32” thick roof- 10 acres of teflon
fabric held aloft by 250,000 cubic feet of air per minute…
What is
meant by authenticity in architecture? Webster defines the term as “being
actually and exactly what is claimed.” Often authenticity refers to a design
that is true to its context (geographical, social and historical) and its
intentions. It does not hide behind falsities and thin veneers, but rather
exists as a unified and articulated product of its purpose and design problem.
The question of authenticity is not purely aesthetic- what look is more
appropriate for a ballpark? I have my preferences and you have yours. But what
is at the essence of the argument are the concepts of intention, expression,
and meaning. Difficult to define, but present and potent at a subconscious and
theoretical level.
The retro
ballpark purports, through articulation and façadism, to mimic the coziness,
the connectedness, and the material aesthetic of the early century stadium. It
attempts to achieve validity by taking these elements and images of the past
and producing facsimiles- suggesting an attachment to the past through
association rather than through physical connection. The truth is that the
contemporary version is, more often than not, simply a bloated, bastardized version
of the original. Far from a truthful rendition of the beloved blueprint, the
retro version becomes an awkward Franken-park; full of rhetoric but lacking
depth; not fully modern and not fully traditional, the retro park seems to lack
the real advantages of either prototype. For a version of stadium so concerned
with uniqueness and connection to the eclectic history of the game, many of the
retro parks have become simply copies of one another; they are the new cookie
cutter! This standardization is a consequence of a monopoly on the
architectural production of baseball facilities, where two large firms control
the design of every stadium imagined in the last two decades. Details and
design ideas are repeated in the same way as the multi-use parks of the 1970s;
except today they are mixed and matched seemingly without regard for
cohesiveness. The formula is well-established: start with a concrete and steel
frame, paste on ¾” faux brick veneer liberally, insert a few bronze statues of
team icons, a huge uninhabited turret at the home-plate entrance, slather the
entire concoction in some contrived historical reference, and voila! I am
cynical in my description, but the final product reeks of superficiality and a
cursory attempt at connecting with local identity.
The classic
mid-century modern stadiums, on the other hand, displayed an authentic
imagination- as do the classics of the present day. Dodgers Stadium was a new
kind of ballpark- a merging of time honored ideas with modern sensibilities and
materials. There is something fresh and exciting in the experience of Kauffman
or Busch- a uniqueness, a truth to their time and place, and a transparency of
form and function. They are somehow true to their era, and strive for a
progressive interpretation of the ballpark form. Moreover, they are true to
their purpose: a backdrop to the beautiful game they host. In the end, the
great architecture of baseball is like that of an exceptional art gallery:
poetic and sublime in its own right, but resisting self-aggrandizement in favor
of the art that everyone came to see.
5. Final Thoughts
Are these
unique moments, personal memories, and technical marvels enough to validate the
preservation of a comparatively unsatisfactory place to enjoy a baseball game?
Probably not. Does this mean I won’t miss those peculiarities, recollections,
and familiarities I’ve become endeared to? Absolutely not. The object is
inseparable from my memories of it- not unlike a child’s favorite stuffed
animal; unsightly and outgrown, but familiar and rich with personal history. My
only request is that the replacement lives up to the promise of the
possibilities…
Diversity
is enriching. Sameness in any form is stifling and bland. I would suggest that
a variety of different styles of stadium, dating from different generations and
architectural styles, add a richness to the major league game that is lost with
the senseless destruction and abandonment of those not-quite-yet-classic
stadiums that remain successful. Recognizing and preserving the quality of
those ballparks that are worthy of enduring (especially Dodgers Stadium,
Kauffman Stadium, the now lost Busch Stadium and vacant Astrodome) is important
to the history and continuity of the game. The same as the experience of the
city, variety adds flavor and interest to the virtual fraternity of major
league ballparks.
No comments:
Post a Comment