On the corner of West Temple and 1300 South sits a sanctuary. A playground where men can still be kids, where families bond together and where seeds of love are first sown.
Baseball has been called America’s pastime, but in our culture there isn’t a lot of free time to be had. Classes, work and what seems like a million other obligations fill our schedules, and the simple enjoyments of life are often forgotten. But Smith’s Ballpark, home of the Bees, helps us remember.
It’s a place where games are both enjoyed and cheered. It’s a place where life can be savored in the form of a hot dog and a warm chat, with a game serving as nothing but background noise.
Everyone there has a different story, from the players to the people in the seats. There is the life-long baseball fan who lives and dies with the team, there are the nervous teenagers on their first date and of course the players striving to achieve their ultimate dreams.
There is a beauty to minor league baseball. While it may not bring the excitement and the thrill of the big leagues, it provides something else. It provides the chance to step away from life and soak in the simplicity of a game that is slowly being forgotten.
I spent 71 nights at the ballpark this past summer and left with 71 tales to tell. They started as stories about athletes, but ended up being stories about people. It began as a job and finished as some of my favorite memories.
At dinner last week with two friends I met while at the ballpark this summer, I began to appreciate how important the place had become to me. As we sat there reminiscing, I realized how much I had missed the place. I missed the games, the smell of grass and the sight of the Wasatch Mountains in the background. I missed the sounds of laughter and cheering, but mostly I missed the people.
In short, it’s the perfect place to spend the summer.
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