Some Peanuts and Crackerjacks

          In his book, "Ghost Train to the Eastern Star", Paul Theroux opines that if what one writes is not autobiographical, it is plagiarism.  We agree, and while the topic of this month's post is our grand, old pastime, it is definitely sourced from an up-close and personal perspective.
          It has been over a year now since the last crack of the bat was heard, reverberating within the walls of Multnomah Stadium, a.k.a. "P.G.E. Park", a.k.a. "Jeld Wenn Field".  After a tenure spanning over one hundred years, our baseball team departed town, leaving precious few to mourn its passing.

          In their earliest years in the Pacific Coast League, of which it was a 1903 charter member, Portland first bore the moniker of the "Browns", then in succeeding years, they were referred to as the  "Ducks", "Webfoots", "Buck-aroos", and oddly enough, the "Giants".
          The nickname which became the fixture for the franchise came as the result of a newspaper contest in 1906.  That was also the first year that the Beavers won the P.C.L. pennant.
         The team moved to Vaughn Street Park in 1912.  Under the aegis of team owner and manager Walter "Judge" McCredie, the new facility featured an addition that was quite unique and controversial for its time: individual (as opposed to "bench") grandstand seating.  In later years, one member of clan McCredie was to become editor-in-chief of The Oregonian, while his spouse served as mayor of the city.
           Throughout my childhood and the majority of adult years, there has always been a Pacific Coast League, of which both the San Francisco Seals and the now-defunct Beavers were a part.  I still recall times as a pre-adolescent, beseeching my dad to go out to 16th and Bryant Streets to watch our Seals do battle with the Beavers.  One contest lasted into the eleventh inning....on a school night, no less.  Bless his heart, dad didn't wince or groan once, even though the fog and cold from the bay must have wreaked havoc with his asthma.
            Those were the days when hometown heroes in lower classes of competition remained around long enough for the fan to identify, and relate to.  You knew that first baseman Micky Rocco, or shortstop Roy Nicely would be fielding grounders in the infield tomorrow, the next day, and maybe even next season.  Nowadays, the only teams that can provide that kind of continuity are found at the major league level.  Even there, it's rare to see a player start and finish his career with the same team.  Loyalty has become an endangered species in the sporting world; not only for players, but for teams and towns as well.

When the Portland Beavers owner of record in 2008 addressed the city fathers of a need to relocate the team he had purchased, the "fathers" looked first to the grounds occupied by Memorial Coliseum; an architectural white elephant, masquerading as the venue for lower-tier conventions, road shows, and a team of high-school age hockey players which had long ago made an issue of deteriorating conditions in the building.  Before a serious feasibility study could be recommended, up stepped a small, but vociferous band of military veterans who wouldn't take anything but "no" for an answer.  Tearing down a building erected in memory of veterans was something akin to sacrilege, at least to them.  That the proposed ballpark could have been named "Memorial Stadium" did nothing to mollify the righteously indignant.
                 There followed a series of proposed alternatives, all of which drew thumbs pointed south by the city fathers: a vacant downtown Portland postal service headquarters building and property - - -too spendy; an eastside location, built within a city owned park- - -"not in my backyard"; a parcel of farmland on the westside- - -"money talks, but it isn't speaking my language" averred the owner.
                  So it came to pass that the biggest aggregation of ditherers this side of Capital Hill fumbled away any prospect for keeping our national pastime alive in the city of roses.  On Monday, the 6th of September 2010, our Beavers played their last game.  The record shows that on that day, they beat the Las Vegas '51's in front of a huge mass of hometown faithful.  The following day, the eulogies came in a deluge to the media.  Two days later, hardly a word of lament was heard or seen.  The boys of summer were now off and packing for sunnier Tucson.
                 Ahhh, but as a sage old Swede once said, "When one door closes, another opens".   All is far from lost.  Enter the Class A short-season Salem-Keizer Volcanoes!!!
                   While it will never be considered the "Hope" of baseball

diamonds, there is a jewel that is found, following a short drive to the south, which fairly sparkles.  Built in the span of one off-season with beautiful, unobstructed lines of sight throughout, it is the home of the San Francisco Giants "entry level" farm team. 
                   During every 7th inning stretch you can watch mascot "Crater" and his coterie of kids sing....to an organ accompaniment...the time-honored song.  You can watch the masked  "Roof Man" shoot Volcano tee-shirts from his specially-designed rocket launcher.  Most important of all, you can witness a squad of eager high school and college grads with stars in their eyes,  strutting their stuff for visiting scouts and fans.  No fewer than sixty-three (yes, 63) former Volcanoes have risen through the ranks to don the black and orange of the Giants, including Buster Posey and "Panda" Sandoval of the '10 World Series champion roster. 
                  Beavers, we still miss you, but bring on June of '12, and that first battle with those Everett Aqua Sox!