Memorial Day at Turner Field, they say, felt like Patriots’ Day at Fenway. It was a great, if tortuously long, afternoon, full of pomp and ceremony, wrapped up in the bow of a come-from-way-behind Red Sox victory.
When the Sox David Ortiz hit his three-run homer to tie the Braves at 6-6 in the fifth inning, the stands erupted with chants of, “Papi, Papi, Papi!”
Waiting his turn at bat was Boston catcher A.J. Pierzynski, who later marveled: “When David hit that homer, that was probably the loudest cheer as a visitor I’ve ever heard, especially since I was on deck and sort of got the full force of it.
“It was one of the loudest moments I can remember in any stadium.”
And I think they were filming a remake of “The Departed” outside The Chophouse, too.
Why should Tuesday evening’s meeting be any different? Once more, Atlanta will invite into its home legions of customers who dare support the team in the third-base dugout. They will walk around like they own the place, as if for the moment Hank Aaron Dr. were Yawkey Way and the Fenway Frank was the specialty of the house rather than the Kevin Rathbun steak sandwich. They may even laugh at the determined symmetry of our left-field wall.
They will have their fun then they will scuttle off to their Carl Yastrzemski-themed dens, be they in Chelsea or John’s Creek. No harm.
They’ve earned it. Once one of those cities that reveled in its baseball heartache, Boston has won three World Series since 2004. All the while, the Braves have been perfecting the one-and-done.
Some seem to take great umbrage whenever an opponent shows up in large numbers at Turner Field. No matter how often it happens — and this Boston invasion is but the inter-league version of the scene whenever the Cubs or Cardinals come calling. As if, somehow, the true Atlanta fans should link arms and stop at the turnstiles anyone in a different color authentic team jersey than no grown person should be wearing anyway.
Rather than stew over this basic truth of living in an overflowing melting pot, we might as well learn to love it. It’s not going to be any different when the Braves move to Cobb. Dodgers fans have GPS, too.
Face it, Turner Field is baseball’s EPCOT, a celebration of cultures from all around the Major League world. These are often exotic, entertaining breeds of people that we should come to enjoy like meercats at the zoo. They can be kind of adorable so long as you don’t get too close.
Don’t fight it. Don’t chafe at the sounds of “Let’s Go Red Sox (clap-clap-clapclapclap).” Enjoy the unique multi-culturalism of the setting. It is not a reflection on the weakness of Atlanta’s spirit. It is, in fact, a reflection of the very strength of diversity that helped turn Atlanta into the hub of the New South. If we didn’t have all these people from somewhere else, we’d be (shudder) Birmingham.
In the famous words of Ortiz, offered in a much more somber context, “This is our bleeping city.”
We should be secure enough in that knowledge to accept with good humor all those who make themselves at home at Turner Field, so long as they spend lots of money and the pastier among them keep their shirts on at all times.
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