Environmental & Architectural
Phenomenology Newsletter
Creating the Interior Stadium: A Baseball Fan’s Vicarious Experience through Radio
L. Scott Deaner
Deaner is a doctoral candidate in the Department of Geography at Kansas State University. His dissertation examines the ways that St. Louis Cardinals baseball serves as a regional symbol for the American Midwest and for how Cardinals fans use the team to sustain their regional identity. Scott grew up listening to Cincinnati Reds broadcasts on his local radio station in southwestern West Virginia and now listens to Reds games via satellite radio. sdeaner@ksu.edu. © 2007 L. Scott Deaner.
Phenomenological geographer Edward Relph (1976) suggests that people can become “vicarious insiders,” experiencing deeply felt secondhand involvement with a place without actually being physically present. He argues that people can renew bonds with place while being geographical distanced and thus revisit that place vicariously.
Here, I argue that radio broadcasts can provide a vivid experience for listeners and thereby evoke feelings of vicarious insideness. Drawing on my own experience, I examine ways that radio broadcasts of baseball games fuel listeners’ imaginations and provide a way to experience a game while geographically distanced from the stadium. I suggest that radio broadcasts of baseball games provide a more vivid experience and a deeper level of vicarious insideness than television broadcasts.
The emphasis on imagination is conducive to what sports writer Roger Angell (2004) calls the “interior stadium.” Angell argues that a baseball game is intensely remembered because baseball fans vividly recall memorable plays as well as the motions and habits of their favorite players. Through imagination, games and experiences are replayed over and over again in the interior stadium. Angell points out that a fan’s ability to imagine an interior stadium has been weakened by new forms of media, such as television, and new trends in stadium building.
By describing my own lived experiences of listening to a recording of a baseball broadcast, I illustrate the ability of radio to produce an interior stadium and the vicarious experience of place.
Media & Place
Experience
Technology and media allow
individuals to participate in distant events that once required
geographic proximity. Several researchers have examined how the
internet and wireless communication technologies have changed the ways
people interact with one another across space (Adams 1997, 2005;
Mitchell 2002; Scannell 1996). For example, geographer Paul Adams
(1992) argues that television, compared to other media like books,
radio, and film, offers a uniquely placelike experience for users. He
claims that, because radio can only suggest visual images, television
provides the most placelike way to experience vicarious insideness.
Radio has been largely overlooked in the literature of vicarious experience because many researchers tend to focus on newer technologies (Bolls 2002; Orfanella 1998). Several baseball writers and historians, however, do not discount the power of radio broadcasts to connect fans and teams across geographic space (Bellamy Jr. and Walker 2001, 2004; Rader 1984; Smith 1992, 2002, 2005; Wright 2000). For example, Benjamin Rader (1984) suggests that television cannot convey the fullness of the baseball-game experience. Similarly, Curt Smith (1992, 2005) points out that TV is passive, and one just sits there, while radio listeners must be more active, visualizing play-by-play events and becoming much more a part of the broadcast.
Lou Orfanella (1998) argues that radio is the most intimate form of media because it can produce mental images for the listener: [The] “significant aspect of radio is that it reaches people through only one of their senses—hearing. It [is] this singularity that [gives] radio the unique ability to entertain, inform, see, and motivate” (p. 53). Sounds stimulate listeners to create a picture in their minds that is extremely personal because every listener “sees” a different, but nonetheless, “perfect” image, which, in terms of baseball, is the interior stadium.
Drama is reduced with the instantaneous flash of images on television. Some of the greatest tension and drama in a baseball game occur during the game’s natural pauses and, often, the action in baseball is in the inaction (Burns & Ward 1994). The ability to reflect on the game and to anticipate the next action is greatly reduced with televised baseball. In contrast, the mental game experienced via radio is much more personalized. Listeners can imagine the game as zoomed-in or as wide as they want; the action can be focused on a single play or the field as a whole.
The movement and pace of baseball translates well into radio. Imagining a game is greatly affected by the descriptions of the broadcaster, as lags in speech and pace affect the way that listeners “see” the interior stadium. The announcer can describe all movements and actions on the baseball field and the “games within the game” (Smith 2005), whereas television can show only a tunnel-vision view typically focusing on a single player or batter-pitcher confrontation. Cameras cannot show the simultaneous outfield shifts, runners on base, and manager confrontations so readily pictured by a good radio announcer.
The role of baseball announcers cannot be overlooked, since they play the most significant role in the way that a game is experienced by the listener. It is through the word paintings of the broadcasters that listeners are able to “see” the fullness of the game. Announcers are the sole link between happening and audience. The announcer’s voice become their eyes and ears (Smith 1992, 2005). It is the announcer’s voice that makes the interior stadium possible.
Giants vs. Dodgers,
April 22, 1950
To explore vicarious insideness,
I chose one of my favorite baseball recordings—a game between the New
York Giants and Brooklyn Dodgers, originally aired on April 22, 1950
from Ebbets Field in Brooklyn,
NY, and announced by Hall of
Fame broadcaster Red Barber. I selected this particular broadcast
because it gave me an intense vicarious feeling of being at the
stadium. Here, I attempt to convey some of my own experiences while
listening and the imagery produced in my interior stadium. Red
Barber’s words are represented in italics.
The recording opens with crowd noise and the stadium public address announcer giving the visiting NY Giants lineup. There are a few cheers, but mostly boos from the Brooklyn crowd. I immediately begin to feel that I am in the stands, eagerly waiting for the game to begin. The announcer then gives the Brooklyn lineup, and the crown cheers as each batter is named. After about 20 seconds of crowd sounds, Red Barber starts his broadcast. He recognizes that radio listeners can hear the crowd: As you can gather by the cheers, this location being Brooklyn, he is giving the Brooklyn batters.
Before the game begins, Barber wants to make listeners experience the game as if they were in the stadium. He uses such phrases as your seat beyond home plate today and let’s look around Ebbets field. These comments make me feel as if I am sitting there with him. He sets the stage by describing the weather conditions at Ebbets Field: This clear, sunshiny, although it is a cool, Saturday afternoon. His words produce, in my interior stadium, weather that was not there a moment before.
Barber lists the names and fielding positions of the Giants lineup. Barber spells out several names such as ‘Bobby Thomson’—Bobby does not spell his name with a ‘p’ in it, it’s just T-h-o-m-s-o-n. I imagine a scorecard on Barber’s broadcasting desk. I realize how much his descriptions guide my imagination and how many aspects of the game do not exist in my mental picture until Barber brings them to my attention. I am aware of how effortlessly I change my “view” in my interior stadium, rapidly shifting from a stadium-wide view to a zoomed-in image of Barber at the microphone.
The umpires have just come out and there’s a conference on the mound between the wearers of the blue-shirt suits. If Barber had not brought the mound to my attention, I would have pictured the umpires gathering at home plate because that is where I have always seen umpires meet. I add color to the umpires’ uniforms. As Barber continues to read the lineups, I imagine what the players look like. Some names I recognize. My previous knowledge of players, uniform styles, and general traditions of the game guide the details that I imagine in my interior stadium.
Accompanied by the stadium organist, a woman sings the national anthem. I picture her near home plate and the standing stadium spectators. I visualize the crowd again, mostly men wearing 50s style attire—suits and hats.
The Dodgers have taken the field. I imagine the players in their bright white uniforms and blue hats running across the stadium grass to their fielding positions. Dan Bankhead, slender, loose-jointed right-hander. Roy Campanella, stocky catcher. Big Gil Hodges at first. Ed Stanky is first at bat for the Giants, in a crouch, right-handed hitter. I picture Stanky crouched, with bat in hand, at home plate. I notice that I view this scene as if I am seated in the stadium’s upper deck between home plate and first base. Why this view and why not behind home plate, first row—the prime seat? Probably because the upper deck is where I’ve sat when attending actual baseball games.
Barber says more about Stanky—stocky, small. The noise from the crowd is clear, and I can hear individual spectators, one of whom yells, “Come on Eddie!” I suddenly place myself with other fans. At first I think it odd to hear cheers for a Giants player at the Dodgers home field. I realize that all fans in the stadium might not be Dodgers fans as I previously assumed.
Stanky is walked and many fans “boo.” Barber notes the presence of the third base coach, and I place him in my mental scene. Here’s Robinson in from second base, Campanella out to the mound. I imagine these movements.
Barber mentions Hodges holding Stanky on at first, and I zoom in on these players. A ball is hit. I hear the crack of the bat. The crowd cheers and Barber’s words accelerate—there is lots happening and I feel myself trying to follow as closely as possible. But the action doesn’t exist for me until Barber describes it. The ball is not present or positioned until I am told of its presence or position. The ball bounces against the wall, but I cannot imagine it until I am told.
As I listen, I note that elements of the game often disappear until Barber brings my attention to them. For example, he continually reminds listeners of runner positions and ball-strike counts. After a play, Barber describes the play again, in more detail, with actions he had no time to highlight earlier. I replay the original actions in my mind and add the new actions. With each new detail, my mental picture becomes more concrete and sometimes more zoomed-in. The ball must have just suddenly sunk. The wind is not blowing in, the wind is blowing out. I add the sinking ball to my mental replay, and I become more alert to the wind.
Barber relates that a pitcher is warming up in the Brooklyn bullpen, and I move mentally to that activity in left field. He mentions the finely manicured field, and my directional “viewing” shifts again. A pitch is tipped foul and the catcher tries to catch the ball but cannot: Campanella was fighting it like it was a mad bumble bee. Barber’s details of the Dodger’s pitcher Bankhead—he’s busy chewing gum out there… He doesn’t look like he weighs 185, he is so boney and angular, and he has a tremendously loose hip motion— allow me to “see” a player I don’t know.
Stanky at second, Lockman at first. Stanky not too fast at second, Lockman can fly at first. Infield at double-play depth. Three and two count, they might be running, let’s see. The pitch [Barber’s pace speeds up], they don’t go, and it’s a curveball [crowd noise] drilled out into right field, it’s up against the wall for an extra base hit… plays it on the bounce, Stanky is coming around third towards home and scores on the single, into third is Lockman, and it is one to nothing. New York and Durocher was right when he didn’t bunt Thomson, when he produced that base hit. So the Giants have gone out in front and lead one to nothing, have men at first and third and nobody out.
I am made aware of other happenings in the stadium: Commissioner A.B. Chandler has just come into the ballpark now with President Branch Rickey and they’re taking a box down by the Dodger’s dugout. Third baseman Henry Thompson is about three full steps over toward short. Shortstop Dark is almost directly behind the bag. Left field is swung drastically into right, and they’re playing Shuba wider that I’ve ever seen any ballclub play him to pull toward right field. In other words, straightaway left field is wide open and then said third base is wide open. Shuba takes a curve, over, good, for a strike, two balls, two strikes. They’re really ganged up in right field on this fella… yelling in from first base, “Come on George you’re the fella.” Jack Kramer with one out, pitching his first inning in the National League, he’s finishing around there on the mound, there’s nobody on base, Pumps once, pumps twice, right-hander kicks high, throws. Fastball swung on [crowd becomes louder], drilled deep out into right-center field, back goes Thomson, way back in the corner makes the catch [volume of crowd sound decreases] 390 ft. away in the right center field corner.
Picturing Ebbets
Field
In the bottom of the
first and top of the second innings, Barber provides a detailed
description of Ebbets Field, which becomes more and more vivid in my
mind. He intermingles his description with play-by-play: Dark backs
out of there, takes the heavy end of his bat, knocks the clay out of
his spikes. The infield has been treated with molders sand this year,
it has a darkish grey color. Fine sunny afternoon [sound of
wind gust], the wind is rather gusty this afternoon, at times
strong and then it seems to slow down, but the prevailing course of
the wind is out towards right field, which is the short field here at
Ebbets Field.
For those of you who have never seen the park or never heard about it, well maybe we should describe it for you. Bankhead pitches 2-0, called strike. Right field at Ebbets field is one of the famous fields in all athletics, not just baseball alone. It’s a concrete wall in right field that goes up 20 feet off the ground, then there is an addition 20 feet of wire screen on top of it, so although the right field fence is short here at Brooklyn, it is very high, it’s 40 feet high. So you just don’t pop one into Bedford Avenue which is a big six-lane highway in back of it, or just a little bunted ball.
Foul pitch, 2 and 2. The distance down the right field line here in Brooklyn, which is relatively short, is 297 feet. Bankhead standing on the back of the mound. Over in right-center field, the wall slanting away is 395 feet. Then you have double-decked stands beginning in right-center field, going all around the rest of the park and coming right back again to the right field corner. In other words, it is just right field itself that has the wall, 20 feet of concrete, 20 feet of screen, and the scoreboard is also out there. The scoreboard is stuck out in front of it, which causes a series of angles.
The pitch, strike three swinging curveball. Well, Bankhead has struck out the first two here in the second inning, three strikeouts all total. He got out to a shaky start, walking Stanky and then having Lockman’s line drive sink in front of Russell, when it looked to be a certain catch for an out. Then Thomson hit the right field wall, the wall we were talking about. Mueller banged into a double play, the Giants had two runs, which from that time on Bankhead had gotten four outs when pitching to his last five men.
Ebbets Field is one of the smallest ballparks in the major leagues, it seats normally about 32,000. And part of its great charm is its complete intimacy with the game itself. You are never far away from the players… So whenever you are in Brooklyn, you are actually in the ballgame, so to speak, you don’t have any great chasms and great caverns and yawning distances, et cetera. You can see the players, hear them, hear what the coaches say.
There’s a lot of truth to the statement that has endured through the years. There is never a dull day with the Dodgers and certainly never at Ebbets Field. There’s something in the atmosphere around here, if something’s going to happen, it’ll happen here in Brooklyn.
Three-two pitch, a highfly ball resulted, deep out into left-center [crowd noise increases in volume], Russell the center fielder is under it, he got it [loud cheers masking Barber’s voice] at the end of an inning and a half it remains Giants 2 and Brooklyn nothing.”
The exceptional way here that Barber intermingles stadium descriptions with the play-by-play is essential to envisioning the wholeness of the game experience. With each new sound, I revise and finetune my interior stadium. Barber describes multiple aspects of the game in an almost simultaneous manner—weather conditions, the position of base runners, a player’s personal background, a pitcher’s motions and habits. One might think such information distracting, but the effect is much the opposite, accurately conveying all the smaller games within the larger game. This is what television fails to do.
Participating as
Vicarious Insider
Radio broadcasts of baseball
offer a unique way to experience vicarious insideness that no other
media is able to replicate. The fullness and wholeness of the game can
be reproduced in the listener’s interior stadium by sounds of crowd
noise as well as by the announcer’s pace of speech and voice
inflection. He directs the radio listener’s imagination in a way such
that many games within the game can be recognized. Listeners draw on
their own personal experience and knowledge to produce uniquely
personal images. Radio’s intimacy and active listening cannot be
replicated by passive television images that require the viewer to
make no imaginative mental efforts.
Although the baseball broadcast just described was originally produced nearly 30 years before I was born, I am still able to experience the game vicariously. The Brooklyn Dodgers moved to Los Angeles in 1957 and Ebbets Field was demolished in 1962 (Buckley, Jr. 2004), but the team and place seem real and present as I listen.
Traditional terrestrial radio requires baseball fans to be within local broadcasting range, but the new technology of satellite radio allows them to be far away yet vicariously experience a game in their home stadium. This is modern technology of which both Edward Relph and Roger Angell would probably approve because it allows people to maintain place connections important to their personal and collective identity.
References
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