BIRMINGHAM, Ala. (AP) Time for a little history lesson.
Just a few miles west of downtown Birmingham, tucked into a neighborhood of modest homes the way ballparks used to be, sits a stately green time capsule known as Rickwood Field.
In a couple of months, this place will officially mark its 109th birthday. Stadium officials went ahead with the most perfect of celebrations on the last Wednesday of May.
A ballgame.
I think this is as just good as any of those new ballparks, Leroy Miller, a veteran of the Negro Leagues, said from a seat along the third-base line.
Hes right, even though you wont find a single luxury box or club seat or sushi stand at 10,000-seat Rickwood Field.
In the late 1980s, when the Barons moved to a ritzy new stadium in the suburbs and Rickwood seemed destined for the wrecking ball like nearly all of its contemporaries, a group of dedicated locals set out to preserve this crumbling yet marvelous structure.
Against all odds, they succeeded in saving what is now Americas oldest ballpark.
Yep, older than Fenway Park by two years, older than Wrigley Field by four. The only surviving ballpark, its believed, from the old Negro Leagues.
Once a year, the Double-A Birmingham Barons return to their former home for a daytime game known as the Rickwood Classic. Its a nostalgic pilgrimage that any baseball fan should make at least once in their lifetime, but its also a sobering reminder of the history lost and a call to fight with all our might to preserve those ancient sporting relics that remain.
You take away this ballpark, Miller said, you take away the memories.
Theyre still making memories at Rickwood Field.
As the temperature soared into the 90s under a blistering sun, the Barons hosted their rival from right down I-65, the Montgomery Biscuits.
The Biscuits prevailed, 9-4.
The score was irrelevant.
This was about the fans decked out in Victorian suits and flowing dresses inspired by the early years of the previous century, about umpires and ushers in bow ties, about a lineup board just inside the main entrance written out in chalk, where a father studiously filled in his scorecard under the watchful eye of his young son.
This was about the aging veterans of the Negros Leagues getting another chance to shine, to pose for a group picture on the field before shuffling slowly to their seats behind the Biscuits dugout, where they reminisced about a game that provided so much hope but also broke their hearts with its racial intolerance.
This was about the families that invaded the field almost as soon as the last out was recorded, to see who could run the bases the fastest, to break out their gloves for a game of catch, to pose for selfies in front of the hand-operated scoreboard and the vintage advertising signs ringing the outfield wall, which urged fans to drink Coca-Cola because it Relieves Fatigue or an admonishment from U.S. Steel to Play It Safe, on the job, off the job.
