Talkin' trash to the garbage around me.

10 April, 2007

Take me out to the public art at the ballgame

Let's be honest: we shouldn't expect great public art at the various municipal baseball stadia that dot the major and minor population centers of our nation. These venues most appropriately host Norman Rockwell-esque paeans to Anglo-Saxon nostalgia that are popular with the septugenarian set. Take this particularly bad piece of art outside the Double-A Portland (ME) Seadogs stadium, sussed out by King Kaufman:
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So it looks like Dad is trying to scalp his tickets and Junior is arguing with him, trying to persuade him to change his mind. I'm guessing Junior mouthed off one too many times. Mom, dressed in an '80s shift that looks like it came from the free box and looking heat exhausted, annoyed and put upon, patiently waits out the battle while Sissy struggles in her arms.

It looks like the national memorial for the Unknown Unhappy Family.

For my money, however, the worst public sculpture in baseball resides in Chicago, where Harry Carey lords over the tormented, wailing souls that occupy Wrigley Field (otherwise known as "Cubs fans"):
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