1/16/2024 0 Comments Guardians lost to timeSalcer is among those who got 1994 vibes last year, as the youngest team in baseball came within one win of the American League Championship Series. Here are five factors boosting attendance for the Guardians, whose 20,893 fans per game ranked 22nd in MLB through June 29 despite spending most of the season under. "We had almost 91,000 fans at the ballpark over three games. Louis series (on the last weekend in May)," said Tim Salcer, the Guardians' senior vice president of sales and service. "When it really started to click into place, at least for me personally, was that St. Cleveland has technically played 39 home games, but one date was a traditional doubleheader against the Marlins on April 22. The Guardiac Kids' most impressive comeback may be at the box office, where the team has seen a 43% increase (793,964 compared to 555,056) year-over-year through the first 38 home dates. The Guardians averaged just over 14,000 fans through the first two months of the 2022 season at Progressive Field, where the only things missing from the Municipal Stadium years were obstructed-view seats and a guy chanting "Jullllllllliiiiooooo." Last year's crowds reminded a lot of fans of 1988. And they are the best days in my week.Last year's Cleveland Guardians reminded a lot of fans of 1994. But on the long summer break I still seek out those days: no longer visiting museums or parks, instead playing chauffeur on secondhand shop tours of Melbourne. And now they are teenagers, they have changed again. When the kids both started school, those lost days changed their rhythm. The easy joy of those times when days felt endless, unstructured and loose, and it was as simple as just being present. I nearly did too.īut now there is such fondness to my memories. And once my son kept yelling out more on a playground swing, so I pushed for maybe an hour until he fell asleep. I remember wanting to see actual paintings in the National Gallery and not just chase kids in circles under the stained glass skylight in the great hall, and having to explain to my daughter that visiting the Vic Market involved buying all our weekly shop and not just a stick of cabana sausage for her to eat. Bundling kids into car seats or prams remembering snacks and nappies, drink bottles and teddies. But there was always the risk that you’d lose one of your children – or yourself – as you tried to find the exit.Īt the time it didn’t always seem so memorable. To mix it up we would cross town on the tram and head to Ikea to bounce on the beds. Visits to the Melbourne Museum were similarly distracted, and often involved nothing more than wandering through the forest of giant trees and then staring up at the whale suspended from the ceiling as my son tried to work out how it got there. After pressing every button on every floor we would head outside to the playground for the lunch we’d bought from home. There we would watch the microwaves exploding eggs and start the giant tumble dryer turning clothes, happily forgetting we had done it all only weeks before. Some days we’d meet friends at the button museum, my son’s childhood name for Scienceworks. After an hour or more we’d borrow a stack and wedge them under the pram to push home and read later. In those days we’d head along to story time at the library, the literary highlight of any week parents crowded in, sitting cross-legged on the floor as children clambered out of laps to listen to the picture books being read. Sometimes we had daylong adventures that wound around the neighbourhood and took us picking figs in laneways and jumping in muddy puddles. Sometimes we never made it further than the end of our street. My daughter would start out walking but her legs would tire and then we’d have to sit down on the footpath for a while until she had the energy to go on. My son would find a stick he had to collect, and it would come along for the ride. This year, while watching the stunt motorbikes flip airborne somersaults, my friend and I talked nostalgically about those days, the dreamy lost time of young children, where if you managed to dress in clean clothes and leave the house before two in the afternoon it was considered a success.īack then, distracted by chatty neighbours and friendly dogs, I’d lose half a day just walking down the street for a coffee in the Italian supermarket. Through them I rediscovered the magic of the crowds and the noise and the smell of the animal poo, remembering back to when it was a highlight in my teenage calendar. Mum clutched one little hand and I clutched the other as the kids led us through the gates and raced from alpacas to piglets, police cars to spinning teacups, their mouths open with wonder and their fingers sticky with the single Bertie Beetle they’d held on to for too long.
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