So long, Beavers

After work last night, I decided to head down to PGE Park to catch the Portland Beavers one last time before the Triple-A franchise leaves town. The Beavers are bailing because they were unable to find a site for a new stadium after their owner bought the Portland Timbers and the Major League Soccer czars decreed that you couldn't use the same stadium for soccer and baseball.

Honestly, I don't have any great emotional attachment to the Beavs, even though I've seen a handful or two of games over the years. During that time, they've been affiliated with the Pirates, Phillies, Rockies and Padres -- none of them my favorite major league teams -- and the only bonafide star I've seen was former Dodgers pitcher Fernando Valenzuela.

But back to last night. It was the opening game of their final four-game homestand and by the time I arrived in the fifth inning, the Beavers were trailing, 6-0. They wound up losing, 9-2, but what I took away from the experience is the same as if they'd won by the same score. And that is ... an appreciation for the timeless qualities and universal behaviors that come with the sport when it's played at this level.

Consider these snippets:

-- Kids in their Little League jerseys. My favorite: a little guy with a green T-shirt that said "JOEY" on the back, above the number 5.
-- Grandpas in their vintage Portland Beavers caps and jerseys, their ample bellies straining against the fabric.
-- Young families, some with kids in strollers, out for a night of wholesome entertainment.
-- Young women in dresses and heels, out for a night of entertainment.
-- A red-headed teenager, leaning into his dad, maybe too old to be doing so but not embarrassed in the slightest.
-- A row of guys in front of me, wearing tattered baseball caps and swilling beer from plastic cups. One of them leading the ubiquitous cheer, "Let's go, Beavers, let's go! Let's go, Beavers, let's go!"
-- A row of young ladies behind me, chatting about boyfriends and relationships, suburban vs. city schools, jobs and homeownership.
-- Mid-inning entertainment that included the obligatory T-shirt toss to the crowd and a Frisbee giveaway. When a couple of fans tossed theirs onto the field, they were roundly booed for causing the umpires to halt play. (Now that's a sign of an intelligent baseball crowd.)

I didn't stick around for the post-game fireworks. But I did leave with a sense of satisfaction, glad that I went, but also a sense of loss. People go to the ballpark for a good time -- to yell at the umpires, to cheer a good play, to root for the home team (even when they're mired in last place), to scarf down a bratwurst and a brewski. In today's culture, when we communicate with tweets and texts and entertain ourselves with "reality" shows and viral videos, it's nice to find a common ground that brings together people of all ages and income brackets, united in watching young athletes throwing, hitting and fielding a hard, white ball.