When I walked through the gates of Rickwood Field on Tuesday, I didn’t realize what an emotional night it would become.
I’ve loved this place for as long as I can remember, and to find it better than ever 114 years after it opened was a genuine thrill. That incredibly warm feeling I got looking at all the signage leading to the entrance of “America’s Oldest Ballpark” had nothing to do with the 88-degree temperature.
It now has a gorgeous playing field, yet still proudly displays the rust and dust that preserves its character.
But as the evening unfolded, there was sadness intertwined with beauty.
On a night billed as “A Tribute To The Negro Leagues,” the great Willie Mays passed away at the age of 93.
The “Say Hey Kid” grew up in the shadow of Rickwood, and got his start playing for the Birmingham Black Barons here. He’d go on to have a Hall of Fame career, one that featured 24 All-Star selections, two National League MVP Awards, a batting championship, 12 Gold Gloves, and a World Series title.
Watching the Birmingham Barons and Montgomery Biscuits take on the personas (and unis) of Mays’ old team and the Montgomery Gray Sox was always going to be special, but it wound up being poignant due to the loss of one of the greatest baseball players who ever lived.
While a regular season Major League game will take place here in two days when the St. Louis Cardinals and Mays’ former team, the San Francisco Giants, clash, it’ll hardly be the first time big-league baseball has called the Magic City home.
Although it took MLB brass a century to make it official, the Black Barons checked that box as far back as 1920; thanks to them, Rickwood Field was once the friendly confines of Birmingham’s only major league sports franchise.
But while it’s rightfully shining in the national spotlight this week, it never stopped being a beacon for me.
May 15, 1975, was supposed to be my introduction to professional baseball when the reigning world champion Oakland A’s came to Rickwood to play their Southern League farm club, the Birmingham A’s.
My dad and I were among the 7,000 fans who got to the park early, and I was able to get second baseman Phil Garner’s autograph and stand on the field with guys like Reggie Jackson, Joe Rudi and Bert Campaneris. Pop was more interested in watching Vida Blue warm up, since No. 35 was one of his favorite pitchers.
Unfortunately, Mother Nature was in no mood for baseball on this particular Thursday night, so she dumped a ridiculous amount of rain on the field and – for good measure – provided some lightning bolts that knocked out a couple of transformers.
No game … only a mad dash back to the Gran Torino.
Disappointing, yes, but there would be many, many nights of baseball to come.
Once the late, great Art Clarkson spearheaded the Montgomery Rebels’ move to Birmingham and revived the Barons brand, I spent more time at Rickwood than any other sports venue in the city.
I didn’t care that it wasn’t some state-of-the-art, “modern” facility. In fact, maybe that’s why I was so enamored with it. It was cozy and comfortable … if it was a house, it was a house where you felt like you could put your feet up on the furniture and not worry about getting yelled at.
And that’s a good thing, because in a sports sense it became my home away from home.
But only as I got older – and Rickwood continued to stand while other stadiums fell – did I start to learn of its rich, glorious history.
Seeing the iconic BBB Black Barons logo on the field allowed me to imagine the days when Mays, Satchel Paige and Mule Suttles began their Hall of Fame journeys on this very spot.
And to think it has hosted everyone from Jackie Robinson to Hank Aaron to Josh Gibson to Babe Ruth to Ted Williams to Roberto Clemente to Stan Musial to Mickey Mantle to … well, you get the idea.
There’s a certain magic to the place, and the game on June 18, 2024, now stands as more than a re-opening of Rickwood, but a memorial to an icon.
For the record, the final score was Montgomery 6, Birmingham 5. The result, of course, was secondary to the experience.
The moment I sat in my seat in Section 41 on Row 18, I knew I was back at a place that feels like home. And when I drove away, all I could think about was Wille Mays – and how I wish he’d have been able to make one last trip home, too.
