WORKING-CLASS BASEBALL : The Promotions Are Odd, but Teams Break Even at the Ballparks Where Beer, Birds and Batters Go Head to Head for Fans’ Affection

When baseball was first teamed with apple pie and America, there were no concrete stadiums or painted, synthetic fields.

The players back then thought agents belonged in spy movies and a strike was a pitch over the plate. It was a much simpler game.

Maybe that’s why spending a few hours at a California League game is so refreshing. Maybe that’s why Ken McMullen, Jim Colborn and Jim Biby would like to bring minor league baseball to Ventura County.

Norman Rockwell would have had a field day at any of these ballparks.

Go to a game early and you can watch fuzzy-cheeked kids frolic in the stands or chase down a foul ball during batting practice. Later, those same kids will don game uniforms, stick a plug of chaw in their mouths and take the field, hoping their performance that night will bring them a step closer to the major leagues.

The game is professional baseball, but don’t be fooled by the terminology. It’s a long way from Class A to the majors. It’s even a long way to Double-A and Triple-A, the next two stops on the way to the big leagues. And the funny thing is, the fans wouldn’t have it any other way.

Herbert and Annette Lyons have missed only two games in the three years that the Redwood Pioneers have called Rohnert Park, Calif., home.

Annette, 63, says she prefers attending a Class-A ballgame to watching a big league game because “the players hustle all the time. They’re kids struggling to make and they never stop trying. They’re nice kids. They grow on you and you kind of adopt them after a while.”

The Lyons say they enjoy the atmosphere of a small ballpark almost as much as their relationship with the players.

“It’s a nice place to come and relax and see a good game,” Annette said. “We hate when it gets crowded here, though. I come here to watch a ballgame, not to listen to gossip. Some people around here talk about everything but the game. We like to sit by ourselves so we can concentrate.”

Jethro McIntyre, rookie manager of the San Jose Bees, says that baseball’s most loyal followers are the minor league fans.

“They’re a different breed,” said McIntyre, who played in eight cities during his nine-year minor league career as a pitcher. “They’re very hard-working people who may not have the highest-paying jobs. There’s not much entertainment they can afford so they come out and watch us. Maybe they can relate to our struggles. Those people, they’re the ones who make this game as great as it is.

“People say Reggie Jackson is a superstar? He’s no superstar. The superstars are the farmers, mill workers, dairymen and laborers across this country who support baseball, from the rookie-ball level right on up to the top.”

In several California League cities the fans help players find apartments and, in some cases, off-season jobs. At Rohnert Park, unmarried players live with host families during the season. Most of them pay little, if any, rent.

“They take care of us and treat us like we’re family,” said Pioneers pitcher Scott Marrett, who was drafted by the California Angels organization out of Pepperdine in June. “The people I stay with are more like foster parents than just hosts. They really seem to care.”

Maybe that is why the players seem to pay extra attention to the fans. At the Class-A level, players don’t just nod or wave when a small child waves a program and a pen at them. They stop and talk, often for more than a few minutes.

“They never are too busy to stop and chat,” said Ken Hill, 52, of Fresno. “I don’t come to the games all the time, but I’ve watched before games and they seem very friendly--not like those stuck-up so-and-sos in the pros.”

And in return for that extra attention, the fans offer loyalty.

At a recent game in Fresno, fans applauded as the starting pitcher was removed after allowing four runs in only 1 innings. It wasn’t sarcastic cheering, but polite clapping. When the first two runs of the game scored on a ball that went right through the legs of the second baseman, the crowd groaned, but it didn’t boo.

Said Hill: “We’re used to seeing a few mistakes. That’s why they’re here, to learn.”

Welcome to Fresno, cotton capital of the state and the subject of more off-color jokes than any city west of the Mississippi and north of Burbank.

It has been said that there isn’t much to do here for entertainment, which might explain the presence of four television stations--all three network affiliates and an independent--at tonight’s Fresno-Stockton game.

Fresno has been home to California League baseball since 1941, the league’s first year. In many ways, its ballpark is typical for the league.

Freshly painted advertisements on the outfield fence peddle everything from chocolate-covered bonbons to Donald Duck-brand frozen orange juice.

Between innings, taped songs ranging from the Beach Boys’ “Surfin’ USA” to Rossini’s “William Tell Overture” blare over the public address system.

After 4 1/2 innings, it’s time for the nightly giveaway. Tonight, an announcer says, some lucky fan will take home “an official black-and-gold Fresno Giants goldfish” and a can of fish food.

Most of the teams have some kind of promotion every night.

They range from the ordinary two-for-one peanut night in Rohnert Park to the unique cantaloupe giveaway night in Fresno.

In Stockton, fans that attend 25-cent beer night sometimes never leave the concessions line to watch the game. Last week, the majority of the crowd left the stadium when beer stands closed during the seventh inning of a 2-1 game.

Said Joe Gagliardi, president of the league: “We have some promotions that would never fly in the big leagues, but most of these teams will try anything to bring a few extra people to the park.”

Rohnert Park has a promotion that flies--the Pioneer Parrot, a feathery clone of San Diego’s Chicken. Between innings, he does a pretty good Elvis imitation.

Most of the California League franchises operate on budgets that leave little margin for error. The number of people attracted by a rock ‘n’ roll parrot, a free cantaloupe or a kazoo might just be the difference between making or losing money.

Class-A team owners worry about little things that big league owners don’t think twice about. Foul balls are an example. Those aren’t souvenirs being tipped into the stands, they’re dollar bills. Each ball costs about $3.

Of the nine teams in the league, only San Jose has to pay the salaries of some of its players. The other franchises have player-development contracts with major league organizations. The major league teams pay the players’ monthly salary, usually $700 to $800, plus $11 a day for meals on the road.

The minor league affiliates pick up the tab for everything else, including uniforms, equipment and travel accommodations.

The teams travel by bus and stay in “medium-grade motels,” according to Reno Padres general manager Harry Platt. That’s one step above shower stalls with windows, according to some of the players.

Yet Gagliardi said that the majority of teams in the league made money last season.

“In Class-A, if you do a good job in a town you’re not gonna get rich, but you can swing a decent profit,” Gagliardi said. “Operating on a budget of about $200,000, you might make $30,000 or $40,000, which isn’t a bad return.

“This league is financially stable. On occasion, we have been forced to terminate a franchise from the league because it was not being run properly, but for the most part things run smoothly. The key to strong ownership is having a good rapport with the community and being able to sell. You can’t get caught up in the game itself too much.”

That may be true for some of the league’s owners, but not for Sally Holshouser, owner and general manager of the Redwood Pioneers.

“If I was in business solely to make money, I wouldn’t be in the baseball business,” she said. “You do not get involved in this game if you’re in pursuit of money.

“I am an owner because there is a certain fascination with this game. To actually have the opportunity to own and run a team is really a privilege. I work long hours and sometimes I get real frustrated, but when I walk into the stadium during a game and take a look around I get a special feeling of accomplishment. Only baseball can do that to you.”

Walking into an empty California League stadium, however, would not inspire any goose bumps. The stadium proposed for Camarillo would be both attractive and busy, according a study released this week by Harrison Price Co. of Los Angeles.

The planning firm estimated attendance for baseball games at a proposed Camarillo Multipurpose Stadium during its first year at 1,238. In the first 10 years, total attendance at events from baseball to circuses and concerts is estimated to climb from 190,650 a year to 307,860.

Most of the California League’s playing fields, however, are barely a cut above those at a Division I college. They seat 1,550 to 6,000 fans, but rarely are half-filled.

During the spring months, the weather at some ballparks can be merciless, cutting attendance to a minimum.

Platt said that at one early game in Reno this season only two fans stayed for the ninth inning.

“The temperature was down about 20 degrees and the wind was howling, but that couple stayed huddled in the bleachers,” Platt said. “I think they were the pitcher’s parents.”

Moana Stadium in Reno is notorious around the league for its weird climate. A stiff breeze continuously blows from left to right field, making the park a home-run hitter’s haven. Tape-measure shots as long as 738 feet reportedly have been hit.

Said Bob Grandstaff, Reno third baseman: “I’ve seen pop flies that I thought the second baseman would catch get into a jet stream and sail right over the fence. I feel sorry for the pitchers.”

He also had some unkind words for the field itself.

“We call it astrorock,” Grandstaff said. “The hops are unbelievable. I’ve taken more than my share of shots off the body because of bad hops. I had one player from another team tell me that after a few games here he had to teach himself the fundamentals of taking a ground ball all over again.”

But even Grandstaff has few major complaints about his minor league situation.

“The Cal League is a good league,” he said. “The parks are pretty good, the people are nice and the travel isn’t all that bad. It’s not the big leagues, but you can’t expect perfection down here. You have to work your way up.

“When something goes wrong, you chalk it up to experience. That’s just life in the minor leagues.”