The Polo Grounds Went Through Four Incarnations (and a Weird Shape) to Become a Legend

The Manhattan stadium seemed ill-suited for baseball, yet it was home to some of baseball’s best and worst   moments.

by Rich Watson

Its shape resembled a giant bathtub. The foul lines were so short they were more appropriate for a high school baseball game, and its center field could’ve been reached if one used a trebuchet in place of a bat. Not only did one of the winningest baseball teams play there, though, a number of the game’s most memorable events occurred at this place.

New York City’s Polo Grounds was unique among ballparks. Within it, the Giants dominated for years before the cross-town Yankees became a powerhouse. After the Giants left, the Mets moved in and established a new standard for futility.

And no one actually played polo there.

The “Other” Wrigley Field Was the Setting For a “Twilight Zone” Episode

This West Coast version of Wrigley Field only lasted one year in MLB, but it was often used for TV and film.

by Rich Watson

This post is for the Favourite TV Show Episode Blogathon, another long-running blog event—this year marks the eighth annual edition. I think the premise is self-explanatory. At the end I’ll tell you where and when you can read more entries in this vein.

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Chicago’s Wrigley Field, the home of the Cubs for over a century, is one of Major League Baseball’s oldest and greatest ballparks. Named for owner William Wrigley, the chewing gum manufacturer, he also owned the Cubs’ old farm team, the Los Angeles Angels of the Pacific Coast League. 

In 1925, he commissioned a new ballpark for the Angels and moved them there, on 425 East 42nd Place. It was called Wrigley Field before the one in Chicago. It also received lights long before its namesake.

Future Dodger and Cub turned actor—not to mention an NBA player—Chuck Connors played in Wrigley Field West. (I’m calling it that to distinguish it from the Chicago one.) Here’s an article about his sports career, including the story of how he settled a contract dispute between the Dodgers and two of their superstars.

The Angels had won six PCL championships before moving to their new ballpark, and would win five more at Wrigley. Even in those early years, though, it was clear the new park could be used for another purpose: making movies.

Paddy

Let me tell you a story about a woman I knew who loved movies.

My previous blog was about film. In the beginning it was devoted to contemporary ones for the most part. Then I discovered bloggers who wrote about older movies—the black and white ones. Over time, I devoted more space in my blog to the oldies as a result of reading theirs. I gravitated towards these bloggers for various reasons, but mostly because I learned more from them—about Old Hollywood, true, but also about who these bloggers were, what they value, why these movies mean as much as they do to them.

One in particular stood out for me.

She came from a family of movie lovers, her and her three sisters and their extended families. I’d never seen a clan bonded by a shared passion like theirs was, and is. Silent movies in particular was their great love, especially comedies. If they had built a shrine to Buster Keaton somewhere, it wouldn’t surprise me.

I visited her blog and she visited mine and in time, we got to know each other better. I wasn’t familiar with a number of her favorites. Her tastes often ran towards things like British dramas and Westerns, in addition to silent comedies. She had an eye for detail and a wit I found endearing; it was what kept me coming back.

Sometimes I would write a post on my blog in response to something she wrote and we’d discuss it. She had a perspective I found enlightening at some times, humorous at others, but I’d come to recognize it as uniquely hers. She didn’t write editorials per se, but through her reviews I learned which things in a movie she valued, such as music. She was big on American songbook-type material; ironic, since she was Canadian.

In fact, I believe I connected more with her comments, on both our blogs, than anything else. They let me see other sides to her: the wife, and mother of two—including a special needs child—who were her pride and joy; the performing artist; the Trekkie, the baseball fan. And yet as much as I know about her, in some ways I feel as if I’d only scratched the surface. She lived in another country. It wasn’t like we could’ve gone to the movies together.

Oh, but how I wished we could have. I always told her, one day I would come up there to Toronto and we’d go see a Keaton film together. The pandemic shot that dream down, but I had started to hope it might rise again. Now this.

I had ended my film blog and started this one and she followed me, something I wasn’t sure she would do since I talk about movies less often here. I’m so glad she did. Now her memory is part of this blog too, if only for a short time.

I can’t believe I won’t have her to talk to about movies anymore. She had been part of my online life for a decade and I thought she always would be. Watching old films will feel different now.

Patricia Nolan-Hall was a woman whose soul was tied to Old Hollywood and the memories they stirred, old and new. She was a blogger. She was my dear friend.

She was Paddy.