One of the things I especially wanted to do during the Odyssey was take in ballgames at the new major league stadiums and, especially, at the old ones. I didn't get the chance to see the new Comisky in Chicago and the Tigers were out of town while I was in Detroit so I was intent upon seeing the Indians play in Memorial Stadium. They're scheduled to open a new stadium in 1994, so this would likely be my last opportunity to see them in the old park.

The Tribe had been playing well since the All-Star break, going 22-14. The town was quite excited about their prospects, not so much for this year but for the near future. This is a team that has a history of disappearing by June and their fans usually opt for some other distraction on a hot August afternoon than a day at the ballgame. But the team is showing signs of life and the fans are turning out to show their support.

Some 35,000, I'd guess, joined me in the stands on this muggy, hazy day. I found the rather innocent enthusiasm of the Cleveland faithful quite refreshing. They were excited just to be excited in August and nary a discouraging word was heard from the stands. It was a real wholesome scene, lots of families enjoying an afternoon in the sun (I'm even willing to bet that some of those families were Democrats); quite a contrast from the boobirds and naysayers one encounters at the ballpark in New York. I had a delightful time, finding that cheering for this young Indian team came to me quite naturally. The Tribe came back from a 3-0 deficit to take the lead at 4-3, only to see the Texas Rangers score 11 runs in the eighth to win it, 14-4. Not a good day for the bullpen.

I stopped, on my way out of town, at the Cleveland Museum of Art. They have quite a fine selection of 19th and 20th Century works from Europe and America. The highlight, for me, was the opportunity to view another of Monet's series of oversized works entitled Water Lillies. Breathtaking.

Driving I-90 northward through Ohio, across some 40-odd miles of northwestern Pennsylvania and on to Buffalo, New York, one never veers very far from the shores of Lake Erie, and though I could seldom catch a glimpse of the water, there was a hazy fog covering the hills the whole way that I could only attribute to the nearby mass of water. I had hoped to make it all the way to Niagara Falls, Ontario where I had a reservation in a reasonably priced inn but fatigue set in, so I booked a room in a no-name motel a few miles south of Buffalo and called it a night.

Continue on the American Odyssey.
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