Dear Jacqueline Holm [General Manager; Quad Cities River Bandits]:
This is just a missive to let you know that I came to Modern Woodmen’s Park on July 26th. I did not try to say hell because no one seemed to be around in the front office when I was peering through the windows, plus I figured you would talk my family into staying for the game that evening, but we could not because once upon a time, a nefarious and now dead poet wrote something about miles to go before we sleep. I did find an open gate and gave myself a tour of the stadium. The TV crew setting up for the game did not seem to mind.
To be honest, Modern Woodmen’s Park did not reach my high expectations. Oh, it was nice and all, but I was on the road for 11,000 miles, visiting the elite minor league stadiums in our fine country, and while I would like to come back to see a game, I do not feel Ed Sheeran will be writing any ballads about your stadium anytime soon. I know your place has been ravaged by flood waters this season, but Modern’s Woodmen’s Park felt a bit tired, like a hungover Mark Twain. That seems to be false advertising to me, implying the park is modern when it feels like a place that Elvis impersonators go to die. There are still aluminum bleachers in the outfield. It is the year 2019, Jacqueline, rip them out.
I will say this, the bathrooms on the first side were exceptionally clean and a respite from the nasty gas station bathrooms in Illinois. That was some delightfully soft but supple toilet paper.
Since I was at Woodmen’s Park for about twenty minutes, I feel I can offer my expert advice to improve your facility.
- Spray the millions of dead bugs off the outer facade of your stadium. Yes, I know flood waters are wicked (I once left the water on too long in my pool and had a near flood outside my laundry room), but invest in a high pressure cleaner and send that dead river bugs to a better grave. It will be man-hours well spent.
- I hope all your employees are as courteous as the three parking lot dudes someone in the front office sent out to the river’s edge to see just who the hell I was. Those guys were certainly impressed by my custom made “Fear the Wood! Respect the ‘Pecker!” t-shirt that I purchased in Fayetteville, North Carolina. However, one of those guys was truly old, and he should not be sent out for potential muscle, even if he is Lord of the Parking Lot. When our eyes met, I could tell he possesses an old minor league soul, and he knew right away there would not be trouble, but there are some crazies out there in this world, and Ebenezer is not as spry as he once was.
- You have a sign with pictures of sixteen prohibited items near the entrance. I am not sure what the literacy rates are in Davenport, but those pictures are a buzzkill. Perhaps you could just use words as not to leave lasting visual impressions on the retinas of your paying customers.
- You really are lacking outfield advertising signage. Not only is that lost revenue, but that is opportunities missed to build lasting relationships with local businesses. Wade Howell [Vice President; Down East Wood Ducks and Hickory Crawdads] and I had a lengthy discussion about this over a few beers. That dude has maxed out his signage in a depressed placed like Kinston, NC. Before you say, “But Bads85, we have had floods!”, remember that Wade has had his city and stadium ravaged by two hurricanes in three years. The Hampton Inn in Kinston is still closed, waiting on FEMA money. Of course, if you had an assistant GM, say a guy who works remotely, you could probably sell many more outfield advertisements.
- Is that Drop and Twist in right field up to code? Nothing eats up revenue quicker than carny lawsuits.
- Your tent along right field? It resembles something one would see at rock festival where they put kids who have taken too many drugs. Once can almost tase the oranges and cigarettes. You should look to put in a permanent awning with a bar.
Anyway, it is never too soon to start thinking about next season, even with the playoffs coming up. I am sure you will have Modern Woodman’s Park shining by Opening Night — unless it rains.
Your friend in baseball,