SACCO: Sights, sounds of baseball

STAUNTON
After traveling though the carbon-monoxide maw lined with stop-and-go-make-up-your-mind-already stoplights called Richmond Road, past a downtown that reeks of history, hoity-toit and teen angst — from the looks of those hanging outside a store called the “Dragon’s Horde” — you finally reach the jewel.

It’s rimmed with trees, hugged by a neighborhood on one side and a flat-as-Indiana parking lot to the other.

The whole place smells of lilacs, or is that honeysuckle?

Ah, who cares, you’ll say to no one in particular, this is baseball and you don’t care about the flora, only the uniformed fauna throwing balls that sizzle back and forth in the outfield.

Mits snapping, spitting sunflower seeds and yukking it up.

No matter how many fans show up at Moxie Stadium, it always looks crowded. From the off-the-beaten-path football tossing and “hot-box” playing (“That’s what we call it in Waynesboro,” says 13-year-old Hunter Wade. “Not sure what they call it here.”) to the old-timers walking up a driveway turned pedestrian thoroughfare that rings its way around the grandstand and to the back end where — ah, yes, there’s the smell — you see the line for the concession stands. Melting into the crowd, the nameless, faceless conversations around you fall upon your ears like crashing waves.

“North Korea? That guy’s crazy,” someone says.

“Generals in first place.”

“She’s having her third baby.”

“Pepperoni.”

It’s tough to keep up with them. So you don’t even try.

Before you know it, it’s your turn and you slap some cash on the table.

“Cheeseburger, please,” and the unsmiling lady takes your money, hands you a laminated paper “token” in the shape of a burger and points behind you. “Give it to him,” she says. “That’s how it works.”

“Him” is Harry Dull.

Smiling; spatula in one hand and a quick-to-use friendly wave in the other, he leans over a grill that flames up with each drip of grease. Shuffling the burgers to the top rack and back to the bottom to keep them from charring too much.

Eyes sunk deep into his head, slightly hidden behind the faded blue bill of his hat, his face wet with sweat.

“Been doing this for, oh, six, maybe seven years,” he says, never stopping his routine of throwing burgers on a bun and wrapping them up in something called “interfolded delicatessen paper.” (Your guess is as good as anybody’s.)

A Staunton native?

“All my life,” he says and he’s been at the ballpark since 5:30 p.m., grilling, wrapping and throwing his early burgers in a warmer.

“We’ll go through those right quick,” he says. His office is outside, nestled in a makeshift shelter with “Harry’s Burger Barn” in blue letters on the outside. Can’t find it? “Right next to ‘J and G’s Ice Cream Shack,’ ” he says.

It’s the kind of place where a bit of cool air comes through, the condiments are “around the side,” he says with a point, and some guy named “Charlie” with grey mutton chops grabs himself a little something to eat before the game.

“One of the regulars?” you ask.

“Yeah, you could say that,” Harry says with a smile. “We got a lot of regulars.”

Before you reach your seat, winding through the teenagers holding hands, your burger is already between your cheeks and the national anthem is playing.

Stopping along the third-base line, six wheelchairs in a row with “Kings Daughters” stenciled on the back have great seats, and one of the aged occupants takes his hat off and slowly stands. Body weathered, but still looking like he could take on a whole regiment of Huns with nothing but his sidearm and a pack of Lucky Strikes.

“Play ball,” someone yells.

Heading toward the gate, where the fence along the first-base line angles out to meet the exit, you have to stop and pet the tan wiener dog sitting on the grass next to Gloria Craig.

“Sixty-five,” she says proudly when you ask her age. Her 8-year-old dachshund, Heidi, starts to growl and make weird noises as you pet her. “Don’t worry,” Gloria says, “she loves the attention.”

When the dog presents her belly, it’s time to start scratching.

The game is in full tilt and you throw your drink in the garbage can and begin to slide away.

Enjoy the game, you say to Gloria as you leave.

“Oh yes,” she retorts, putting a gentle hand on Heidi’s head, “we will.”

They always seem to in the Valley League.