Last Sunday, we decided to go to a baseball game. Richmond lost our Braves minor league team over a year ago. A new team moved into the ancient Diamond, a massive, 11,000 seat, 1970’s monument to un-eclectic symmetry and concrete, some of which once fell from the partial awning above and landed in empty seats like space junk. Even so, it’s a cool place to catch a game. And it’s cheap – $6, general admission.
The new team is called the Richmond Flying Squirrels. That name came after a contest and some heated debate from people who thought it was a terrible name. I have no deep personal feelings either way. I have always assumed it was the purpose of minor league baseball to have odd monikers. Besides, Nutzy, the mascot, is eerily cool and does some gymnastic aerobatics. There is flying squirrel imagery everywhere; more squirrels than in my backyard, and that’s a hell of a lot or rodentry.
In reading some of the information about the team, I came across an interesting and ironic sentence: NO ANIMALS ALLOWED INSIDE THE BALLPARK.
I guess Nutzy did not get the memo.
