After my first Braves game on April 7, 1996 (a 13-3 batting practice off the Cardinals) I saw in my program that special ceremonies were planned for the final regular season game at Atlanta-Fulton County Stadium that September 23. Since part of my reason for going to the Braves-Cardinals match was to see the historic park before it became history, and since I had nothing planned for September 23, I soon sent off an order for three tickets -- one for me and my two closest friends, hoping they could join me.

By September I was in graduate school full-time and was able to talk my way out of the September 23 class meeting. So, having been successful in getting a friend to join me, we loaded up my trusty old car and started the four-hour journey to Atlanta. Remembering my lessons from the April visit, I parked the car at the first MARTA (Metropolitan Atlanta Rapid Transit Authority) station we came to, and we hopped a MARTA train into town. As we came into town on the east line we could see the white beams and green-gray roof panels of the stadium off in the distance -- as well as the upper deck of the stadium that would replace the fabled arena we would soon enter for the last time.

From downtown, we hoofed it down to the stadium, an easy walk of a mile or so. As we approached the stadium at about 3:30 or so that afternoon, we encountered a few denizens either wanting to buy our tickets or just having a little fun at our expense. Sometimes it was hard to tell!

We arrived very early, partly to make sure we got there in plenty of time and beat the rush hour traffic, but also because I had hoped to walk around the outside and the inside of the stadium for detail photos. As I had never been on any of the upper levels, I hoped to see for myself what it was like and get some interesting photos. But since the gates were a couple of hours from opening, we spent quite a long time walking around the perimeter of the ballpark.

On the north side of the stadium, just to the right of the statue of Phil Niekro, a huge tent had been set up. Inside were rows and rows of tuxedoes. (I'm not sure if we knew then precisely why they were there.) We also noticed that protesters had stuck signs to some of the stadium's beams that stated how many poor families and relief organizations had been displaced by Olympic construction. Continuing our counter-clockwise orbit of the stadium, we saw the semi TBS had deployed for its broadcast, and in the south parking lot we noticed that two satellite trucks from two rival stations from the Greenville/Spartanburg area were parked together (which was very funny to the two of us, and we joked about hitching a ride home).

We stood for a while watching the work on Turner Field, then as a crowd began to form we stuck together next to the Hank Aaron statue. I went off at one point to buy souvenir programs when they went on sale, dropping $24 for three of them (!). Television reporters materialized and began to do their stand-ups and talked to people milling around, and scalpers were busy at work until policemen began to work them. (One broadcast a warning from his cruiser's speakers as we leaned against the base of the Aaron statue, and my friend and I were frightened because we thought the cop was telling us to get off the statue!)

There was no shortage of interesting people milling around outside. One guy, who looked to be in his forties, wore a shirt listing all the ballparks he had been to the first or final games in -- and he had pretty much all of them since the 1980s. He kind of stayed near us and at one point we spoke briefly; I was tempted to ask him about Comiskey Park (the real one) but shyness prevailed. Another guy, tall, young and tan, wore a complete Braves uniform with his name and the number 5 on his back, and had an older heavyset guy with a mustache with him. For a moment I thought it was a player with Braves pitching coach Leo Mazzone -- but it was only my stupidity striking once more! (My hero Terry Pendleton wore the number 5 then, and this guy looked nothing like T.P.!) Then there was this group of elderly tourists trying to bargain with a Braves representative -- they had all come from far away to see the game but hadn't bought tickets.

My understanding was that the gates opened at 5:40, and I hoped we could get in, find our seats, take a little tour, watch some batting practice, and get cozy for the pregame show. But fate had other ideas. 5:40 came and went and the lines grew longer, stretching down the steps of the plaza. The crowd, good- humored at first, grew progressively restless. Time and again people would cut across the lines to get someplace, and once or twice service trucks cut through the mass of humanity. We would see a gate swing open, only to shut once more, time and again. Some people began to get angry, and one man started to get downright nasty about it. The guy in the Braves uniforms led a chant and then started doing the Macarena. A hawker tried to sell baseballs that, allegedly, the kids could take into the dugout for the players to sign. Making matters worst of all was that my traveling companion had to use the bathroom. Really bad. First it was a routine need. Then as time stretched on it got worse. We began to devise ways to scale the gates and get to the restrooms.

Finally, after an hour and ten minutes, the gates swung open and the queues organized themselves. From my earlier experience, I knew that they would want to see inside my bookbag (which contained camera, radio and binoculars), but I had no idea they'd want to see inside the small pocket of the bag and the binocular case. So I accidentally held up the line for about 15 seconds while I fumbled with all this in front of the security guard. The ticket-taker, instead of tearing our tickets, embossed them with a special seal, and we were all given really nice embroidered commemorative hats (made in China, of course) and cool ticket-holders. While my companion found a restroom, I got my house in order, slipped my ticket holder (with ticket inside) around my neck, and located a food vendor for the best fare a vegetarian could get at Atlanta Stadium -- a large soft pretzel and a large Coke. (For what it's worth, I don't think meatless fare is any easier to find at Turner Field.)

After my companion had bought something to eat, we set out to find Section 139, Row 25, Seats 101 and 102. Sure enough, there we were, on the top row of the lower level and next to the right side of the batter's eye. A very nice usherette came over, dressed in a natty tuxedo (that explains what was in that tent!), checked our tickets, and bade us an enjoyable game.

The stadium was done up really nicely, almost as if it were a World Series game. Bunting was draped from the facades, and all the service personnel wore tuxedos -- even the grounds crew, wearing tuxedo tops with black shorts! Some fans brought signs that they hung from the upper levels; a couple that I particularly liked read "The Launching Pad -- Prepare for Blast Off" and "No Parking Here" (in reference to the site's planned use as a parking lot). And Beatles tunes echoed through the speakers, a reference to the stadium's most fabled non-sports event. Although the delay meant I couldn't take the planned photo tour, I started snapping photos right and left. This was the last time I'd see the old girl and I wanted to remember her well.

Shortly before the game began there was a ceremony honoring the politicians and service personnel who had been involved in the stadium's construction or who had worked for the stadium since 1966. The one tribute I enjoyed most was when former mayor Ivan Allen, the one man most responsible for bringing professional sports to Atlanta, said a few words: "Now, this here stadium, which we are now talkin' about takin' down..." (He made it sound so orderly!) Then Allen took to the pitcher's mound and threw out the ceremonial first ball, as he had thirty years before; in 1966 the first ball of the first game had been high, but in 1996 the first ball of the final game was low.

We were in for a real treat. Greg Maddux, arguably the best pitcher in baseball, would start for the Braves tonight; there was kind of a thrill in seeing someone certain to make the Hall of Fame at work. But with the Braves having clinched the NL East, Bobby Cox gave some work to guys who didn't get to play much. Most notably, Fred McGriff and Marquis Grissom did not start the game; Ryan Klesko took over at first and phenom Andruw Jones played center field. Luis Polonia took over in left and Dwight Smith played right; both were ordinarily reserve players. Jeff Blauser, who had been injured for a good bit of the season, took over at short. And, as was the norm for a Maddux start, Eddie Perez handled the duties behind the plate in place of Javy Lopez. But for me, the largely second-string lineup produced a double thrill: at third base was my hero Terry Pendleton, and playing second base was my very favorite utility infielder, Rafael Belliard. When Maddux threw the first pitch to Mark Grudzielanek, just about every spectator must have had a flash camera and fired it off -- it's almost a wonder Maddux was able to get it for a strike!

From there on, it was like a party with a baseball game thrown in. Being on the end of a row did have an unfortunate side, as the people sitting down from us were almost continuously needing to get by us to get into the concourse for one reason or another, and we were constantly up and down. (In fact, in one or two places on the tape from TBS, you can see my friend and I having to get up for these people.) On the other hand, there was a cute aspect to it: the usherette who had greeted us earlier took up with us and we kind of had a little running conversation throughout the game. Most of all, she noticed that I had a nice set of binoculars, and borrowed them several times so she could ogle Javy Lopez! As a happy by-product, she also located and pointed out where Jane Fonda and Ted Turner were. When I found them, I saw Larry King sitting next to Ted, looking very thrilled, and Larry folded his arms -- as he does on TV -- just as I looked at him.

There were little bits of entertainment and amusement between half- innings. On the big video screen (which was just about directly overhead, so we couldn't see it) the Braves showed clips of historic moments from the stadium's history. And during the seventh-inning stretch, on Ted Turner's request, the organist supplanted "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" with the infinitely more apropos "Auld Lang Syne." And I had a few personal thrills -- Raffy got two hits, stole a base, and scored a run for me, and Terry Pendleton got a hit and drove in a run.

But probably most entertaining was listening to Skip Caray and Don Sutton over my portable radio -- and watching them through my binoculars. At one point I could see Don having dinner as Skip handled the play-by-play; Skip said something like, "And we'll have the next pitch...as soon as Don is finished with his chicken." (Apparently Don's a noisy eater!) At another point Don said something that inferred a joke he couldn't tell on-air; Skip asked what it was, and I could see Don whisper something to him, then throw his head down in laughter.

Soon enough, it was the top of the ninth. Mike Bielecki came on to close the deal, and easily retired Mark Grudzielanek and Mike Lansing. With two outs, we were all on our feet and cheering for Bielecki to dispose of David Segui. Instead, the Montreal first baseman got a hit. But this only set the stage for bringing the stadium full-circle: the next batter was Moises Alou, whose uncle Matty got the first regular season-hit in the first game there on April 12, 1966. Bielecki quickly worked to an 0-2 count on Alou, and all of us stood, clapped, and cheered for Mike to get the final strike. But our cheers resulted in a 3-2 count. Finally, Moises swung on the next pitch and lined it to deep right...but Jermaine Dye reeled it in near the warning track. And the crowd erupted.

With the game over, the real party could begin. And as final preparations began for the big post-game show, the Braves turned down the lights, fired up a recording of "Celebration" by Kool and the Gang, rolled a montage of highlights from the stadium's history, and projected a really neat laser show into shallow center field, complete with a spinning tomahawk. Everyone was singing along, dancing (even me!) and cheering at favorite moments, like Sid Bream's slide home, Otis Nixon's catch, and -- of course -- David Justice's homer in Game 6 of the '95 Series and Marquis Grissom reeling in the final out. The only thing the crowd didn't seem to like was the Falcons highlights -- never before had I heard 49,000 people booing in unison!

Then the stadium darkened and Marshall Mann, the stadium announcer, intoned, "And now, 'Field of Dreams...The Grand Finale.'" And the goose bumps began. There was a brief extract of James Earl Jones, from the movie of the same name, talking about how baseball is the one thing that has never changed throughout America's ever-changing life. An eerie green glow and a misty fog wisped from the left-field gate as the prologue music from "The Natural" began to play. Then Phil Niekro walked on the field in a 1973 Braves uniform, waving to the cheering hometown crowd. Knucksie gave us all a thrill as he climbed atop the pitcher's mound -- he kicked and scratched at the rubber as if he were about to begin another game, and every one of us cheered as if hoping he would.