Is that Odor in the Air a New Pollution or Just Sushi?
BY NICK STILLMAN

Let me be your yoga instructor for just a minute. Close your eyes, relax your muscles and visualize. It’s May of 1963. You look down at your feet — you’re wearing Converse All-Stars. John F. Kennedy is president. Carl Yastrzemski is leading the league in hitting.
You’re an Oberlin student, and like most everyone in college, are budget-minded. Like much of the American populace, you’re a rabid baseball fan. You can rattle off Willie Mays’ slugging percentage, Warren Spahn’s ERA and the size of Ted Kluzuski’s biceps in your sleep. 
Oberlin is flat and hot. There is no Feve, no Java Zone and your black-rimmed glasses keep steaming in the early summer heat. But today will be the best day of the spring — you’ve been pinching pennies for a month and all that biology tutoring is finally paying off. You and a friend are driving your Ford Galaxie 500 into Cleveland to catch an Indians game.
Traffic is light and you’re there in 40 minutes. You shell out a buck for parking and follow the crowd toward the stadium. Getting tickets is no problem. You both drop a few bucks at the ticket office for some nosebleeds and head into the dungeon that is Cleveland Municipal Stadium.
After a few innings, it’s clear that any empty seat is up for grabs. The stadium seats more than 70,000. There are about 5,000 there. You and your friend move up to some decent seats 10 rows behind first base. You look behind you — the stadium is enormous and daunting. Eerily, you can hear every jeer, conversation and whisper in the park as the sound waves reverberate throughout the massive stadium. 
The bat cracks and snaps you out of your trance. A foul ball, spinning wildly, is floating over your head. You look behind — no one’s there. After a sprightly hop over the back of your seat and a bit of wrestling with an older woman, it’s yours. Out of the corner of your eye you see an usher hurrying toward you. For fear of him re-claiming your souvenir, you bury it in your pocket. You breathe a sigh of relief as he grins and presents you with an honorary Indians contract, given to every fan who comes up with a foul.
Hot dog, Cracker Jack, peanut and beer vendors float by. You sit back, bask in the hot sun and listen to the pitcher pop the catchers’ mitt. 
Fast forward to 2001. Cleveland’s Jacobs Field, inaugurated in 1994, is the epitome of baseball modernity. Big, gaudy banners surround the exterior of the stadium and the fresh faces of the Indians’ stars — Roberto Alomar, Bartolo Colon, Juan Gonzalez — adorn prominently-placed flags, deifying these seeming immortals for their exceptional athletic ability. Best of all, it’s right on East 9th street, just off of Route 71.
You may not have to save for a month to attend an Indians game now, but a good seat will probably run you at least $30. This year, tickets can actually be secured through the box office since the Indians sell-out streak has finally subsided. But if you want a quality seat, you’ll probably have to try the scalpers.
A successful bartering session with scalpers only adds to the intoxication of attending a game. However, this isn’t something anyone should do without knowing the tricks of the trade — they’ll rob you blind if they can. The first necessity is to have a map of the Jacobs Field seating plan handy. That way, you can evaluate for yourself what it means when your scalper tells you the seat is “right on the field.” 
The second essential to mastering the scalpers is to play serious hardball. Get on the street at least an hour and a half before the game, get a feel for what seats are going for what prices and don’t let them intimidate you into buying a seat you don’t want. If you’re a stickler for frugality, the key is to wait until the game is just about to begin or already has. Then, there shouldn’t be much of a problem finding desperate sellers willing to relinquish tickets for less than face value. Remember, at this point, the ball is in your court.
Another valuable ticket resource is ebay.com. On Thursday afternoon, two tickets for Friday’s game against Detroit were still available for a paltry $35. Just remember to leave yourself enough time to receive the tickets in the mail.
The park has all the perks that most modern stadiums should. None of the seats are obstructed — even a bad seat is pretty good. There’s also a lot of room between the seats, something a fan raised in Fenway Park can appreciate. There are even multi-national cuisines available, including sushi.
Despite these treats, something is missing from baseball today. Looking around at Jacob’s Field crowds, you’ll see a lot of people on cell phones, a lot of people who spend more time in the beer lines than in their seat and an astounding number of “fans” paying absolutely no attention to the game.
Today’s rising ticket prices are changing the demographics of baseball fans. Students may never be able to afford attending a game more than a few times a year — that’s reality. What also used to be a reality was a working class fan base most teams could boast about. A game once was leisure for workers, the middle class and the petty bourgeoisie alike. 
These days, you won’t see many working class families at a game. Unless they got lucky with the scalpers, a Saturday afternoon treat for the family is out of the question.
The necessity for a salary cap in Major League Baseball becomes more apparent each year. Teams are losing diehard fans who don’t fit the economic profile of the “new baseball fan” and more and more tickets are being allotted to faceless corporations.
Along with the glorious odor of hot dogs and beer, there’s another smell in the air — pollution. Or is that just the sushi?

Your Handy-Dandy Guide to the 2001 MLB Season
BY ZACHARY PRETZER

I’ve come to a revelation. Well, not so much a revelation, but a contented thought: it’s all right to make wild predictions about an upcoming season with no more support than “I like the way this guy plays” or “I’ve got a good feeling about this club” provided the word “analyst,” “expert” or “swami” appears in your job title.
Henceforth, I am no longer the substitute sports co-editor for the Review, I am its senior baseball analyst. And I wear a turban. But only because it feels good.
Since I can see into the murky distance and pluck tidbits of knowledge like Kenny Lofton plucking a ball out of its home run trajectory right at the wall, I, in the spirit of giving, shall share with a few of the average fans a chance to get the low down on the skinny about what’s what this baseball season.

Will the Twins win the Al Central title?
Come here a sec. A little closer. SMACK. Now go sit over there.
I love the rags-to-riches-buncha-nobodies-Mighty-Ducks-4 storyline as much as the next guy. But c’mon! Forget about revenue disparities and salary issues — these guys have a stack of starters that rank as number-four guys, Radke and Redman have been injured and the bullpen is too thin to support their closer-by-committee. 

The Twins can’t match up with Cleveland, Chicago or the perhaps even the resurgent Tigers down any stretch. Like the ’94 Mets and Expos, Minnesota could turn a few heads en route to a better-than-expected third place finish, thanks in large part to the reshuffled schedule. Or, with a few injuries to the Tribe, they could even slip into second. 

Second?
Stretching it? Perhaps. But one thing’s for certain — lack of media exposure for small market teams just breeds these kind of surprises. The individual players are good — their role players are often more sound fundamentally than the Sox or Giants utility men for example — and the teams have two things going for them: a) managers who don’t have to worry about job security (Felipe Alou, Tom Kelly) and can focus on fundamentals and developing players (and hoping they won’t leave in two years) and b) the fact that, quite often, they have nothing to lose.
Is the NL Central still the toughest division in baseball?
It’s certainly the least gentle and probably the most fun to watch. Like football’s NFC Central, these are teams that grind, scrape and pound out wins. It’s a throwback division with quality rotations, teams that hit for a good mixture of power and average, a focus on avoiding sloppy mistakes, and some of the sharpest managers in the game. Pittsburgh and Milwaukee are the weakest on paper, but are more than capable of hanging in or at least mounting rallies. Can the same be said for Anaheim, Tampa Bay or Baltimore?

What’s with the whole swing dance fad? Is it finally on the way out?
Was it ever really in? Ha! But seriously. Ska/punk bands continue to fuse more pure swing forms into their tunes, and Big Bad Voodoo Daddy snagged that NBA on TNT gig. But this isn’t the Arts section…

Any thoughts on those less followed awards?
Yeah, I still think Ryan Phillipe was snubbed by the Blockbuster Video nominating committee. And I think that if Dusty Baker takes Manager of the Year honors, it’ll be because people feel he was snubbed last year. The Giants didn’t really upgrade in the offseason, everyone has seen what they can do, and it’s unlikely they’ll make major strides. 
Depending on how the Cardinals’ rotation holds up this could be LaRussa’s year in the Senior Circuit. The Cards are deep enough to cover McGwire heading to the DL, but, ironically, if he returns to form he could color voters’ views of LaRussa’s impact on the team.
Are you wearing pants this week?
Reply hazy. Ask again later. Actually, my J-board advisor has advised me against answering any trouser-related questions.
Enough with the semi-witty asides. Who’s going to win the Series?
On paper and on the field this question is certainly more difficult to answer than in past years. In the A.L., the Yanks finally went over the hill in the offseason. All that means is they’re not a lock like the last couple of seasons. Boston’s litmus test will come when their pitching staff falters, either due to injuries, Pedro’s annual two weeks off or inexperience. If Saberhagen et al can keep the team from skidding like they did in the tough spots last year, this is a team to beat. If not, it’s another September of fading postseason hopes.
Oakland, Seattle or Toronto could conceivably sneak by an injured or collapsing powerhouse. I doubt any of them could take whoever comes out of the NL — Oakland’s still a little too young, even with the Grieve trade, Toronto’s pitching — Sirotka’s elbow notwithstanding — is suspect and Seattle couldn’t put the pieces together around A-Rod, Junior and Johnson way back when. Why should things be different now?
I’m not even going to touch the NL (mainly because I’m a Mets fan and am still sulking over our pitching situation) except to say, as I cautioned last week, be wary of anyone who holds immedietly to seemingly sound arguments.
Braves in six.