FanPost

PSA vs. MLB Stadiums: Marlins Park Edition

Hello friends, it’s me. Normally my staff writer gig keeps me out of the fanpost business, but seeing as non-Yankee baseball chat isn’t really in my portfolio I thought I’d get back to my roots.

I’m writing this from an airport in Ft Lauderdale, following an unfortunate series of cancelled, rescheduled, refunded and replanned flights. The focal point of this post concerns Mondaynight, though, when I had the chance to cross another stadium off my list: Marlins Park.
We all know the backstory of the park itself, the weasely way Jeffrey Loria got Miami-Dade County to fork over the better part of the stadium’s billion dollar price tag. In fact, the terms of Loria’s sale of the Marlins last year were such that he sold before he was obligated to split any capital gains with the county!
The toxicity surrounding Loria and the general terribleness of the Marlins as a team had formed an image in my mind of Marlins Park; a hulking, monstrous thing in the middle of suburbia, unvisited, unloved and undeserving of visitors or love. But mental images are made to be broken, and when a trip to South Florida came around I couldn’t help but snag a couple of tickets for Monday night’s Rays-Marlins tilt.
My first real impression of the stadium is that it is perfect for Miami. The park caught a tonne of flak for being virtually inaccessible to public transit. In a city like New York or Chicago, that’s almost blasphemous. For Miami, a city without great transit, the driver-friendlyness of the stadium and ESPECIALLY the multiple attached parking garages made it easy to enter and exit the area in a Floridian’s perferred manner.
The second thing about Marlins Park, tying into it’s perfect-for-Miami-ness, is the outward appearence of the damn thing. The building is mammoth, probably trying to take cues from the Superdome or Coliseum but more accurately resembling Charles de Gaulle airport. Hilariously out of place columns support the exterior of a sweeping domed stadium, and a full great forest of palm trees serve as a reminder should you forget what part of the country you’re in.
Entering the ballpark is close to a full workout, as after passing security you climb several stories worth of ramps to access your ticket level. This could actually be a fun concept in a perfect world. Comerica Park in Detroit, one of my favourite stadiums, requires a tonne of walking about to get to your seat, and when you’re surrounded by 40,000 fans this is a great way to let natural atmosphere build. Exiting the game is even more fun.
The Marlins don’t get 40,000 fans, though. Instead of the ramp walk being a source of excitement and anticipation, it felt more like a lonely hike on a disappointing unchallenging slope. Like a lot of things at Marlins Park, your enjoyment of the journey in is directly proportional to the crowd size.
Once you're in, though, the park really does start to shine. Wide open concourses throughout the ballpark make it easy to see all areas of the field while also leaving a natural congregating ground should you be the type to go to a game in a group.The crown jewel of Marlins Park is the center field concourse, which is left open-air and gives a stunning view of the Miami skyline. It's not as natural a fit as PNC's famous Pittsburgh skyline,and it does have a touch of artificiality, which if we're honest the whole stadium does. Still though, it's a highlight of the experience and well worth a long look.
This was a rare trip to a ballpark where I actually ate anything. I'm usually the type to grab street meat before a game or a full dinner afterwards. Being as this was a special occasion, and the fact that the park didn't really have much in the way of interesting restaurants around, I thought I'd give ballpark food a whirl. And boy howdy, was it great.
My go to at games is usually some sort of augmented nachos. It's pretty hard to get nachos wrong, and I don't have the courage of Kunj Shah to spend ballpark-food prices on something new and risky. With that in mind, my girlfriend and I settled on the BBQ pork nachos, which were outstanding. A lot of parks have gotten onto the gastropub trend recently, but for all it's other faults, Marlins Park may do it best. The pork was far more tender and evenly-sauced than it had any right to be at a baseball game, and I could probably eat a platter of the stuff alone, which is also an option.
The other great defining factor of the park is its price. Two tickets, seven rows up and lining directly to third base, cost me $40 total on the secondary market. I know it was a Monday night, and I know it was against the Rays, but you can't beat that.
The game in question ended on a walkoff throwing error, which perfectly suits the state of the Marlins as an organization. JT Realmuto helped us out by hitting a home run in the fifth which leads us right into THE topic of discussion at Marlins Park: The Dinger Machine.
I'll admit that when the Machine was unveiled I hated it. I thought it was garish, unseemly, unprofessional and tacky. It still is all those things, but the sincerity with which the Marlins lean into the stupidness of a spinning home run fish totem that made it more endearing to me over the past couple of seasons. Seeing the thing in real life sealed it for me, though, and I am now proudly pro-Dinger Machine. Sadly, they don't let you take photos in front of or beside the Machine, only behind it. C'est la vie.

So what is there to make of Marlins Park? There are a couple things done really well, a few that are hilariously leaned into, and a few that fall flat. The indoor-outdoor combination is controversial among fans and Miamians, and the nightclub in center field is so ludicrous I'm legitimately surprised any adult has ever gone. Mostly, the park is better than I thought, though. You can see the potential and the areas that would draw in fans of different demographics. In the end, Marlins Park is a good experience brought low by the fact the team just doesn't draw anyone. If the Marlins were ever good, and 40,000 people were in the park every night, I think you'd hear far more cheers than jeers whenever the stadium's brought up. Outright theft of public money notwithstanding, of course.

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