When home plate meets unlimited dinner plate

It seems like such a good idea. It really does. Combining the national pastime with an unlimited pass through the food line, all-you-can-eat seats for Rome Braves’ games at State Mutual Stadium have “winner” written all over them.

But I gotta tell ya, I’m miserable. Sure, it’s a “Wow, I can’t believe I ate that much food … and I can’t wait to do it again!” kind of miserable but it’s still miserable.

You see, when you put a kid in front of a bowl of candy, he’s going to eat until you tell him to stop–or at least until he gets sick. And even then, he’s still going to try to get more.

When you put a baseball fan in a ballpark and tell him to eat as much as he wants, the result is going to be similar. It was Thursday night, anyway.

That was the plan all along. My buddy Jarrod and I went into this thing with a simple goal: we wanted to ruin this promotion for the rest of Rome. It’s nothing personal; we just wanted the Braves’ staff to at least consider the fact that allowing a couple of guys into the ballpark to eat as much as they could might not be a great idea after all.

Making the money back from the $25 tickets (the seats are in the $8 section) wasn’t going to be an issue for us. The real challenge was going to be how much over the $17 worth of food we needed to eat to break even would we consume.

When scorecard meets menu

For the first time in my life, I went to a professional baseball game thinking as much about the concession stand as the ballgame. There were going to be two winners this night. One would be a baseball team. The other winner, I knew before the game even started, would be me. I was going to beat the concession stand.

And once I entered the ballpark, my game began.

First, we had to learn the process since Thursday’s game marked the first time this promotion has taken place in Rome. It’s not hard to figure out. Section 117, located as far down the right field line as you can go without getting grass stains on your pants, is the all-you-can-eat section, and when you enter a tent that leads to your seat, you’re given a wristband.

The wristband is to signify that you are an all-you-can-eater; to me, it’s a badge of honor, a signal to anyone who cares to know that I am here to dominate my friendly rivalry with the concession stand.

Inside that tent is a small buffet filled with hot dogs, hamburgers, barbecue, beans, coleslaw, soft drinks and, rumor had it, fruit. You can also pick up nachos, popcorn and ice cream bars at the concession stand behind the tent.

Before the game started, I filled a plate. Hall-of-Famer Bruce Sutter threw out the ceremonial first pitch. I celebrated by eating a hot dog. After Scott Thompson of Peachtree Station belted out the National Anthem and the color guard left the field, I toasted our great nation with a hamburger.

And that’s how the night went. The ballplayers played, the managers and coaches managed and coached, and the all-you-can-eater ate all I could eat. And more.

By the fourth inning, a thought came to my mind that soon had me nearly trembling in fear. I scanned the ballpark.

‘Let’s play two’? Please, please no

I was looking for Ernie Banks.

Banks is a National Baseball Hall of Famer who loved to play the game so much that his oft-used phrase, “Let’s play two!” became a cliché.

For me, a doubleheader could be disastrous. There’s no telling how many hot dogs I might be able to finish over the course of 18 innings.

Ernie always wants to play two. At this point, I was praying I could get through just one without breaking my seat.

But something happened as the game went on. And, honestly, it didn’t take long. Sure, I was still munching here and there. But, you know what? It wasn’t about the food anymore. I won that matchup early.

I realized that it was all about the game the whole time. I can dominate any buffet and for a lot less than 25 bucks. But, when Concepcion Rodriguez belts a line drive over the left field wall, I enjoy that more than any hot dog. There’s more heartburn when a pop fly lands in front of the third baseman for an error than after any plate of nachos.

Food is great. Gimmicks are nice. But the game’s the thing. When it all comes down to it, home plate is the only plate that matters. It always has been, and it always will be.

When I think about it, even though the Charleston RiverDogs, a Yankees’ farm club, beat the Braves 10-4, I’m not miserable at all. In fact, I’m feeling pretty good.

Welcome back, baseball. I’ve missed you.

Originally appeared on HometownHeadlines.com in 2008.