Reminiscences Under the Lights of Ebbets Field and the Polo Grounds
You may not know this, but I'm a huge baseball fan. I can't quite pinpoint when or why this passion began, maybe because of my natural inclination toward statistics, but it started when I was a kid. I played for a season during my exchange year, as an outfielder for the Flower Mound Jaguars at school. It was an experience that made me appreciate the sport even more, especially its technical and strategic aspects.
Baseball has always had something that other team sports only started to recognize or implement much later. It was the first to professionalize, creating a national league in the late 19th century, the first to use numbers on jerseys for clear player identification, and the pioneer in broadcasting games via radio, starting in 1921, bringing millions of fans closer to the sport [7]. Along with these broadcasts came the habit of recording detailed statistics — like hits, runs, and errors — and using that data to improve individual and team performance [7]. Long before terms like "analytics" took over modern sports, baseball was already utilizing deep statistical analysis for strategic decisions, such as defensive shifts and managing pitchers.
It was also the first sport to formally document its history, initially through the press [8], which closely followed every game and the evolution of teams, and later through historians hired by the clubs [7], who recorded the trajectories of teams and players, creating a rich and valued sports memory. Additionally, baseball pioneered the farm system, in which smaller teams serve as a training ground for players who might eventually join the main teams [7]. This system, which we see in modern sports as club owners buying other teams to create networks and rotate players between them, originated in baseball decades ago.
Having its history documented early on, baseball demonstrated how a sport could become firmly integrated into the social fabric. On September 24, 1957, the Brooklyn Dodgers played their final game at the historic Ebbets Field. When I say historic, it’s no exaggeration. Many memorable events in the evolution of America’s national pastime took place there [8]. None more significant than 10 years earlier when Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in Major League Baseball [1].
In 1947, Robinson breaking the color barrier was a monumental event in American history because MLB was segregated at the time, and Black players were not allowed to compete. When Robinson joined the Brooklyn Dodgers, he became the first African-American to play in MLB, challenging deeply entrenched racial segregation in professional sports and society [1]. His courage and success opened the door for other Black athletes and sparked conversations about racial equality, making it a key moment in the Civil Rights Movement [8].
By 1957, Robinson had already retired, and Dodgers owner Walter O'Malley — along with his counterpart at the New York Giants, Horace Stoneham (yes, the football Giants were named after the original baseball team) — decided to move their teams from New York to the West Coast, relocating the Dodgers to Los Angeles and the Giants to San Francisco, marking the beginning of baseball’s expansion beyond the East Coast, and making a fortune in the process.
It's hard to imagine in today's 24/7 sports era, with dedicated channels, YouTube live streams, pay-per-view, etc., what it meant for baseball teams to abandon their origins for greener pastures. It was as if the heroes of thousands of fans had moved to another world [4]. A central component of a city's identity was ripped away overnight.
This was a devastating blow to New York, especially to the neighborhoods of Brooklyn and Manhattan, where these teams were deeply rooted [2][3]. For many New Yorkers, baseball was more than just a sport — it was part of everyday culture and a source of local pride [3]. The decision to move the teams to California was seen as a betrayal, generating a sense of abandonment and irreparable loss [2]. Fans who had grown up following their teams felt as if they had lost an emotional connection with their communities [1]. The symbolic violence of this departure affected the city's social fabric and left an emotional void. The feeling that economic interests outweighed loyalty to the fanbase only deepened the sense of alienation.
"We regret disappointing the children of New York", said Giants owner Stoneham on August 19, 1957, when confirming the unthinkable [3]. "But we haven't seen many of their parents at the Polo Grounds in recent years" [3]. Stoneham had a valid business point. Even with the great Willie Mays, the Giants ranked last in attendance in 1956 and 1957 [3].
Even in 1951, the year of the "Shot Heard 'Round the World", Giants attendance was notably lower than the MLB average at the time [5]. That famous home run by Bobby Thomson against the Dodgers in the decisive Game 3 of the National League playoff clinched the pennant for the Giants and is considered one of the most famous moments in baseball history [8].
Despite the dramatic 1951 season capped by Thomson’s shot, the Giants' overall attendance at the Polo Grounds lagged well behind other teams, like the New York Yankees [3]. Even in 1954, when they were the best baseball team in the world, the Giants averaged just 15,000 fans per game [3].
The Dodgers faced a similar situation. Despite winning the pennant in 1955 and 1956, Brooklyn averaged only 14,000 fans per game, and the team didn't always sell out Ebbets Field, even against their historic rivals, the Giants and Yankees [2]. Dodgers fans, who affectionately referred to the team as "Bums" [1], knew in their hearts what the Giants' desertion meant: their team would soon head west as well. At least the Giants had a proper farewell ceremony at the Polo Grounds, with some of the team’s old stars present [3].
Walter O'Malley forbade any such event, and on September 24, 1957, only 6,700 fans showed up at Ebbets Field for the last time [2]. The Dodgers won 2-0 in a game that Duke Snider (the centerfielder at the time) said felt like it was played under half lights [1].
I have a poster in my office that says, "Life is fun… Baseball is serious!". That playful slogan holds a rationale different from the logic that prioritizes immediate profit and financial efficiency over loyalty and commitment to the local community. The business vision of the teams' management ignored the social and cultural impact these clubs had on New York. From a business standpoint, the decision to leave might have seemed rational, but it disregarded the role sports teams play in connecting people and cultivating collective identities, reducing the sport to a mere commodity.
In the following years, California would eclipse New York in many ways, and Stoneham and O'Malley would be credited for their vision and for starting a broader trend of West Coast expansion across various fields, not just sports. Financially, it was certainly worth it. The Los Angeles Dodgers now draw 3 million fans annually to Chavez Ravine, the team’s new stadium [6].
However, the creation of the stadium came with significant social conflict, known as the "Battle of Chavez Ravine". Before the stadium was built, the area was home to a low-income Mexican-American community that was displaced under the pretext of public housing development [6]. The promises of affordable housing never materialized, and the land was later sold to the city of Los Angeles for the construction of Dodger Stadium [6].
This process sparked outrage and left deep scars on the affected community, which saw their homes destroyed and their culture marginalized. The "Battle of Chavez Ravine" became a symbol of social justice struggles and the impact of urban decisions on vulnerable communities, highlighting the tensions between corporate interests and residents' rights [6].
By the end of September 1957, though, there were sad little boys and girls across New York City and its surroundings. As Doris Kearns Goodwin described in her wonderful memoir Wait 'Til Next Year, five months after the Bums left Brooklyn, while the players gathered in Vero Beach, Florida, for spring training, her mother died [4]. All her grieving father could say at that moment was: “My pal is gone. My pal is gone” [4]. Many New Yorkers felt the same way. Their friends — the baseball players — were gone.
In July 2024, I was back in New York. On a hot summer Sunday, I went with some friends to one of the baseball fields in Central Park for a pick-up game. We played until the sun began to set, and it was one of those days where the simplicity of the moment made you forget about life's worries. Later, when I checked my phone, I received the news that my dog, Zizou, had passed away: “My pal is gone.”
References
[1] Golenbock, Peter, and Paul Dickson. Bums: An oral history of the Brooklyn Dodgers. Courier Corporation, 2010.
[2] Marzano, Rudy. The Last Years of the Brooklyn Dodgers: A History, 1950-1957. McFarland, 2015.
[3] Hynd, Noel. The Giants of the Polo Grounds: The Glorious Times of Baseball’s New York Giants. Red Cat Tales Publishing LLC, 2019.
[4] Goodwin, Doris Kearns. Wait ‘Til Next Year: A Memoir. Simon & Schuster, 1997.
[5] Tygiel, Jules. The Shot Heard’Round the World: America at Midcentury. Baseball and the American Dream. Routledge, 2016. 170-186.
[6] Shatkin, Elina. The Ugly, Violent Clearing of Chavez Ravine before It Was Home to the Dodgers. LAist, October 17, 2018. Available at: https://laist.com/news/la-history/dodger-stadium-chavez-ravine-battle.
[7] Vecsey, George. Baseball: A history of America’s favorite game. Vol. 25. Modern Library, 2008.
[8] Posnanski, Joe. Why We Love Baseball: A History in 50 Moments. Penguin, 2023.