Field Of Dreams

"If you build it, he will come." -- The Voice

Field Of Dreams is a fantastic movie. While on the surface it may appear to be about baseball, its true meaning is much deeper. The story deals with second chances, adventure, and purpose. In many ways, it's a great parallel for my trip. I've always wanted to visit the field (left intact as a tourist attraction) and availed myself of the opportunity on Tuesday afternoon. Located in Dyersville, IA, the field is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. But it was a detour I had to make.

As I made the drive from Davenport, IA, where I had spent the previous night, I couldn't help but think longingly of the film. I've seen it so many times I know almost all the lines. It was overcast with on and off rain, but I wasn't going to let that ruin the experience. I would run the bases like "Shoeless Joe" and have a catch with anyone else who had made the pilgrimage (I had specifically packed my baseball glove for this purpose).

As I pulled off the main road and saw the sign for the field, I was filled with a slight giddiness. Sure, this was a somewhat stupid and juvenile detour to make, but I had done it. I was going to visit the Field of Dreams. But when I made the left turn into the parking lot I quickly noticed something that tempered my excitement. It wasn't so much what I saw, but rather what I didn't see. How shall I put this succinctly?...

THERE WAS NO FUCKING CORN!!!

NOT ONE MOTHERFUCKING STALK OF CORN!!!

What I saw was not the beautiful slice of Americana so elegantly captured on celluloid almost 20 years ago, but rather a dumpy, decrepit excuse for a ball field that would have barely been acceptable for a high school frosh game.

























These pictures actually make it look much nicer (and bigger) than it really is. I conservatively estimate the field dimensions as about 150' down the lines and 200' to center. Tops. That make it about the size of a little league field.

See the bleachers in the picture above? That's where The Field bent me over and raped me, without even the courtesy of using a condom or lube. It pounded me into submission as I screamed and cried and had the innocence of my youth violently ripped away from me.

My soul crushed, I made my way to the souvenir shack and encountered a women whose shirt was embroidered with the name "Marcia." I didn't know quite what to say, so I muttered something along the lines of "So, no corn, huh?" She responded cheerily "Oh, no. It's too cold for corn now -- it won't grow until around July!"

Slightly flabbergasted, I struggled with an appropriate response, finally settling on "Look, Marcia. I just fucking drove a third of the way across the fucking country to see this fucking ball field carved out a fucking corn field. I don't care if you have have to import plastic fucking stalks from fucking China, but I'm not fucking leaving until I see some motherfucking corn!"

I'm paraphrasing of course... I think it came out closer to "No corn until July, huh? Interesting." I then quickly handed over $15.47 for a magnet and a coffee mug and hobbled back to my car, still reeling from the reaming I had taken.

I suppose I knew going in that The Field would be a bit of a disappointment -- Hollywood fairy tales usually are when viewed under the harsh lighting of reality. But, c'est la vie. They built it, I came, I saw, it sucked. At least I can cross it off my list...