:roll: This sounds like a real bad idea. Can you say, "food fight?" Dodgers to open all-you-can-eat sectionAssociated Press LOS ANGELES -- Right field at Dodger Stadium used to feature cheap seats. This year, there will be lots of food and seats that are no longer cheap. The Los Angeles Dodgers are converting their right-field pavilion into all-you-can-eat bleachers. Takers will have access to as many hot dogs, peanuts, popcorn, nachos and soft drinks as they want. "Instead of paying cash, fans ask for whatever they want, and they get it. There are going to be some self-service parts, buffet-style, as well," said Dodgers executive vice president and chief operating officer Marty Greenspun. Around 3,000 seats right-field seats will be sold for $35 in advance and $40 on game day with the all-you-can-eat special. Left-field tickets, meanwhile, will sell for $10. The stadium's cheapest seats, in the top deck, will go for $10 next season instead of $6. Greenspun said the Dodgers tested the all-you-can-eat concept three times late last season. "The response was overwhelmingly positive," he said. A few other teams have had all-you-can-eat sections. "The St. Louis Cardinals have done it," Greenspun said. "It hasn't been anything of this size." In addition, he said, "the other ballparks charge a higher rate than this." There are limitations. The food booths open 90 minutes before games and close two hours after it begins. And if someone asks for 100 Dodger Dogs, that won't fly. "If a person goes up there and asks for four for his family, he won't be told no," said Camille Johnston, the Dodgers senior vice president of communications. All-you-can-eat isn't exactly the most health-conscious concept these days, but as Greenspun put it: "We're offering a fan amenity. Fans can elect to choose it or not choose it. We are offering basic ballpark fare that most fans enjoy." Besides, the most fattening foods -- beer, ice cream and candy -- aren't part of the package. They will be sold at regular ballpark prices. Copyright 2007 by The Associated Press
:shock: :? Can you imagine if they'd had that policy last year with lazy, overpaid, JD Drew in rightfield? Hey waiter! Bring us anudder four dozen hotdogs! Our ammunition is runnin low!
:shock: Don't forget "Disco Demolition Night" in Chicago... Comiskey’s Disco Demolition Night endures 25 years after landmark event, memories still fresh Updated: 10:13 a.m. PT July 11, 2004 CHICAGO - Mike Veeck figured the sight of a radio DJ blowing up disco records in the outfield might draw more people to Comiskey Park, where the White Sox were struggling on the field and at the gate. He was right. Thousands of fans showed up and a riot nearly ensued, turning “Disco Demolition Night” into what a quarter-century later remains the most infamous promotion in major league baseball history. “I grew up when people were marching for civil rights, marching against the war,” said Veeck, who was in charge of team promotions. “I didn’t think they would be marching because they hated the Bee Gees.” By the time police cleared everyone out, the field was littered with album pieces and charred turf. Dave Phillips, an umpire and crew chief that night, canceled Game 2 of the White Sox’s doubleheader with the Detroit Tigers. “It looked like a small Woodstock drug fest,” Phillips said. “It looked like a spaceship took off from center field. It was smoldering.” Today, Web sites are devoted to the event. A movie is planned. And while Phillips’ new book includes stories from his entire 32 years as a Major League umpire, “Center Field on Fire” are the first words of the title. It was July 12, 1979, a time when ballparks didn’t look anything like the sparkling wonders of today. There was only the game and teams looking for ways to draw bigger crowds. For the White Sox, that job fell to Veeck, the son of team owner Bill Veeck, the man who once sent a midget to bat in the majors. On the Chicago airwaves that summer, WLUP-FM disc jockey Steve Dahl had been pretending to blow up disco records. Mike Veeck invited him to Comiskey to do it for real. The White Sox had a losing record and were on their way to a dismal fifth place division finish. “I was dreading the whole thing,” Dahl said. “It seemed to me if I drew 5,000 people, I would be parading around in a helmet and blowing up records in what looked like an empty stadium.” By the time the first game ended, the stands were jammed with about 50,000 fans. And thousands more — up to 10,000 by some accounts — milled outside, none of whom came to watch a baseball game. “They were there for Dahl,” said Sox fan Rich Battaglin, who was at the game with his brother, Ron. “He was the pied piper.” The 11-year-old son of now-retired White Sox manager Don Kessinger was so worried about what he saw at the game that he asked to sit in the press box rather than the stands. “It was just a bad atmosphere,” Kessinger recalled. “Even the aroma in the ballpark was a bit different.” Late in the first game, records started flying from the stands. Fans got into the ballpark for 98 cents if they brought a record. Obviously, not all the albums were handed over at the gate. “Some of them were just knifing in the grass and others were exploding on the infield,” former White Sox second baseman Alan Bannister said. Dahl said people threw beers and cherry bombs at him “lovingly,” as he demolished records following the Sox’ 4-1 loss in the first game. At some point, thousands of people began to rush the field. People started fires, burned records and knocked over the batting cage. Others played imaginary baseball. They ignored the pleas of then-White Sox announcer Harry Caray to stop. “It was like nothing you ever saw,” said Blair Libby, then a 17-year-old Dahl fan watching from the upper deck. “Bottle rockets, M-80s, all sorts of (stuff) whizzing over your heads.” People who didn’t have tickets scaled the walls to get in. “It looked like medieval times when they go after a castle, pouring over a wall,” Ron Battaglin said. He still remembers the sharp pain in his head, “like someone dropping an ax on me” — a record had struck him, leaving a two-inch gash. Rich Battaglin couldn’t believe what was happening. “Donna Summer, like her or hate her, you don’t put M-80s on her albums and throw them at people,” he said. Police came out on horseback to disperse the crowd. In all, there were only minor injuries and about three dozen arrests. Twenty-five years later, Dahl continues to hear about that night. “It gave me a bond with the city that so far has been unbreakable,” said the DJ, still on the air in Chicago. As for Veeck, he hasn’t stopped looking for creative ways to bring fans out to watch the five minor league teams he part owns. Though while “Tonya Harding Bat Night” happened, “Vasectomy Night” didn’t. A couple years ago, Veeck appeared with the leader of KC and the Sunshine Band before a Florida Marlins game, kind of a summit of long lost enemies. “So we shake hands on the mound, and KC looks at me and said, ’Now we have closure.”’ “I said, ’No, KC, we have cheap theatrics.”’