By Will Lingo
(contributing: J.J. Cooper, Matthew Eddy, Will Kimmey, Chris Kline, John Manuel and Alan Matthews)
May 17, 2004

THIRD INNING

The Bulls grounds crew will snap into action in the sixth inning when they drag the infield and replace the bases, but for now they're relaxing in their part of the park in the right-field corner. The six-man crew leisurely watches the action, and one member of tonight's crew--the staff has 10 members, all males between 19 and 24, but only five or six work each night--has his feet perched on the railing and chews sunflower seeds.

Durham second baseman Brooks Badeaux misplays a grounder.

"Hit!"

"Error!"

"I got a hit on that one."

Each member of the crew chimes in with his judgment of the play. "H" flashes on the scoreboard across the outfield and those who agreed smile broadly, as if they had just correctly answered a question in class. "That's about our biggest argument down here," head groundskeeper Jimmy Simpson says.

Chris Henchek, who's attended every home game over the last 10 years, judged Badeaux' play an error. When radio announcer Steve Barnes tells listeners the play's been ruled a hit, Henchek exclaims, "What?" He has operated the DBAP's manual scoreboard for every game since it opened and already had the metal rectangle with the numeral 1 at the ready. He was about to slide it into the panel under "E" but instead places it under the "H."

Henshek likes to slide the number panels in so people don't see his face. He says it's more professional. But if they want to see him inside the scoreboard, they can just look behind the plexiglass over the visitors' ninth- and 10th-inning squares, and he's there. He also opens the runs panel for the national anthem, a custom he began after reading that's the way they do it at Fenway Park.

His home away from home is spartan. There's a pocket schedule taped to the wall with W's and L's scrawled over the dates that have passed. There's a phone line to the press box ("They'll call if I mess up."), a chair, two stools, a couple of cinder-block foot rests, a clock with a temperature reading, a box fan (it was once 115 degrees back there when the on-field reading was 103), a boombox, a large bag of peanuts and a dumbbell. And of course, hundreds of green panels with white numbers from 0 to 20 and some in yellow (for a score during an inning).

There's also a pulley connected to the tail of the giant bull that sits atop the left-field wall. There's a button in the press box that makes the bull's eyes flash red and its nose emit smoke, but Henchek makes the tail wag up and down--five times, a number the Leavenworth, Kan., native chose to honor the jersey number of George Brett.

It all sits on a plywood deck about five feet wide and 16 or 17 paces long. There are signatures of players, fans and famous guests scattered over one of the structure's main boards--including one of Ryne Sandberg that Henshek won't let anyone sign near. A slanted wood roof keeps out the rain and runs about seven or eight feet high, depending on where you're standing. Randy Johnson could not do this job.

Henchek couldn't watch baseball anywhere else. He says his 20-10 vision allows him to see everything that happens in the park. "I love this angle," he says. "It's like playing the outfield. I try to watch games on TV, but I just can't."

Henchek doesn't get lonely. He'll invite guests back from time to time, and that's one of the questions they like to ask. They also want to know how it sounds when a ball hits the wall (he pounds his fist on the wall) and where he goes to the bathroom (he doesn't drink much water, but retreats to the grounds crew area out in right field if nature calls).

Once a man asked Henchek if he could bring some Cub Scouts behind the scoreboard. "He brought 38 little kids back here, and it's one of those innings," he says. "They're getting five or six hits in a row and scoring runs and making errors. I'm running all around these kids, sticking the numbers in. 'Excuse me junior, pardon me buddy.' One of the dads said, 'You must be pretty good at this.' I told him after a while, it's on auto pilot."

Henchek admits that he was so excited at the first Bulls homer in the park--hit by Wonderful Monds--he rushed to put a 1 up on the board. Then the phone rang. Remember those two guys on base? They scored, too.