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

SIXTH INNING

"Take off your shoes and socks. It's going to be hot, you might want to take off one of those shirts. You just kind of step in. Are your feet on the ground? Grab his arm. OK, jump on three: one, two, three. Don't put your shoulders in yet. Now, go ahead and Velcro him."

Holleman stands at the bottom of the stairs to the visitor's dugout, quickly helping the night's sumo wrestling contestants into their vinyl suits, which are stuffed with foam and weigh almost 50 pounds. Rob Petersen and Dave Smithwick, graduate students at the University of North Carolina, try to keep their balance--"I can't see my feet; I need the South Beach diet," Smithwick cracks--as Holleman delivers the instructions.

"Anytime someone falls down, jump on top of them," she says. "That's the crowd's favorite." Then she lets them in on the dirty little secret. The event is fixed--sort of. It's a best of three falls, and the crowd likes to see all three. "So just decide who's going to win the first two, and you can choreograph it, but fall quickly. Then you can fight it out for the third fall."

Barefoot, the wrestlers waddle back up the steps, which are covered in orange dirt and water, toward the field. The inning ends and the crew takes the field. Holleman looks panicked. Where's Kevin Jenkins? He's the Bulls' on-field announcer, and he arrives 30 seconds late. With between-innings promotions planned to the second, this throws the whole thing into disarray, and finally DeMargel has to come on the radio and order everyone off the field before the third fall. The sumos exit to a throng of boos. Remember, the fans like to see three falls.

"Man, we got to finish this down here," Smithwick says as he and Petersen retreat down the stairs. That won't happen. Drenched in sweat, both wrestlers strip out of the clunky sumo suits. Both end up getting the winner's prize: a t-shirt. They had scoffed at the prize before the event--"Can't we get a complimentary Durham Bulls beer?" Petersen asked--but now are glad to have a shirt not covered in perspiration.

The sumo action outstrips anything on the field in the sixth, as official scorer Brent Belvin's only tough call comes on a bunt. Richmond's Pete Orr followed Jorge Velandia's single with a bunt--and not a particularly good one, as Velandia was forced at second. Belvin announced the fielder's choice--1-2-6 in this case--and added, "No sacrifice credit."

Well, of course not, right? He didn't advance the runner. But Belvin explained he wasn't going to give Orr a sacrifice no matter what, according to the game situation. "They're down 5-0--he had to be bunting for a hit there," he said. "If (the Bulls) had just thrown down to first, he wasn't going to get a sacrifice."

Belvin has scored Bulls games since 1989, when he was just 19. In other words, he's spent almost half his life scoring Durham Bulls games. He's a teacher in real life, and part of what must be one of the most stable press boxes in the minor leagues. The Bulls have been through many changes since 1980, when the current franchise was reborn. But the men--and in the Bulls' case, it is all men--who cover the team have remained largely the same.

Mike Potter has been on the Bulls beat since 1985 (working for both the Durham Herald-Sun and one of its forerunners, the afternoon Durham Sun). Tony Riggsbee even predates Potter, having covered the Bulls off and on since '80, first with WPTF-AM radio and now with the North State Radio Network.

Belvin, Potter and Riggsbee all worked in the old DAP's press box. Discriminating fans of the movie "Bull Durham" may remember the press box at ground level just behind home plate. The DBAP's box sits in a more conventional spot, far back from the field, but none of these veterans miss the old park from a work standpoint.

"At the old park, we could see the balls and strikes a lot better," Potter said. "Otherwise, I'm never wistful about the DAP."

For one, the old park's press box had one phone line. The DBAP has wireless Internet access, which makes filing a game story easy. It also allows reporters to surf the Web during the game, and the press and staff members take a few minutes to debate the verdict of former NBA all-star Jason Williams when the news hit. (The consensus: He got off easy.)

Riggsbee is a self-proclaimed pack rat and produces definitive evidence of it. The previous night, Bulls righthander Jorge Sosa started the game with nine straight strikeouts. Riggsbee went home after the game and dug out his scorecard from a game nearly 22 years ago to the day--April 30, 1982--when Bulls righty Brian Fisher struck out the first nine against Salem in a Carolina League game.

Baseball was a small part of the press box banter during the game. The day's media and staff meal, chicken and steak fajitas, got positive reviews, though veterans like Riggsbee and Potter prefer the previous night's fare: bratwurst.

At the other end of the press box, Steve Barnes has been the Voice of the Bulls for 11 seasons, making him one of a handful of employees who worked for the club in the old Durham Athletic Park. His "office" is filled with about $5,000 worth of radio equipment, as well as a computer screen with updated International and major league scores. The booth is littered with media guides Barnes tries to organize during a break on a modest bookshelf, and a bag of Halls throat lozenges open and under the table.

Barnes has a new partner this year, with Neil Solondz joining the club to do road games and share home duties. That gave him the luxury of missing last night's game, just the second home game he's missed in his tenure. "My daughter (Samantha) was singing a solo in her middle school play," he says. "She was supposed to be a singing napkin in the chorus, but then she got a solo. If she had just been a signing napkin, it wouldn't have been worth it, but she had a solo and a speaking part, so I'm glad I went."