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

POSTGAME

As the Bulls close out a 6-2 win, a yellow Labrador retriever takes the field. It's Lucky the Wonder Dog, who traditionally runs the bases after a Bulls win. He is the Bulls' second dog. Scout was the first, but after former Bull Bubba Trammell threw a batting helmet that banged off a door near Scout, making a loud noise, he lost his passion for the game.

Trainer Gene Lonsway brought Lucky to the Bulls' attention after he started working with him and saw his insane energy level and desire to please. Lucky's original owners just brought the dog to Lonsway in order to train him, but they eventually decided he could have Lucky. Lonsway compares him to a dragster. "He's cool to have on the strip, but the rest of the time he's not particularly convenient to own," he says.

Lucky indeed runs the bases with vigor, and if the scouts were still here they would have to be impressed with his time from home to first. He runs in the dark tonight, crossing home plate just ahead of the fireworks.

There are a lot of signs that it's a fireworks night. The empty parking lot behind center field, the yellow police tape surrounding the parking lot, and the ushers who began asking people to move from the berm seating in center field as the ninth inning arrived.

But the best tip-off might be to look up at the county jail that's a block away from the stadium.

"They know it's fireworks night," Bulls director of operations Shawn Kison says as he waits for the signal to tell fireworks operator David Cothran to start the show.

Sure enough, prisoners in orange jumpsuits begin crowding the windows after the lights go out. By the time Cothran presses the first button on his firing board, a suitcase full of wires and numbered buttons, an appreciative crowd of 25-30 convicts has gathered around the two windows that give them one of the best views of the show.

The Bulls have fireworks after every Friday home game. Four hours of set-up turns into a 10-minute show, as Cothran fires off several thousand fireworks in a choreographed routine, with fire officials nearby to make sure that everything stays safe.

Tonight's a good night for fireworks. Kison and the fire department officials determine the wind is blowing away from the stadium, which means there aren't any worries about the fireworks blowing back into the ballpark. Because of that, the fire department decides that only the berm seating and one section of the outfield seats have to be cleared of fans before the show begins.

"We have to clear a 75-100 foot area around this spot," says Cothran as he points to the three groups of assorted fireworks. Tonight's show will have plenty of Roman candles, plenty of noise and an emphasis on red, white and blue starbursts. But it will stay within certain limits. "We can't use the big stuff in this kind of downtown environment," he says.

Kison gets the countdown over his walkie-talkie from DeMargel. At the count of "one," Cothran presses button one, letting out a loud bang that coincides with the first burst of star shells. A little less than 10 minutes later it's over. As the crowd starts to file out, Cothran is happy. He counted two dud shots out of the entire show (better than a 99 percent success rate), and the crowd never knew that one group of fireworks didn't fire because the crew brings extra to ensure a full show.

Kison's happy as well. His main job is coordinating the parking crew, but one of the perks of his job is the best seat in the house for the fireworks display. As he heads off to check on the traffic flow, Cothran starts packing up. "We made a mess," he jokes as he looks at the remnants of charred paper the fireworks left behind. He'll be back a week from now for another show. It's a safe bet that the prisoners will be ready as well.

As the crowd files out, Bulls fan Pete Hall waits patiently some 30 minutes after the game for the visiting Richmond players to emerge. He points out Richmond first baseman James Jurries to one of the other three autograph hounds. "Yeah, that's Jurries," Hall says. The collector walks to meet Jurries and is rewarded with an autograph.

Hall already has Jurries' autograph, which is not unusual considering he has more than 50,000 signed baseball cards. Tonight he's carrying a box with about 100 cards. One of them is Wilson Betemit's. Hall already has his signature, but he can't resist another. So when the Richmond third baseman emerges minutes after Jurries, Hall approaches Betemit, who graciously signs his name. Betemit does the same for two of the other collectors.

Soon after, the evening's losing pitcher, Trey Hodges, hurriedly makes his way out of the park and heads in the direction of downtown Durham. He's stopped by an autograph seeker; he obliges the fan's request and is quickly on his way again.

The park's almost empty now, but Bulls employees are still cleaning up their corner of the ballpark and preparing to go home. Hourly employees go past the visitor's clubhouse to clock out for the night, then walk out the same door that many of the players use. No autograph seekers stop them.

From a distant parking lot, someone radios that a fan has locked his keys in the car. One last fire to put out before the gates are locked, to open again in less than 24 hours, and one last radio transmission: "I'll see you tomorrow."