In some ways, the Durham Athletic Park (DAP) and the Durham Bulls Athletic Park (DBAP) are Crash Davis and Nuke LaLoosh in the latter stages of Bull Durham.
The old Bulls’ pen is left to foster younger, up-and-coming talent as the home of North Carolina Central University baseball. Its time in baseball is not exactly up, but its moment of fame unquestionably is.
Meanwhile, the latter takes after the big-leaguers. It picked the architectural brains behind Camden Yards, Coors Field and Jacobs (now Progressive) Field during its construction circa 1993-95. It later set up a Fenway Park-like scoreboard (the Blue Monster) on its left-field wall.
The DBAP is also flanked with more downtown pizzazz than its predecessor. It stands within walking distance of the equally pristine Durham Performing Arts Center and the American Tobacco Tower, which lights up ceremoniously for an enthused audience every holiday season. (No word on what percentage of attendees believe in opening presents on Christmas morning rather than Christmas Eve.)
Yet the 23-year-old stadium has not forgotten its forebear. It inherited the DAP’s snorting bull board for steak-craving sluggers to swing at. At one entrance, Crash’s No. 8 sits first among the franchise’s six retired digits.
Back inside, Milwaukee Brewers sausage-like renderings of Crash, Nuke and Annie Savoy debuted for Durham’s between-innings race in 2013.
This middleweight North Carolina city earned a privilege when its town and team were selected for the film. The way it has embraced the project’s legacy is a credit to the subject’s staying power in American culture.
In short, Bull Durham is Slap Shot with less of a niche audience. The former presents more kids than just stick boys and sportswriter’s offspring.
For both sports, the definitive cinematic tale of minor-league life is not hurting much for authenticity. But this one illustrates a type of athletic entity that has long swathed the nation in ways few others have.
From the rookie to Triple-A levels, there is practically one minor-league club for every area code in the Lower 48. Specifically, there are 321 codes and 173 teams wrapping the map this season. Apart from the apparent presence of a cherished high-school football program in every zip code, nothing compares.
As Bull Durham hits the 30th anniversary of its release this week, its timelessness holds up. How long that aura will stick is in question, as baseball (like football) faces doubts about its long-term standing. But it is sure sustaining a top-notch legacy for now.
Granted, its frank and funny depictions of baseball behind the scenes inhibit its accessibility to younger age groups, just as Slap Shot does with hockey. The core plot earns a 17-plus rating and a “Winning but mature comedy” remark from Common Sense Media.
That unavoidable drawback aside, the movie captures and highlights the appealing accessibility of its subject. Kids may not get to see it right away, but plenty of them are in it. They are at the old DAP for a classic family day out.
Any need for frugality aside, the team makes a bold investment by dropping dollar bills on the field and letting children give chase before the game. The rooting runts return to their seats for fun with the mascot and other sideshows between innings staged by big-league aspirants.
One year later, Kevin Costner (Crash) starred in an equally resonant baseball film that encapsulates another romantic aspect of the pastime. Field of Dreams offers a feel-good homage to the fantasies baseball has begotten in backyards for a century-plus.
That storyline will hold up as a wholesome and harmless, even if the sport is someday reduced to a relic. By contrast, Bull Durham yielded to the realities of grime and grunt work being the upfront costs toward adulthood glamour.
Bull Durham is Slap Shot with less of a niche audience.
With the contrasting fates of Crash and Nuke, the story concedes there is no guaranteed payoff. But even without that long-term reward, there is something on the sidelines, waiting to return a favor. Locals in nearly every market have grounds for gratitude, as these mostly imported athletes enable easy-access, entertaining and affordable diversions.
Appropriately, the real-life Durham Bulls and their neighborhood have grown to epitomize that reward. The brand was in the Single-A Carolina League at the time of the movie, but was promoted to Triple-A in 1998. The majors had inaugurated their latest expansion class, and the Bulls brand became Tampa Bay’s top-level affiliate.
By that point, the Raleigh-Durham area was welcoming another high-profile sports franchise. Today the NHL’s Carolina Hurricanes have a radiant red rectangular ad in the DBAP’s right-field bowl. The facility opened in 1995, the same year North Carolina gained its own NFL franchise, the Panthers.
All the while, Wool E. Bull, descendant of the repeatedly beanballed mascot, makes his rounds year-round. Among other engagements, he is inclined to roam the busy blocks the night of the Christmas tower lighting.
The title team of Bull Durham may never reach The Show. Doing so would complete North Carolina’s dream of fielding a franchise in all four major sports league. But to paraphrase Slap Shot’s Reggie Dunlop, the Bulls aren’t exactly the Atlanta Braves.
In another century, unless it makes the requisite adaptations, baseball may cease to be a major sport at all.
But for a generation and change, the spectator side of its family-friendly appeal has spared 108 minutes of adult swim. Bull Durham is your ultimate evenhanded portrayal of a uniquely American, inclusively American institution.
The lucky location tapped to prop up that portrait has not wasted its long-term perks. Neither should any grown, one-time casual or invested park-goer forget the charm of child’s play meshing with maturity.
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