Ron Kantowski on the sad state of our ballpark and how Las Vegas might finally get a major league stadium for the minor league 51s

By Ron Kantowski (contact)

Thursday, March 29, 2007 | 7:18 a.m.

"Ballparks should be happy places" - Bill Veeck

Sometime during Friday's Cubs-Mariners exhibition game at Cashman Field, before Kerry Wood or Mark Prior sneeze and reinjure themselves, a long queue of baseball fans will form on the concourse in the vicinity of the two restrooms.

Some will be shifting from foot to foot, like expectant fathers.

Others will sport a pained expression, as if they are about to face Ichiro with the bases loaded while protecting a one-run lead.

And at least two frat boys will consider doing something untoward in the men's room sink.

When this happens, Cashman Field will not be a happy place.

This is the 25th season the ballpark just north of downtown's plasma centers and dive bars will serve as home to the Las Vegas Triple-A ball club. It no longer serves well.

Like an aging slugger who is moved to first base to prolong his career, the old girl is showing her age. We're not talking Susan Sarandon anymore. More like Bea Arthur.

Of the 30 Triple-A ballparks, only three are older than Cashman Field. That's not a recent development. It has been that way since 2003.

Here's what happens every spring around here, when a young man's fancy turns to love and nickel beer night: 51s President Don Logan complains Cashman Field is no longer adequate to host American Legion baseball, much less develop the Los Angeles Dodgers' stars of tomorrow. Mayor Oscar Goodman retorts by saying the stadium is adequate because, after all, it's a minor league ballpark and franchise and Las Vegas is a major league city.

Then Hizzoner asks what time he should arrive to throw out the first pitch or autograph his latest bobble-head doll.

Part of the reason all this talk about inadequacy winds up having no more sizzle than a batting practice fastball is Las Vegas' proximity to Los Angeles, the home of the 51s' parent club. Bonus babies can shuttle between The Strip and The Show in 45 minutes. That's more important than on-property batting cages.

The other part is there are only 30 Triple-A ballparks - one for every franchise. It's like when Cubs manager Lou Piniella looks out toward his bullpen. There simply aren't a lot of options, even if the Dodgers are tired of the relic that Cashman has become.

This week, Pacific Coast League President Branch Rickey toured Cashman Field and - surprise! - said it is no longer adequate. What was a bit of a surprise is that Goodman, who met with Rickey and Logan on Monday, seems to be listening now.

Once the NBA is through using Las Vegas for leverage to get a new arena in Sacramento - that's what I call it; the mayor calls it the April 25 discussion in New York that will determine the city's viability as a potential NBA city - he says , he will sit down with Logan to talk about the 51s' future.

"We can't ever afford to allow our community to be without a baseball team," the mayor said. "And if they do leave, we'll make sure there's another team here and we'll make it attractive enough for them to know that they're in a first-class stadium."

I can't decide if that means the mayor thinks we need a new ballpark or just a tenant that believes a new coat of paint would cover a lot of old warts. That's because neither can he.

If you've been to alluring AutoZone Park in Memphis, Tenn., or any of the new PCL parks that keep popping up like the middle of the Royals' batting order, you'd be amazed what $40 million will buy. And impressed by the synergy a new Triple-A ball yard creates among the restaurants and boutiques and business parks and lofts in the surrounding area.

In fact, Logan said , if you wanted to do it right, a new ballpark would be only a component of a development that contains those things. An ideal blueprint, he said, would be The District in Henderson. Put a ballpark where Green Valley Ranch sits, transform the Elephant Bar into a Hooters and you've pretty much created the vision Logan has had for years.

But on Friday night, his most pressing concern will be that when somebody standing in line to use the restrooms mentions the "Whiz Kids," it won't be in conjunction with the 1950 Philadelphia Phillies.