To the naked eye, the Utley ovation last night may have just seemed like a fully appreciative but run-of-the-mill ovation. But to the professional ovation enthusiast, what transpired was a series of very intentional actions that led to a one-minute, 14-second ovation, which is longer than anything our historians could find for Allen Iverson.
Let’s delve.
Pre-announcement
One of my main concerns going into the evening was whether Dan Baker would be able to introduce Chase, whose homecoming wouldn’t be complete without Baker’s seccccooooond basemannnn Chasssssse Utley! echoing throughout the ballpark. Though there are no studies to back it up, I believe Baker does the pre-game festivities from the field, in a suit, and then huffs it up to a box to continue his PA duties for the game. Often, this leads to the opposing team’s leadoff hitter being announced by someone other than Baker, as I assume Baker is usually in an elevator at that moment. This wouldn’t fly for Chase, and indeed I expressed my concern:
As it turns out, Baker, like the veteran omniscient voice that he is, had a plan. Look at this next-level move:
BAKER IS IN THE DIAMOND CLUB! BAKER IS IN THE DIAMOND CLUB! To call it a brilliant tactic would be offensive to this sort of forward-thinking resourcefulness. Kudos to Baker, who later told me there was no way he was missing the moment:
At this point, Utley was in the on-deck circle, anticipating – likely dreading – the moment he had to show some semblance of human emotion:
commence-emotion: appreciation, demeanor: stoic warmth
At this moment, someone in the production area hit Kashmir and away we went. Dan Baker began his call. A young female, next to Baker, wisely set Utley’s behind in her iPhone’s sights:
Ohmagoditsbetterinperson ohmagoditsbetterinperson.
To say I would kill for those photos would be understatement.
Utley is now approaching the plate while Baker goes through his lengthy, appropriately-inflected introduction. Kashmir has produced countless chills across the ballpark. Women are flush. Men are weeping. Babies are dancing. The girl with the iPhone needs a moment.
Home plate umpire Ron Kulpa and Cameron Rupp discuss how many Ps are in their names combined how to handle the proceedings:
So how long do you want to let this go on for?
As it turns out, Rupp was just concerned with getting some of that good grab-ass, much to the chagrin of the rapidly maturing girl with the iPhone. You can’t see it in the photo, but I can assure you Rupp got buns:
Wow, it’s even firmer than I remember. I miss that ass.
The Dodgers dugout can’t believe what they’re seeing:
How does he do it? They are ASSHOLES here.
The Phillies dugout gets in on the action too, and Carlos Ruiz looks like he’s about to cry:
Me so miss him.
Utley enters the box just as Baker is concluding the introduction. Vince Velasquez, wisely, hasn’t even approached the mound:
I think they’d kill me if I quick-pitched him, right?
Baker concludes his introduction and the clock starts on the ovation.
The ovation
Chase Utley, unsurprisingly, had a plan here. Lacking the code for spontaneous human emotion, he has scripted a routine that will approximate appreciation. But what strikes me is how intentional and direct his hat tips – which were more like hat points – are. Note the directness with which he thanks the crowd…
… the Phillies dugout…
… the first base line…
… longtime teammate Ryan Howard, who is taking much delight in Chase being forced to be the center of attention…
… while Utley shoots him a knowing smirk…
… and finally, the third base line:
Utley is a master preparer and he covered all the bases here. I wouldn’t be surprised if he spent the last six weeks watching film of other ovations just so he could remember who to thank. I’m still in awe, and maybe even a little bit turned on – yep, I’m turned on – by his confidence as he pointed his helmet at his targets. There was no beating around the bush here– thanks were in order and Chase was going to give it to you. You’re welcome… to give it to me, Chase.
The ovation is now reaching the critical moment in all ovations where the situation will itself dictate whether a crescendo can be supported or drowned in a tide of soul-less somberpusses.
Nope! The absolutely veteran move by Kulpa to wipe the plate allows for the deserved crescendo:
I got this, holmes.
I mean, he’s wiping a plate BEFORE THE FIRST PITCH OF A GAME. I don’t think the significance of this action can be overstated. MEA KULPA:
I spotted a little dirt in the upper right quadrant.
Such respect.
Utley, now improvising, throws a fist in air like he just don’t care:
Oh shit is this what normal people do?
Velasquez, still acknowledging the situation, remains away from the mound:
Will there be like a green light or something that tells me when I can pitch?
At this point, Cameron Rupp decides to speed things along…
Hey, let’s go.
Perhaps sensing the moment drawing to an end, Dan Baker finally decides to make his way up to the box:
My work is done here, fellas.
One final acknowledgement from Chase:
Thumbs up, guys. I’m running out of situation-appropriate reactions.
Utley digs in, and we’re off.
