Definitions

[Lions]

The Amsterdam Lions have added 5,000 seats to Stadium Urbanus, bringing the ballpark’s capacity to a whopping 65,000. At some point, that’s just a lot of seats, so it begs a question:

What is a stadium seat?

It seems to reason that it’s a chair. If someone were to ask you to define a chair, could you do it? Would you describe it as something on which you can sit. Perhaps you would say that it needs to have three or four legs with a relatively flat surface for sitting on. However, that could be a stool. It could even be a table. So you add a back rest, and that’s more like it. Maybe now you’ve got a couch, though. Let’s limit a chair to one person. Let’s also say that the express purpose of the object is for sitting on. A chair is a specific type of object, and that is indisputably true. And false. It’s a specific type of objects. It’s an unspecific thing, but you know it when you see it.

What is a stadium seat?

It’s really more like a seat. If a chair is a specific type of object, then what is a seat? It’s something you can have. Something you can take. “Take a seat over there.” “Go have a seat”. We offer it, suggest it, even command you to grab possession of it for your sole use. The object doesn’t matter. It can be a chair. It can be a bench. It can be on the floor if nothing else is available. You may have taken it, but you haven’t really taken anything. When you take a seat, the moment you get up again you’ve given it back. You’ve relinquished your claim. You can take it back again? Of course. It’s more a position than anything else, but not like taking a stand. When you sit down, you take a seat, but when you stand up, you don’t take a stand. You merely stand.

What is a stadium seat?

When it comes to ballparks, a stadium is full of seats. We never say a stadium is full of chairs, but isn’t that really what they are? A stadium seat is then a specific type of chair. Numbered and arranged in rows, stadium seats bring order to the fan experience. They provide a place to sit while taking in a game. You are encouraged to take your seat. You have exclusive rights to use a specific seat for the course of the specific game that you bought your ticket to. Your ticket tells you exactly which seat is yours. The ushers can direct you to it. The ushers can remove you from a seat if it’s not yours. You can trust that no one else will be permitted to take it. For that day only. It’s a claim to a very specific piece of real estate.

What is a stadium seat?

It’s a class system you can pay your way into. Don’t have much money? You’re stuck in the upper deck with the other riff raff that either can’t or don’t want to pay more. You’ll need binoculars to read the expressions on a player’s face. If you’re a bit farther back, you may not be able to see players as they approach the closest stands, blocked from view by the upper deck’s structure. You’ll have fewer choices of stadium vendors and they’ll come along less frequently. At the other end of the spectrum, box seats will cost several times those in the upper deck, but you’ll get so much closer to the action. You can not only read the player’s expressions but hear them cussing. You’ll smell the dirt of the infield and the grass. The crack of the bat will hit your ears at the same time you see it. You may even have a player stop by to steal a bit of your popcorn. The seats themselves? Not terribly different in most cases. And yet a totally different experience.

What is a stadium seat?

It’s a collection of molecules arranged, just so. Beholden to the bonds and relationships defined by atomic and subatomic particles, the molecules of the seat are completely indifferent to all that surrounds them. They are matter. But they do not understand what matters. They don’t care if it’s a snowy day in January or a blissful June day when the sun is just starting to go down and sky glows orange and purple. They care not if it’s the first pitch on opening day. They don’t even care if their occupant is sitting down or has just risen to their feet as the ball rises towards the left field bleachers in the bottom of the ninth. They are just there. Arranged just so. Just so that you can sit, or not sit, as per your whim.

What is a stadium seat?

It’s a revenue stream. It’s a fan in the stands who will take in a game. It’s the price of admission that can be directly plumbed into player salaries, scouting, development, and yes, the owner’s coffers. It’s a box in a spreadsheet. Each ticket sold, for that particular seat, represents real opportunity. A chance to move up in the standings. When invested wisely, that seat represents an incremental step towards a wild card berth, the division title, or even taking home a championship. The seat is potential. It’s like crude, black gold bubbling under the surface. Waiting to be tapped for financial profit.

What is a stadium seat?

It’s a place of wonder. It’s a place where a young fan can sit down and take in the sights and sounds of the ballpark for the first time. Experience the collective roar of the crowd when the home team scores a run. Listen to the sudden quiet as the opposing pitcher works his way out of a bases loaded jam. Rest their head when the sun has been beating down and nap time has come and passed. It’s a place where the older fan can rest their legs and notice that the left fielder is cheating a bit to the line on this particular batter. Or perhaps imagine a long past hero reflected in the swing of today’s can’t miss prospect. It’s a place for dreams.

What is a stadium seat?

That really depends on you. What do you bring to the stadium with you? What do you leave behind when you walk through the turnstiles. What do you even want it to be? Whatever it is, it can only be that if you show up. Will the Lions fill all those extra seats? That’s hard to say. They’re certainly hoping to. If they do, it’ll be because that seat, one small chair, whether right behind the dugout or in the farthest reaches of the upper deck, holds some meaning to you. The fan. The dreamer. The one who believes.