By Chris Lane
By Jeff Balke
By Aaron Reiss
By Angelica Leicht
By Dianna Wray
By Aaron Reiss
By Camilo Smith
By Craig Malisow
The old Union Station, the grand entryway to the stadium, is the preliminary stop on the tour of the Astros "tribute" to Historic Houston, a touch of tradition coated in plastic. There are marble-based two-story pillars, an original train-station bench and railroad ties they found when they were digging up the field -- but there's also a gift store that wasn't there even in the railroad's glory days.
Where the train platform used to be, a cobblestone walkway leads to the breezeway crowded with Texas-themed food. Unlike at the Astrodome, if you have to take a leak, or buy more beer, you won't miss much of the game. The concourse is open, so you can still watch while you're waiting in line.
The steps down to the field are the extra long ones that each require two strides and make everyone feel like a six-year-old, scrambling to keep up with a too-fast grown-up. Sit in the first few rows if you want a movie-theater-style cup holder -- otherwise you might spill your beer.
The flip-up seats are joined in an iron row like in an old-fashioned movie theater. They're dark green because the Astros decided that dark green was "retro" (like the trolleys). These actually are the most comfortable pieces of plastic we've sat on. They look old, but they're wider than most seats and aerodynamically engineered with a curved back and open vents.
The stadium's a lot cooler than the sweaty city because they keep the roof closed during the day, pumping it full of air-conditioning (then they open it up during the game and keep the blowers going). But since it's always muggy or rainy, the roof will probably be open just half of a game. It takes 12 minutes to close the glass, 20 minutes if it's windy. (We still recommend umbrellas, since rain usually comes with wind.)
On the field they've stolen from stadiums past; there's a hill that slopes up like Crosley Field in Cincinnati. On that hill is a flagpole that's in play too -- just like at the old Tiger Stadium in Detroit. (Sports Illustrated made it look like the pole was stuck smack in the middle of center field. It's not. It's way in the corner, right by the fence.) They figured a few obstacles would make for "more exciting baseball," says Todd Fedewa, the Astros communications manager.
A larger obstacle, at least for tepid Astro hitters, is the outfield fence. The ballpark has the shortest left-field wall, only 315 feet, and the longest, deepest center field in the majors. There are 21 angles to the back fence. They're hoping for lots of doubles and triples.
And home runs.
Which are going to be VERY LOUD events at Enron Field.
Remember the Astrodome's "exploding scoreboard" that they got rid of when they needed more seats? It's back. Nothing actually explodes. A cartoon cowboy runs across the screen roping a snorting steer, and then some fireworks go off.
If someone hits a home run, the train engine runs along the teal tracks on the west side of the stadium, blowing steam and whistling. If the 19th-century choo-choo doesn't look quite right, that's because it isn't. It's a hybrid of three different trains popular in the 1860s. They just took the parts they liked from the past and made something new. Just like they did with the entire stadium. The train runs along the original route. But the original tracks were never that color.
If a home run is hit by one of the Astros, just below the train is Conoco's classic, old-timey gasoline pump that's going to clang and keep count of all the Astros' home runs ever.
Right below the Miller Lite ad is a closed-captioning sign to run whatever the announcer's saying, so bring your glasses (if you're deaf).
If you get bored, there's plenty of shopping. There's even an art gallery of sports memorabilia; if the game is extra exciting and you want to document that moment forever, you can commission an artist to paint your favorite player. Outside the gallery the escalators give a nice old-fashioned mall-like quality.
Even though the Astros routinely choke in the playoffs, at least their new playpen shows off lots of balls. All kinds of 'em. Seat numbers show up in green-stitched white baseball emblems in the corners of the backrests in many sections. In the suite level, smaller green baseballs rise up from the plush carpet.
Upstairs on the "club level," the light fixtures are big white baseballs; green balls are imprinted on the carpet in the airy, air-conditioned room. Here the stadium seats all have cup holders and cushions on the bottoms (not on the backs -- cushy backs are only for the Diamond Club seats behind home plate). You don't even have to get off your ass to buy something better than beer -- the waiters and waitresses come to you and take your order.
Club level seats are nice. They're about eye level with the train, and the field looks like a not-so-far-away Nintendo screen.