11/3/26
There’s a public park in downtown Manhattan officially called James J. Walker Park, though people mostly just say “JJ Walker” when referring to next week’s or yesterday’s game. Blanketed with artificial turf and covered in a gazillion black rubber pellets that end up in your bed sheets if you so much as look in the direction of them, the multi-purpose field is criss-crossed every day by softballers, little leaguers, flag football teens, corporate soccer stars, the list goes on. Stadium-like lights shimmer at night, allowing games at JJ to go well past dusk, and there’s even concrete bleachers for spectators to drink tall boys in paper bags. Beyond the northeast fences there’s more seating, and most summer nights you’ll see people, often lovers, parked on the benches canoodling while reaching for slices inside L’Industrie pizza boxes. Other people hang about because they have nowhere else to go. They hang about there, under those trees, because they know no one is going to bother them or ask them to leave, at least not until everyone else has to leave and they lock the park, anyway.
The field and park, spanning almost a full city block on Hudson Street in the lower part of the West Village, was built two centuries ago, and in 1895, the city commandeered it for public use. That year listed is not a typo — indeed, the city scooped it up 131 years ago, the same year Grover Cleveland was president and, more importantly, the same year Babe Ruth was born. (Also in July that year: a tornado (??) swept through Queens (??) and killed upwards of thirty people. Shit!)
Thank God they did what they did in 1895. The field would never ever ever ever ever in a million years get built, or preserved as such, today. The brownstone addresses across the street go for north of twenty million dollars. Again, not a typo. Twenty million smackers for wrap-around stairs and some crown molding. Caddy-corner, across Hudson, two-bedroom apartments in a new-ish nine-story building outfitted with an Equinox gym, go for about two million each. Two mill for nine hundred square feet and some big black and white windows. Hey, if that’s what gets you off, babe.
No, JJ Walker field and park wouldn’t stand a chance today, the city probably wouldn’t even try to claim it. The block would go to the highest bidder, there’d soon be a 27-story high rise built with exactly zero of the apartments going toward affordable housing, and many of the units would sit empty the majority of the year while their owners summer in Europe and winter wherever people who summer in Europe winter. You know, in the “Maldives” or some shit. Yes, of course I wish I were one of those jackasses, but until then, fuck all that. And even if the city were to muster the courage to allocate money to build a park, they’d do it fourteen miles away, up in the Bronx or near JFK or LaGuardia, next to abandoned warehouses and parking lots, and it’d take everyone, no matter where they live, two hours each way to get there.
From April to November, I play softball at JJ Walker every week, often twice, typically Thursday and Saturday nights. JJ Walker is like nowhere I’ve ever played before. The field is the great softball equalizer. The outfield fences measure maybe 130 feet from home plate down the left and right field lines, slightly further to center. Any man over the age of ten with even a halfway decent swing can hit the ball out of the ballpark for a home run, but that’s the thing — if you hit a homer in these games, it counts as two outs. Two outs! Devastating. In a seven inning game, that’s almost ten percent of your outs. And you feel like an asshole because you just cost your team. So you have to strategize at JJ Walker field. You have to hit the ball on the ground or on a line, and you have to run the bases cleanly because the defense is generally good. Because of the nice turf, the ball bounces cleanly and plays true, and fielders can typically make a play on any ball. Yeah, no, this ain’t Central Park where you can step up to the plate and mash a 300 foot homer or expect the choppy infield to give you a favorable bounce.
JJ Walker democratizes softball. Women can play with the men and be just as effective if not a lot more effective in many cases. (Women are typically allowed to hit the ball out of the ballpark without being penalized.) Guys pushing 70 years old compete with dudes in their 20s. I play regularly all over the city with a young guy who is without a doubt the best athlete I have ever seen in my life, let alone anyone I’ve played softball with. He’s 6’3’’, probably 225 pounds, and is the fastest player on any field he touches. A former D-1 sprinter, he only learned how to play softball a few years ago, but already, he’s as good as any player in New York right now, probably ever. He plays outfield like a Yankees player, only I think he is more athletic and might have a better arm than half the guys in the Bronx. He’s even taught himself shortstop, which means I often get bumped to third base or elsewhere in favor of him. No hard feelings — it’s the right move for the team. He can seemingly stretch his arms from second to third base and stop any ball his way. He’s also one of those guys who can hit a ball 300 feet at Central Park. It’s a marvel to watch him play.
But guess what: he is somewhat neutralized at JJ Walker, and his sheer athleticism is less an asset than it normally is on other fields. The big man can of course slug the ball out of the ballpark, but remember, that’s two outs, and so he, like everyone else, must learn to play situational ball and hit line drives and run the bases with intention, not relying purely on his God given speed. (I mean, the speed still helps here, sure.) League games at JJ often end 3-1 or 5-3, and it’s these tight, fast-paced games that lead to some of the best softball that I get to be part of all summer and fall. Standing at shortstop at JJ Walker field in the last few innings of a tight game, damn, I can’t think of anywhere else in the world I would rather be. I tuck my phone away, assuring no contact with the outside world. If someone close to me dies during one of these games, I’m not going to know about it for at least an hour. Maybe two if it’s one of those close games. Every night after the games, especially the Saturday night games, I come home and recount to my half-asleep wife most all of what happened in the game. I later fall asleep those nights on a high, high on whatever that shit does to your brain.
As far as I’m aware, the field and its adjacent playground are not under imminent threat to be moved or replaced, but the nearby recreational center is closed and sits empty, and reportedly there’s a good chance the city, which owns it, is going to offer the space to the highest bidders who, you may have already guessed, plan to erect multi-million dollar apartments with, probably, some big black windows.
To follow through on such an idea for JJ Walker field should be considered a murderous act, a declaration of war. JJ Walker is a jewel, a place to be cherished and nurtured and protected. The field is what Fenway Park is to Boston, what Wrigley Field is to Chicago. It obviously does not carry fanfare or bring in dollars the same as those places, but it’s just as important to the fabric of the neighborhood and the city at large. The park, and so many like it, stands head and shoulders above any restaurant, any boutique shop, and certainly more so than any luxury apartment building. The park is the antidote.
Our season ended last weekend with two playoff losses for reasons that don’t matter. What matters is we got to play on that field, in that part of the city, surrounded by hulking buildings and street noise. We got to play ball with people older than us, younger, faster, stronger, richer and poorer.
And we get to do it all again next year. See you in April.