The view stinks, but the beer is free and the Beavers are Omaha-bound | Bill Oram

CORVALLIS – Gavin Turley hit it hard to break the game wide open in the third inning, but not so hard that the ball traveled faster than sound.

So first came the crack of the bat, then the rising tide of cheers in the 92-degree heat. And then that tiny meteor, nothing but a pale speck, appeared from behind the peaked tents in right field and carried up, up and away beyond the centerfield wall.

With one leg slung precariously over the concrete railing atop the adjacent parking garage, Jason Aubin smiled wide and pumped a triumphant fist. Then he took a slug from a can of Rainier.

“I’ll tell my kids about it,” said Aubin, a 27-year-old

Oregon State

student with a Bill Walton beard. “If ever have the opportunity to have them.”

Sitting on the staircase nearby, OSU junior Dominic Thompson watched a delayed stream on his phone and threw up both arms in celebration. Chance Summers, whose dad Chris pitched at OSU more than 30 years ago, swore excitedly.

“Again?” shouted Kane McNabb, as he clutched a Coors Light.

Turley’s homer was the Beavers fourth in the first three innings of an

eventual 14-10 rout of Florida State

in the Super Regionals.

To watch the Beavers beat the Seminoles and clinch a trip to Omaha and the College World Series for the first time since 2018, and the first time under head coach Mitch Canham, the best seat in the house may not have been in the house at all.

Sure, the seats were makeshift and literally a pain in the butt. You couldn’t see the pitcher, home plate or the first baseline. You had to squint to make out the score, and you could forget reading the count if your vision was anything less than 20/20. But the beer was free, at least until you ran out, and the view was priceless.

You see, the most prominent feature in your sightline was the backside of the scoreboard and the words, “HOME OF THE NATIONAL CHAMPIONS,” with 2006, 2007 and 2018 below. There was room, even, to add more.

So, yes, that view was plenty fine, even if half the time you didn’t know what you were cheering for.

“I’m just doing what they’re doing,” said 32-year-old Andrew Marks, as he clapped in the back of his Ford pick-up, nodding toward the sellout crowd inside Goss Stadium.

“It was good,” his friend, Nick McClaskey, 21, assured him.

For years, fans at Oregon State have hung over the wall atop the parking structure, taking advantage of the free view of 80 percent of the field. Cameramen zoom in on them from afar to capture the dedication of Beavers fans and share it with a national audience. Canham regularly shouts them out.

Sometimes they grill and set up tents. On Sunday, the melodic strains of Mike Parker’s voice boomed through the open windows of the 2001 Subaru Outback McNabb purchased for $1,000.

And when ticket prices spike, as they did for the eighth-seeded Beavers series against Florida State, climbing north of $500 for some seats this weekend, that perch becomes all the more valuable.

There is no bad view of history.

So on Sunday, fans watched from the second-floor basketball court at the Dixon Recreation Center along the first baseline and the staircase at Waldo Hall behind home plate.

When the Seminoles made a pitching change in the bottom of the eighth inning, Marks said, “I like the God’s eye view. When you’re sitting on that side of Goss, you can’t see the guy coming out of the bullpen.”

Always a silver lining.

The sun had just set, and Marks’ girlfriend, Kayrene Midtlien, looked east toward the Cascades.

“Can’t see Jefferson no more,” she said. “She’s gone.”

After the game, Canham would use part of his news conference to remind the players on the dais with him, Trent Caraway and Canon Reeder, that this is why he regularly tells Beavers players that they are like superheroes.

“They’re bringing people together,” he said, “and giving them joy.”

That can look like a rowdy, disruptive section of fans behind the batter. Or a young couple holding each other tight as they watch from afar.

A week away from graduating with a degree in marine biology, Brooks Glorioso wrapped his arm around the shoulders of his girlfriend, Lily Hedding, and pulled her close. Glorioso looked toward the city center of Corvallis, past Weatherford Hall, where lived as a freshman.

“This,” he said, “is a very special view.”

He said he would stay until the bitter end, because he wanted to watch Florida State’s players make the walk back to their bus, which sat in full view beyond the right field wall along Washington Way.

“As petty as it sounds,” he said, “that’s the best part.”

Inside the stadium in the middle of the eighth inning, fans broke out in a raucous chant of, “Independent! Independent!”

They took the thing that has been a gut punch for Beavers fans, the death of the Pac-12, and turned it into a validation. One man in the expensive seats turned to another, slapped his back, and shouted, “It’s a great day to be a Beav.”

That energy spread the 330 feet from home plate to the right field wall and another 350 feet or so to the parking garage and up five flights of stairs to the seats that were not just cheap, but free.

Sitting in the back of Marks’ truck, clapped softly. He repeated, “Let’s go Beavs” under his breath, more of a mantra than a cheer.

“I’d offer you a beer,” Marks told me, “but we drank them all.”

The power of sports is the community they provide, the connection, even when it is distant and requires a climb up several flights of stairs. The power of sports are the moments and the memories.

On Sunday, the Beavers were so close to Omaha that these fans could feel it, even if they couldn’t quite see it.

Tirtha Dhakhwa has lived in Corvallis for three decades. He wanted to see the Beavers claim their latest trip to Omaha. He rode his bike to the top of the garage and once the Seminoles were down to two outs in the bottom of the ninth, he pulled out his phone and began recording.

“This is a big deal,” he said.

He didn’t have a view of the final pitch Nelson Keljo threw or the way it froze FSU’s Golden Spikes Award candidate, Alex Lodise, at the plate. But he could make out Keljo pumping a fist in front of the mound. And he saw the sea of black jerseys pour out of the dugout and onto the field.

As a wave of sound carried from Goss toward the parking structure, the scattered cheers of the three dozens fans who had made their way to the top of the structure joined them.

“Now I get to watch them go get on the bus,” Glorioso said, “just like I hoped for.”

The roof quickly cleared.

Marks’ truck rumbled to life and pulled out. Other fans disappeared down the stairs.

Glorioso and Hedding were the last two remaining, watching the stands empty and the celebration on the field subside.

“We’ve gotten so much ripped away from us,” Glorioso said. “You lose your conference, and everything’s so bleak.

“Now look at this.”

As he spoke, Hedding leaned over the railing. She wore a homemade Beavers t-shirt and a wide smile.

What was she thinking?

“I’m so happy for this school,” she said.

The Beavers will play on. They are on their way to Omaha again.

“I know,” Canham said, “Beaver Nation is going to show up.”

Of course, not every Oregon State fan will be able to make the trip to Nebraska.

There will be those who have to watch from afar.

It’s their preferred view, anyway.

—


Bill Oram


is the sports columnist at The Oregonian/OregonLive.

Stories by

Bill Oram

• Bill Oram: Seriously, who is going to beat the Beavers?

• Oregon State’s dominant regional comeback sets them up for more postseason success

• Bill Oram: Booed for winning a state title, this Oregon teen now just wants a safe place to run

About The Author