Outside of a few pockets of activity, T-Mobile Park is mostly quiet this Friday morning. Walking along the 200-level concourse to go from the press box to the auxiliary press box, the halls are hushed, smelling of the bright acidity of the housekeeping staff’s Lemon Peel spray and a subtle whiff of popcorn I suspect never goes away. Carpets that will soon be trod on by hundreds of anxious, harried feet are vacuumed, velvety piles. Every dish is washed and stacked, ready to be loaded up with dearly-priced ballpark food. A stack of beer cups menaces from the T-Mobile ‘Pen.
The quiet before the storm
