Stadium Split

In most ways, my last Atlanta Braves home game was like all the others I’d attended there.  On a hot and humid Sunday afternoon in July 2016, my dad and I drove to Turner Field, which is located about ten minutes from my childhood house. We parked at his office downtown and walked our ritualistic mile to the ballpark, past the state capital, the interstate overpass and the seat of the 1996 Olympic torch. We bought tickets at the window, picked up burgers and beers, scored the game from our seats, cheered, chatted, and went home. But,…

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