In the year 2000, the city of Albuquerque got a little worse. After over 30 years of AAA baseball, the owner of the Albuquerque Dukes sold the team to a group in Portland, and the citizens in the desert found summer life less entertaining. Politicians blamed many things, but mostly, the reason was our outdated stadium. Built as a revolutionary space aged facility in the 1960s, the Sport Stadium had become inadequate in many respects, but it was still a great place to see some baseball. The perks included $6 box seats, ability to bring your own food to the ballpark, lava rocks circling the outfield and a fantastic view of the Sandia Mountains.

Without a team, the politicians bitched and moaned about whose fault it was that this horrible thing could happen. The comments ranged from 'We need a new stadium' to 'I hate baseball.' I personally maintain that the city councilors of this city don't go out after 8 o'clock at night. After much debate, it was decided that the public should decide the future fate of Albuquerque baseball. A two-question ballot was devised and presented for the public. Should the city spend 25 million on baseball? Yes or No. Should we renovate the existing stadium or create a new stadium? Renovate or new.

Even with only two questions, people were confused. They didn't know that if you voted No on the first question that you didn't have to answer the second. As a result, the Yes or No question turned out to be fairly close. Yes won by six percent. The overwhelming majority voted for renovation of the old stadium. Basically, almost everyone who voted No favored renovation. This vexed the mayor, who wanted to build a new stadium downtown where his friends had many construction contracts.

Next, the town had to find a name for the team. Should they still be called the Dukes or something new? Dukes, Roadrunners, 66ers, Atoms and others got tossed around. People submitted all kinds of suggestions for new names, but it turned out an episode from the Simpsons called "Hungry, Hungry Homer" had the answer all along. In this particular cartoon, Homer discovers that the Springfield Isotopes are going to be relocated to Albuquerque, and he goes on a hunger strike to keep the team. Homer succeeds with his drastic and humorous antics, and the team stays. The final scene shows a western man telling his subordinates to get him the Dallas Cowboys instead. When told the Cowboys play football, he replies the immortal words "They'll play what I want them to play, for I am the Mayor Of Albuquerque!" After several unofficial votes on-line and in newspapers, the organization declared the new team would be called the Albuquerque Isotopes. Life continues to imitate art.

Back to the wait. Renovation turned out to mean demolishing the old stadium completely and putting up an entirely new stadium in the same place. Two years of construction. Two summers without local baseball. It was torture. I usually attend five to ten games a year, depending on money, time and how well the team does. There were dozens of moments during the last two summers when I looked out at the pink setting sun and thought "Tonight would be a great night for baseball."

Then, the glorious finally occurred two weeks ago. Baseball came back to Albuquerque. No more politician rhetoric, no more voting, no more construction. Pllllllllaaaaaay Baaaaalllllll! Thirty thousand fans came opening weekend, including me on the first Sunday day game. The stadium is top notch with an upper deck, picnic area, grassy knoll, home run berm area, two gigantic video screens, a walking ring around the entire stadium, and it still has that kick ass view of the Sandias. First class all the way for minor league baseball. The Isotopes lost their first two games on the homestand, but while I was in attendance, they sparked one of the most incredible innings I have ever witnessed. After going back and forth during the first four innings with the Oklahoma Redhawks, the Isotopes exploded with an 11-run fifth inning that included two grand slams. It was glorious. Simply glorious. The final score was in traditional PCL fashion: Isotopes 18, Redhawks 10.

In honesty, the Isotopes are mediocre at best as the Florida Marlins AAA farm team, but no one really cares. Baseball is back, I'm wearing my cool black and red Isotopes cap, and summers just got a lot better in Albuquerque. Go 'Topes!

Chris Jungle still accidentally says "Dukes" sometimes.