This is Baseball

A Love Letter to Baum-Walker Stadium

There are moments, if you’re lucky enough to truly live them, that transcend the mundane. They grab you by the lapels, pull you in close, and whisper something profound in your ear, something that makes the hair on your arms stand at attention.

For anyone who has ever driven north through the Boston Mountains to Fayetteville, stepped onto the hallowed ground of Baum-Walker Stadium, and felt the electric hum of a spring afternoon, you know what I’m talking about. And if you’re there in the bottom of the seventh, the sun dipping low and painting the sky in a kaleidoscope of Hog-red and brilliant orange, and the familiar strains of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” fill the air, you don’t just sing along. You feel it. And then, at that precise moment, that perfect confluence of anticipation and tradition, you hear it, a collective roar that echoes through the Ozarks: "THIS IS BASEBALL!"

And damn if it ain't.

This isn’t just a stadium; it’s a living, breathing monument to a love affair. A multi-generational, passion-fueled, sometimes heart-breaking, often exhilarating, always-unforgettable love affair between a state and its Razorbacks. Specifically, it’s baseball Hogs. We’re not talking about just a few games here and there. We’re talking about a tradition so deeply woven into the fabric of Arkansas, it’s practically an eighth natural wonder. And like any good love story, this one has a beginning, a middle, and a whole lot of glorious, gritty, gut-wrenching details in between.

To truly understand Baum-Walker, you’ve gotta go back to the roots. Way back.

Before the manicured outfield and the gleaming video board, before the aroma of popcorn and Wright’s Barbecue and the roar of a capacity crowd. We're talking about a time when baseball in Fayetteville was a more… rustic affair.

The University of Arkansas fielded its first baseball team in 1897 and played most of their games at the Washington County Fair Grounds until 1970 when a 28-year-old Norm DeBriyn was hired and lobbied for a new stadium to be built on campus. The construction of George Cole Field brought great success for DeBriyn and the Hogs. He went on to a 1,161-650-6 record including: 2 SWC Championships, 1 SEC Championship, 15 NCAA Tournament Appearances, and 4 College World Series Appearances.

For decades, the Hogs played at George Cole Field, a place that, while undoubtedly steeped in history and cherished memories for those who graced its dugouts and bleachers, was, shall we say, a little rough around the edges. It was charming, sure, like your grandpa's old pickup truck – reliable, got the job done, but wasn't winning any beauty contests.

Cole Field had character, no doubt. The close proximity to the field, the shared experience of baking in the sun or huddling under an umbrella, the pure, unadulterated baseball. But as the program grew, it became clear that the aspirations of the Razorbacks were outgrowing the confines of their beloved but aging home. The Hogs weren't just a regional curiosity anymore; they were a national power knocking on the door of Omaha, year-after-year. And national powers, well, they need a proper stage.

But before we leap to Baum, we need to talk about a man who, arguably more than anyone else, fundamentally changed the game-day experience and infused Razorback baseball with an inimitable spirit: Larry Shank.

Larry wasn’t your typical baseball guy, and that, my friends, was his superpower.

Recommended to Coach DeBriyn in 1990 by assistant coach Dave Jorn, Shank became the public address announcer at George Cole Field. Imagine a booth smaller than a generous strike zone, cassette tapes shuffling, a mini-Casio keyboard, and a few sound effects from a bygone radio era. That was Larry's domain. He wasn't just announcing batters; he was orchestrating an unforgettable experience. He was, as many would later attest, an infectious baseball host.

Shank's unconventional approach was exactly what Razorback baseball needed. While some traditionalists might have cringed at his quirky out-of-town score reads (often listing the losing team’s score first), you quickly forgave him when he belted out another one of his memorable lines or unleashed a new sound effect. He understood that baseball, for all its beauty, has its lulls, and Larry's genius was in keeping the fans engaged and entertained in a way that made them better, more passionate fans. He even sang the national anthem from the field on Sundays, a highlight for everyone in attendance.

Then came the move to Baum Stadium in 1996, and Larry Shank, the master conductor of chaos and joy, was united with a stage worthy of his talents. The pristine green of the outfield, the perfectly manicured infield, the imposing stands – it all seemed to amplify Larry’s unique brand of game-day magic. His enthusiasm, already legendary at Cole Field, now reverberated through a state-of-the-art facility, ensuring his place in Razorback history.

And it was within these grand new confines, during the sacred seventh-inning stretch, that Larry Shank cemented his lasting legacy. "All right Razorback Fans, Off Your Seats and On Your Feet, it is time for the famed Seventh-Inning Stretch!” he would bellow from the front deck of the press box. Leading the assembled Razorback choir with a mini-baseball bat, he’d conduct the rendition of "Take Me Out to the Ball Game." And as the song reached its joyful crescendo, as the crowd's energy peaked, Larry would unleash the phrase that has since become synonymous with Razorback baseball, a collective exclamation that has echoed through the stadium for decades: "THIS IS BASEBALL!"

While pinpointing the exact first moment Larry Shank uttered "THIS IS BASEBALL!" with that signature flourish is like nailing jelly to the wall, it became his trademark phrase and the quintessential exclamation point to the seventh-inning stretch during his tenure at Baum. It wasn't just a catchy line; it was his way of encapsulating the entire experience – the tradition, the passion, the shared joy of being there, in that moment, for America's pastime, Hog-style. He truly conceived that phrase as his signature exclamation, and it took root with the fans almost immediately, becoming an integral part of the Baum experience.

The vision of building Baum stadium began to take shape in the late 1980s, but it wasn't just about building a new ballpark; it was about building a cathedral.

A place where dreams could be chased, where legends could be forged, and where the roar of the crowd, amplified by Larry's booming voice, could literally move mountains. The concept was ambitious: a state-of-the-art facility, designed not just for the players, but for the fans, creating an experience that would be unparalleled in college baseball.

The groundbreaking for Baum Stadium in 1993 was more than just a ceremony; it was a testament to the collective will of a fan base hungry for greatness. And when the gates finally opened in 1996, it was clear that the vision had been realized. From the moment you stepped onto the concourse, the sheer scope of the place was breathtaking. The pristine green of the outfield, the perfectly manicured infield, the imposing stands that seemed to hug the diamond, pulling you into the action. It was a sensory overload in the best possible way. The smells of popcorn and fresh-cut grass, the sounds of cracking bats and enthusiastic cheers, the sight of a perfect double play – it all just worked.

Baum wasn't just bigger and newer; it was better. It was designed with the fan in mind, offering comfortable seating, better concessions, and an atmosphere that was electric from the first pitch to the last out. And the Hogs, bless their cotton-pickin' hearts, rose to the occasion. The winning tradition that DeBriyn had meticulously built only intensified within the friendly confines of Baum, with Larry Shank as the vibrant, unpredictable master of ceremonies. Postseason appearances became the norm, and the dream of a National Championship, a dream that still burns bright, felt more tangible than ever.

Then came the "Walker" part.

In 2009, in recognition of the incredible generosity of the Walker family – specifically Willard and Pat Walker, whose unwavering support for the University of Arkansas was nothing short of legendary – the stadium was officially renamed Baum-Walker Stadium. It was a fitting tribute, acknowledging the profound impact that philanthropic spirit has on the ability to build and maintain world-class facilities. It also solidified the idea that this place wasn't just about bricks and mortar; it was about community, about shared values, about the enduring legacy of those who believe in the power of collegiate athletics to inspire and unite.

And boy, has Baum-Walker united. It’s a place where lifelong friendships are forged over a shared love of the Hogs. It’s where fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, grandfathers and granddaughters create memories that will last a lifetime. It’s where strangers become instant allies, united in their fervent desire to see a Hog’s win. The Razorback baseball fan base is unlike any other. They’re passionate, they’re knowledgeable, and they’re loyal to a fault. They travel in droves, paint the stands red, and bring a level of energy that can rattle opposing pitchers and lift their own team to impossible heights.

Think about the moments that have unfolded on that diamond. The walk-off homers that sent the crowd into a frenzy. The improbable comebacks that defied logic. The stellar pitching performances that had you on the edge of your seat, holding your breath with every pitch. The heart-stopping plays, the diving catches, the perfect throws from the outfield. Each one etching itself into the collective memory of Razorback Nation.

Larry Shank, tragically, passed away in August 2007 after a courageous battle with cancer. His loss was felt deeply throughout the entire Razorback community. In the following baseball season, the public address booth at Baum-Walker Stadium was officially named in his honor, and a small memento box tribute still graces a wall in the press box. But his far greater and more compelling testament is on display at each and every home game. Even today, as we prepare for new seasons and new challenges, Larry Shank’s influence is readily apparent. His seventh-inning stretch, his unparalleled energy, and, of course, his signature “THIS IS BASEBALL!” catchphrase remain defining characteristics of Razorback Baseball.

And through it all, through the highs and the lows, through the nail-biting finishes and the dominant victories, one constant remains: the seventh-inning stretch. It's more than just a tradition; it's a sacred ritual, a legacy forged by Larry Shank and passionately embraced by generations of fans. As the organ pipes up, a collective sigh of anticipation ripples through the stands. You stand, you stretch, you sing with gusto, maybe a little off-key, but with a whole lot of heart. And then, at that crescendo, when the song reaches its peak, the stadium erupts.

"THIS IS BASEBALL!"

It’s not just a declaration; it’s an affirmation. It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated joy. It’s the realization that you’re part of something bigger than yourself, something timeless. It’s the recognition that this game, in this place, with these fans, is the essence of everything good and true about America’s pastime.

Because "this is baseball" isn't just about the crack of the bat or the pop of the glove. It's about the connection. It’s about the stories told in the stands, the friendships forged over shared victories (and the occasional shared misery). It’s about the collective gasp when a crucial error is made and the thunderous applause for a heroic play. It's about the feeling of home, the feeling of belonging.

My first trip to Baum-Walker was in the summer of 2004, when Coach Dave Van Horn had the Hogs hosting their first NCAA Super Regional of his tenure as coach. A group of guys drove up from Sheridan for the Saturday game against #12 Florida State. It ended up setting the (at the time) NCAA record for attendance at 10,027. So we couldn’t even get tickets to go inside. Instead, we joined another ~1,000 fans pressed up against the fence in right field (where Macke’s Bases Loaded Landing currently sits). And the Hogs advanced to Omaha.

The roar of the crowd, the heckling, the intimidation that comes from Baum-Walker is unparalleled. Dave Van Horn knows it. The players know it. The fans know it. And former Arkansas assistant coach and current Tennessee Volunteers coach Tony Vitello knows it.

This weekend, #3 Arkansas hosts #14 Tennessee in the NCAA Super Regional. Winner advances to the College World Series in Omaha. Loser gets to start summer early.

Just three weeks ago, Arkansas won their regular season series with Tennessee at Baum Stadium. And history favors those regular season winners when a post-season rematch occurs. Since 1999, when the NCAA expanded its postseason field, there have been 19 super regional match-ups that were rematches from earlier in the season. Teams that won in the regular season were 13-6 in punching their tickets to Omaha.

I like our chances in this series, especially at home.

Baum-Walker Stadium isn't just a physical structure; it’s the heartbeat of Razorback baseball. It’s a testament to the visionaries who dreamt it, the benefactors who funded it, the legendary voice of Larry Shank who amplified its spirit, and the countless fans who have filled its seats, year after year, rain or shine, through thick and thin. It’s a place where history is made, where legends are born, and where the simple act of watching a baseball game transforms into a profound, shared experience.

So when you’re there this weekend, standing tall in the seventh, singing along with thousands of your closest friends, take a moment. Breathe it all in. Feel the energy coursing through the stands. And when that moment comes, when the collective roar rises to the heavens, let it rip. Because you’re not just shouting a phrase; you’re proclaiming a truth. You’re celebrating a legacy. You’re living a moment that truly transcends time.

"THIS IS BASEBALL!"

And damn, it feels good to be a Hog.