Old man in the mound story?

Certain ballparks have distinct sounds. Trains rumble past Safeco Field in Seattle. Seagulls comb AT&T Park after games in San Francisco. Airplanes whoosh over Shea Stadium in Flushing. Horns were always bleating from the catacombs of Olympic Stadium in Montreal.

Here in Toronto, at the park they used to call SkyDome, there's the sound of an old man pounding the pitcher's mound with a tool that flattens dirt. I don't know what it's called, but I know the sound it makes. Over and over and over again: Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

For several hours before the game and an hour or so after it, the groundskeeper stands out on that mound, holding a long stick with a flat square on the bottom. It's almost like he's churning butter, except a lot louder. The sounds rings through the empty dome, bouncing off the walls and the roof, a cacophony for your ears - Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

The groundskeepers work so hard here, and there are so many of them, it makes you wonder what they would do if the field were more to take care of than, you know, five patches of dirt and a whole lot of plastic grass. Yesterday I was eating lunch at one of the stadium restaurants, and I looked out and counted nine groundskeepers tending to those five patches of dirt. Nine!

I don't know why the mound, in particular, needs such attention. Roger Clemens mentioned last night that it's a clay mound, and it dries out after three or four innings. Maybe that has something to do with it.

But they sure do take care of it, that much I know. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!