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As always, an explanation is needed. And as always, I'll do my best to provide one. What follows is Part 1 of my latest Minor League saga. Part 2, meanwhile, can be found on Ben's Biz Blog. So without further ado, let's get to it.

My day began bright and early in Reading, Pa., where the Eastern League's R-Phils were staging their eighth annual "Morning Game" at FirstEnergy Stadium. While many Minor League teams schedule the occasional a.m. start times in order to accommodate school groups and day camps, the R-Phils take the concept to a whole new level: Of the thousands of games played each season in the Minors, none of them start earlier than the Morning Game's 9:35 a.m. first pitch.

Therefore, I wanted to be there.

The Morning Game is marketed toward those who would be most amenable to this highly unorthodox start time -- second and third-shift workers as well as senior citizens. This subset of fans is one not generally catered to when it comes to promotions, and the R-Phils did what they could to make them feel welcome. A breakfast buffet was served in one of the picnic areas, and the first 2,500 fans in attendance received a team-logo coffee mug. The gates opened at 8 a.m., at which point early-arriving seniors were invited to stroll around the warning track while enjoying the vocal stylings of cabaret singer Tony Farina.

Unfortunately, I missed this surreal spectacle. My brother and I were driving in from my hometown of Ambler, Pa., and it was enough of an effort to get to Reading by 9:30. But Wawa coffee in hand, get to Reading we did. As we made our way to our primo seats behind home plate (oh, the perks of being a Minor League Baseball writer), the national anthem singer was being introduced: "Donald from Boyertown."

That's it -- no last name, no professional or personal affiliation. Apparently, Donald was just a guy from a nearby community with a solid but unspectacular singing voice. That sort of unpretentiousness plays well in Reading, a blue-collar town whose Minor League Baseball team competes in a nearly 60-year-old facility. There may be no 21st-century bells and whistles, but there's plenty of character.

The R-Phils are consistently among the top-drawing teams in the Eastern League, and one of the reasons for this is that they do a great job presenting both aspects of the Minor League experience -- serious baseball and not-so-serious fun and games.

Reading is located approximately 70 miles from Philadelphia, and has been a Phillies affiliate since 1967. Therefore, the fans pack the park in large part because they care deeply about both the fortunes of their team, as well as the entire Phillies organization. The R-Phils front office staff takes great pains to stress the long and fruitful relationship that has existed between them and their parent club -- team photos are displayed in the concourse, for example, and the many of the concession stand menus are adorned with quotes from prominent alumni reflecting favorably on their time in Reading. And of course, Phillies-related giveaway items (Ryan Howard snow globe, anyone?) are staples of the promotional calendar.

But a respect for baseball history in no way precludes an irreverent approach to promotions and in-game entertainment. This is a point I hope to illustrate by way of example, so let's return specifically to the events of June 15.

'Gotta get home for lunch'

As strange as it may be for a professional ballgame to start at 9:30 a.m., once it got underway it felt, for lack of a better word, normal. Sure, there were specific flourishes here and there, including a most appropriate video clip from "The Sandlot." As Harrisburg's Jemel Spearman walked to the batter's box to begin the top of the first, the character of "Ham Porter" was seen uttering the line "Hurry up, batter. This better be a short game, I gotta get home for lunch."

After the first inning, an announcement over the PA welcomed "Second and third-shift workers, senior citizens and first-shift workers playing hooky." It was that final demographic that elicited the most cheers from the crowd. Obviously, there's no shame in skipping out on work in order to see a ballgame. That's the American way.

In the middle of the second, the Crazy Hot Dog Vendor made an appearance. This bespectacled, somewhat maniacal individual has become a game day staple, galloping onto the field atop an ostrich while hurling frankfurters into the crowd. Maybe my expectations were too high after watching so many Crazy Hot Dog Vendor YouTube videos (I also bid for CHDV merchandise on eBay and post religiously on CHDV message boards) but his performance on this beautiful morning was rather subdued. He seemed "Mildly Agitated" as opposed to "Crazy," but this could very well have been because it was barely 10 in the morning. The demand for hot dogs is lukewarm at this time of day, and perhaps the CHDV adjusted his energy levels in order to meet those of the crowd. After all, who am I to question a master?

But whether or not the crowd had the stomach for typical ballpark fare, the R-Phils were providing it. All of the concession stands were open and selling their usual items, from beer to french fries to funnel cakes. I ended up taking the advice of R-Phils communication director Rob Hackash and ordered the "Churger." It is what its name implies -- a chicken breast stacked atop a hamburger, with only a slice of cheese separating the two. I found that the taste of the chicken generally overrode that of the hamburger, but that overall it was a surprisingly seamless concoction. I sincerely hope that one of these days the R-Phils add "Churger" to their already formidable stable of mascots, as young and old alike would delight in the antics of a costumed meat hybrid. Of this, I am sure.

At one point I asked an affable beer vendor (easily identifiable because he had a 16-ounce can of Yuengling lager affixed to his cap) if sales were slower than usual. He replied that they were indeed sluggish, which led me to suggest that he sell Bloody Marys instead. "I've heard that a few times already today," he replied, unwittingly confirming my suspicion that all of my jokes and so-called "clever" remarks are in fact hackneyed and unoriginal.

The R-Phils ended up winning the ballgame -- played in two hours and 45 minutes in front of a crowd of 7,097 -- by a score of 5-2. Gus Milner and Kevin Mahar both blasted two-run homers in the fifth inning, and this was good timing as far as I was concerned. Hackash had been giving my brother and I a tour of the stadium, and when the homers were hit we were loitering in the right field "Pool Pavilion" (a picnic and party area). Each time a ball left the park streams of water shot up from fountains located just beyond the right-field fence -- the antithesis of fireworks but nonetheless a similarly celebratory atmosphere.

The R-Phils experience is full of such quirks -- forgettable on their own, perhaps, but the cumulative effect is substantial. Whether its home run waterworks or the Crazy Hot Dog Vendor or a lounge version of the seventh-inning stretch sung by longtime team employee Joey "Bago" Donuts, something is bound to make a lasting impression.

After the final out -- which was punctuated by a ragtag mascot dance performance led by No. 1 R-Phils fan Disco Briscoe -- my brother and I enjoyed a postgame beverage in the confines of the team's top-secret (or so I like to imagine) employee lounge area. It was just past one in the afternoon, and already we had witnessed nine innings of professional baseball.

Benjamin Hill is a contributor to MLB.com. This story was not subject to the approval of the National Association of Professional Baseball Leagues or its clubs.

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