House of Representativeness

The field as seen from Nationals Park's "worst" seat -- Section 401, Row M, Seat 1. The ticket is $5, and fans will get their money's worth from the views alone. (By Jonathan Newton -- The Washington Post)
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The scene beyond center field is a welter of cranes and rising office buildings, future homes to lawyers and lobbyists. What better emblem of our boom in disposable income than these monotonous glass boxes, filled with estimable wage drones, their pleas almost audible from a million Dilbert cubicles: "Take me out to the ballgame. Pleeease."

The Anacostia River flows beyond a right field scoreboard the size of the West Wing. Its curving sweep evokes Hogarth's "line of beauty," though few oil paintings include gunboats and cruisers such as those docked at the Navy Yard. From Nationals Park, you can't see the Pentagon, but those ships remind us that this has always been a military town. "First in war . . ."

From 401, if you squint through the first base stands, you can see the future site of National Harbor, the ambitious Prince George's County development project that the Maryland suburbs hope will compete, to some degree, for the same dollars that the District craves. Washington's master plan, over the next 10 years, is to reinvent about 50 square blocks near Nationals Park with as much new office space and as many hotels, restaurants and condos as exist in the downtowns of St. Louis and Memphis combined.

Let's save the worst for last. If the Anacostia could be passed off as a pretty river, it would be an environmental lie. For decades, all local jurisdictions have poured the detritus from their sprawl into rivers and bays as if regeneration were inevitable. Lucky for the Nats, the river seldom stinks. But when it rains on hot nights and the wind is right, a smell can rise, sharp as a conscience, that will make those in right field sniff.

By day, the Anacostia is an unpleasant gurgling brown. At night, blessedly, it turns black, a mirror for the twinkling lights on The Other Side of the River. Why, what an idyllic backdrop for a park. Another lie, of course. That would be The Other Side of the River, as in Ward 8, part of predominantly African American Washington that has always been kept semi-visible and underrepresented. Also, just across South Capitol from the park is a neighborhood of row houses. A fancy dining club for suite holders looks right at it. The alley kid and street-ball boy in me enjoys the juxtaposition.

Finally, 50 yards from the home plate entrance you'll see all 5.8 acres of Florida Rock with its scores of cement mixers grazing in a "Road Warrior" wasteland. On time, on budget, but next to a dust mine. Take a photo: Your $611 million at work.

By baseball standards, where the only thing better than an exploding scoreboard is a four-story blinking beer bottle, Nationals Park runs only one risk: being understated. No trains above the outfield. No giant pinwheels. No mascot sliding into a beer stein. No 20-foot-high ersatz baseball mitt. Give Camden Yards credit for setting the standard. Washington had to play up to the Orioles' taste and did. Unobtrusive ads? They are here. Geico wanted cavemen. The Nats insisted on a gecko with a glove. On the scoreboard, Coke has its iconic bottle, nothing else. Given that it's a ballpark, it's hard to find even one garish misstep.

Did the District, architects HOK, Clark Construction and the Lerners create the antithesis of FedEx Field -- that insult to all the senses?

A handful of parks will beat the Nationals for mountain ranges, bays or skyscrapers beyond the outfield. A few can brand their tradition or capitalize on quaint. But Nationals Park will be hard to top for spectator-friendly design, for 360-degree surprise as you explore the stadium and, finally, for a sense that this park may be the one monument in town that captures the most of the whole Washington area -- not just a slice. Most of it gorgeous, some edgy and much of it a work in progress like the team itself.

As you stroll, you will see the Capitol of our politics, grand government buildings and ships of war, too. Marble symbols of freedom stand next to the reality of social inequality. A dirty river runs by a state-of-the-art ballpark. A cathedral and the largest library are cut against the same sky. No team can brag of flashier amenities, yet the best seats in the house, at least for a philosopher, cost the least. To tie it together, jets glide past over Maryland, destination "Washington," but land in Virginia.

Finally, for a region that waited a third of a century for a team, and forever for a great park, a yard that truly feels like home.