The sun is setting over Winston-Salem as a baritone singer finishes the last bars of the "Star-Spangled Banner" inside BB&T Ballpark, the new $48.7 million downtown baseball stadium. More than 7,000 people erupt into cheers. A crate full of doves is released over the field, and moments later, two Air Force fighter jets roar overhead, sending the crowd into a frenzy.
Geoff Lassiter, the president of the Winston-Salem Dash, stands thumping his hands together in solid, slow claps. His eyes are bright.
"Don't have much longer now," he says, voice choking on emotion.
It is 6:57 p.m.
Five minutes to game time.
*****
Fourteen hours earlier, Lassiter pulls his black SUV into a small parking lot near the VIP entrance. At 5:15 a.m., the moon is still out. Lassiter has hardly been away. He and his wife, Kiera, were at the stadium until half past midnight, toasting opening day with the team owners.
"I need some coffee," he says, straightening his tie. Lassiter is tall -- 6 foot 6 -- with a wide smile and big hands. A former basketball player at Greensboro College and a native of Elkin, he likes to say he has spent most of his 33 years within the same 60-mile radius. He came to the Dash in January from Wake Forest University, where he was assistant athletics director in charge of marketing.
At the time, Lassiter was joining a staff brow-beaten by criticism.
The opening of the park had been delayed a year and had required a contentious $15.7 million cash infusion from the city. The debate, Lassiter thinks, is at last behind him. Opening night is sold out.
Today is going to be about glad-handing, finishing touches and troubleshooting last-minute problems.
First, though, is a four-hour block of interviews with local television stations.
By 6 a.m., Lassiter is on the field, red dirt dusting over his dress shoes and suit pants, microphone clipped to his lapel, answering questions for a morning news anchor about the day's activites: a pep rally downtown at noon, opening ceremonies about 6:20 p.m. Five minutes later, he's on the warning track with another TV station, then 10 minutes later, at the carousel for another interview.
Between questions, as the sky turns light and morning commuters begin streaming past on Business 40, Lassiter strides through the stadium with his cell phone to his ear, solving problems.
The high-definition connections aren't working in the suites, and the cable guys who come to fix it can't get inside the locked doors. "Hey, guys, I can get you into this one," Lassiter said, unlocking the owners' box. "I'll get someone to get you into the others."
One of the stadium's electronic signs is out. A quick phone call: "Caleb, hey, buddy. My marquee isn't working. Can you fix that?"
The inflatable toys for the Kids Zone play area have not arrived. "We're going to need those here by this afternoon."
Jim Grobe, Wake Forest's football coach, texts Lassiter to wish him luck.
By 9 a.m., Lassiter had stood in front of a camera more than a dozen times.
*****
By 9:20, Lassiter is in his office, running down the day's to-do list.
"We need to confirm the city council escort, the owner's box escort, and when Billy is done on the field, he needs to go to the Blue Rhino deck to take pictures, I need to pick up my wife and mother at 4.... We need a gift for the first person to walk through the gate," Lassiter says. "Oh, and I need a parking pass for my mother-in-law. Better take care of her."
An hour later, Lassiter is back to check on the stadium. Construction workers tighten bolts on picnic-table benches in the outfield seats. Crews hang sheer images of an office building planned to be built outside right field.
Lassiter's phone vibrates. A sudden crisis.
The team's concessions director is calling: Hot-dog carts stationed around the stadium's concourse still have not been approved by the county health department.
Lassiter dials the health inspector.
"We're just hours out," he says. "And I'm getting a little nervous."
Lassiter is in the stadium control room with a panoramic view of the ballpark. He watches crews cut the field and paint the yellow trim that runs across the top of the outfield fence, designating foul balls and home runs.
A while later his phone vibrates again: The health inspectors are here.
"OK, just let me know if they're not going to approve it and we need to appeal to the state of North Carolina," he says, watching the inspectors walk across the right-field concourse from the control room. "Because we probably need to do that by lunch."
Bryan Andrews, one of the team's co-owners, walks inside and picks a penny up off the floor.
"Geoff, our profits, man, they're on the floor," he jokes.
"Hey, buddy," Lassiter answers. "I tell you what, I'm sweating that health inspection right now." Lassiter bites the corner of his lip. "We just got to get those carts approved. Come on, buddy."
Andrews watches workers spray the stadium's green plastic seats to get pollen off.
"I sure hope those seats don't get yellow again," Andrews says.
*****
Just after noon, seven hours to game time.
Lassiter pulls his SUV into the alley between One Park Vista and Civic Plaza Park on Fourth Street downtown. He steps out of the car, smoothes his suit and walks through the people milling around the park, shaking hands with architects, businessmen and the mayor. The Winston-Salem State University band plays. A woman in a denim jumpsuit walks up to him smiling -- one of his childhood friends from Elkin.
He climbs on stage, and gives an off-the-cuff speech. When he climbs down, someone asks how he feels.
"Well," Lassiter says, pausing. "Well, it feels great."
By 1 p.m., he is pulling his car back into the stadium.
He has walked barely a quarter of the way around the concourse when the phone vibrates again.
The health inspector won't approve the carts.
The next hour and a half, Lassiter pleads, argues and negotiates with the health department and with the county.
"This is a $48 million stadium, and it's the biggest thing to happen to Winston-Salem in 10 years," he says. "I don't understand why this hasn't been taken care of."
Eventually, he finds a backup plan: The team will rent already-approved carts from a local hot-dog vendor, cook the hot dogs in the rented carts, wrap them, and serve them from the team carts already on the concourses.
Crisis resolved.
*****
By 5:15 p.m., people are lining up outside the gates. Lassiter, principal team owner Billy Prim and the rest of the owners gather on the stadium's second level for photos. Singer Frank Johnson practices the "Star Spangled Banner" in the background.
At 5: 54 p.m., people stream through the gates and turnstiles while hip-hop music plays over the loudspeaker.
"Hey, you know your seats are over there?" Lassiter says to one man, pointing.
"No, no," the man says, looking around the stadium with wide eyes. "I just want to walk around for a bit."
Lassiter hugs him and moves on.
"That was my father-in-law," he says.
*****
A helicopter swirls overhead at 6:37 p.m. Lassiter looks around the stadium, grinning and nodding.
"This is awesome."
The umpires take their places at 6:48 p.m.
Sarah Barnhardt, the in-game hostess, takes the microphone. "Good evening, Winston-Salem!" she says. "I know we've all waited a very long time for tonight."
Lassiter, who is on the field for the anthem, the doves, and the fighter jets walks off with Prim. The Dash run on.
"I'm just going to stand right here and watch the first pitch," Lassiter says.
The Nationals' Stephen Lombardozzi walks to the plate. Dash pitcher Stephen Sauer takes the baseball, rocks back and fires.
Strike one.
lgraff@wsjournal.com | 727-7279
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