I want to thank somebody -- I suppose New York meteorologists will have to do -- for the wonderful weather at Bethpage Park last week. A Monday finish was just what I needed.

The players and spectators were probably not as pleased as I, and millions of television viewers had to adjust their lives, but those were not my problems.

I was happy because I had agreed to spend Sunday afternoon in an orgy of Father's-Day-ness with my elder son, watching the Kansas City Royals lose their umpteenth consecutive game, this one to the hated St. Louis Cardinals, in 95-degree heat. At least my son, who bought the tickets, demonstrated his inherited intelligence by getting seats in the shade.

He, despite having left Kansas City after college, never to return, remains a steadfast Royals fan. I find this remarkable, since I have never been any kind of Royals fan, except, of course, for the year they won the World Series against the same hated Cardinals.

I guess his dedication stems from those golden days of his childhood, when George Brett strode the bases and every kid in town wore Royals blue.

I hadn't been to Kaufman Stadium, home of the Royals, for a long time. It, and neighboring Arrowhead Stadium, home of the Chiefs, have both just undergone multimillion-dollar makeovers, courtesy of Jackson County (Kansas City) taxpayers. This money was extracted from locals in the time-honored tradition of threatening to move the teams if the taxpayers didn't fork over, not an empty threat in the case of Kansas City.

The money bought the usual number of expensive new suites, all ready just in time for the current economic meltdown, new bleachers, restaurants, restrooms, and the fanciest scoreboard imaginable. It towers over center field, with a connected strip sign running all around the stadium beneath the second deck. The flashy graphics never ended.

Even though the game got pretty boring after the Cardinals' eight-run fourth, there was no end to the action between innings. There were fan interviews on the big scoreboard screen, couples kissing on demand, kids racing around the warning track in hotdog suits, songs, lots of ads, even fireworks in 95-degree sunshine.

Who knows, maybe by next year they'll have alligator wrestling or gladiators.

I had a great time with my son, and it was interesting to see what baseball has become. Attention spans are not long enough to endure a couple (or three) hours of a leisurely game, conversation, beer and peanuts. Entertainment must now be nonstop, even if that means kids in hotdog suits.

The game was nominally a sellout, which meant that the stadium was about 80 percent full. Something near half the people there were from St. Louis, a result of traditional cross-state and inter-league rivalries and Father's Day. As the Royals fell further and further behind, the home fans began dribbling away, doubtless headed for picnics or air conditioning, leaving behind a mottled pattern of Cardinal red shirts and empty blue seats.

I probably won't be back at the old ballpark for a long time. First, I have to be in Kansas City. Then it will take a special event to get me there. Perhaps another Father's Day, or, as a whole new world is about to open up, Grandfather's Day. It certainly won't be to see more hotdog suits. A winning team, or at least one that didn't give up eight-run innings, would be a big incentive. I think George Brett is only in his early 50s.

Well, what the heck. It was fun, and, thanks to the New York weather I didn't miss the final round of the Open. And the USGA hasn't resorted to hotdog suits. Yet.

Fred Wolferman lives in Southern Pines. Contact him by e-mail at fwolferman@sbcglobal.net