Baseball is the game God loves most.
It is therefore perfectly reasonable that baseball parks ought to be designed much as a cathedral might be.
This from The Lion and the Cardinal (edited and with my emphases and comments):
I still love baseball, however. I’ve spent more than a few hours constructing Gothic Revival ballparks in my head. While at the game, I mentally compiled a short list of immediate changes in policy that I would make were I the owner of a baseball team, to dramatically improve the experience of watching the game. Bear in mind, of course, that doomed contrarian anachronism accounts for a healthy nine-tenths of my opinions on all subjects.
1) Tear out all the JumboTrons and electronic scoreboards. These more than anything poison the experience of watching live sports. If a man wants to watch TV, he can stay home. [I know there are churches in which texts are projected on walls.... brrrrrr....]
2) Forbid all canned rock music. The ballpark organ exists for a reason. Make the organist earn his living. [No cathedral should have anything remotely resembling rock music, or folk. It should have organ, however.]
3) Impose a dress code. Sport jackets and straw hats for men, ankle length sun dresses for women. Just like it was back in the good old days when the world was sane. [This should be obvious in regard to cathedrals or any other church for that matter.]
4) Accept as much advertising as necessary, but mandate that it all be designed in an old-timey graphic style, reminiscent of the late 19th or early 20th century. [A parish bulletin can have discreet advertising. No problem there. In the meantime we can remember that priests are always in "sales" while God is "managment".]
5) Sing all the verses to Take Me out to the Ball Game, not just the chorus. And by the way: the word is never: nnnnnnnever. There is a consonant at the beginning of that word. Nobody is allowed to act smart and claim that there is a double negative in the song. The words are being sung in the voice of Katie Casey, who is pleading her gentleman-caller to take her to the ball game. She is not currently at the ball game. When she says that she does not care if she nnnnnnnever gets back, she means that she would be perfectly content to remain at the ball game forever. This may be hyperbolic, but it is clearly what the songwriter intended. [I think it is not always necessary to sing every verse of every hymn. Some, however, are worthy of that. And if we have more Gregorian chant we eliminate the problem of hymn singing altogether. And yes, by all means, get the words right.]
After that I would begin gathering funds for the Gothic Revival ballpark. It would include a copper roof with numerous turrets (sort of a cross between the old South End Grounds and Craigievar Castle); tympana over the entrances surrounded by niches for statues of fondly remembered players; functional gargoyles caricaturing famous opponents; a tower hung with change-ringing bells to be pealed upon victory; a manual scoreboard vaguely resembling a winged altarpiece; and an astronomical clock with automata that reënact great plays from team history on the hour. And possibly a bear pit out among the center field foliage, like they have in Old Bern.
I like the idea of the bear pit, especially if it is still deemed necessary to have some sort of inter-inning fan participation event, like racing sausages and so forth.