SIGN OF THE TIMES Scorekeeping becomes 'ancient' art

Fewer fans are keeping score at major league games.
CHICAGO (AP) -- Like just about everyone else around them in the upper deck at U.S Cellular Field the other night, Jason Lukehart and his buddy Zak Thompson jumped to their feet when White Sox slugger Magglio Ordonez blasted a homer.
But as everyone else stood and cheered, Lukehart and Thompson were back in their seats, hunched over their scorecards, furiously making all the little marks that needed to be made before the next batter.
"Nobody's doing it," Lukehart, 23, said about keeping score. "It's like I'm in a special club."
It's certainly a small one.
On Tuesday, when more than 47,000 fans pack themselves into the same park for the All-Star game, it's a good bet only a handful will keep score -- and not just because all the player substitutions at that event will turn scorekeeping into a nightmare of tiny writing and scratched out names.
Walk around any major league park these days, and the once familiar sight of fans keeping score is about as common as a balk ("BK," if you're scoring).
Lost art
"It's a lost, lost art," said Michael Babida, the San Diego Padres executive director of merchandising and promotions.
"People buy scorecards, but it's more as a souvenir," agreed Lena McDonagh, the Chicago Cubs' director of publications.
Scoring is given so little thought that some teams don't even bother to sell individual scorecards, choosing instead to include them in the glossy, more expensive programs.
At least one team, Cleveland, hasn't bothered to sell pencils since 1994 when it moved into Jacobs Field, although you can buy them outside the stadium for 50 cents.
U.S. Cellular Field sells the 75-cent pencils, but they seem about as easy to unload as White Sox inflatable chairs.
At the game Lukehart and Thompson attended, part of a crowd of nearly 30,000, vendor John Kurpiel managed to sell just 30 of the 75-cent pencils to go with the 50 $1 scorecards that fans bought.
"Ten years ago, I'd sell 300-400 [pencils]," said the 78-year-old Kurpiel.
If you're looking for a place to point a big foam finger of blame, look no further than the ballparks themselves.