(FORTUNE Magazine) – As Hall of Fame slugger Willie "Pops" Stargell used to remind anyone who forgot, "The Man doesn't say, 'Work ball.' He says, 'Play ball!' " With that in mind, we justified playing hooky from work to visit Opening Day at two new baseball parks, Miller Park in Milwaukee and PNC Park in Pittsburgh.

If brand-new stadiums could rescue hapless teams from mediocrity, the Brewers and the Pirates would not already be vying for last place in the National League Central Division. Both Rustbelt clubs are playing in shiny new homes that are, in almost every way, better than the depressing ones they replaced. Milwaukee's County Stadium and Pittsburgh's Three Rivers were so charmless and uncomfortable that there was almost as much joy in seeing them dynamited as there was in watching the new parks rise to take their place.

But new ballyards are not built to win more games. They're built to put more fannies in the seats, especially in the expensive luxury suites and private club sections that have become the hallmark of nearly every new park built in the "baseball renaissance" era, which began with the opening of Baltimore's Oriole Park at Camden Yards in 1992.

The teams need the extra revenue from luxury suites because their millionaire owners can't seem to stop themselves from paying $2 million a year for banjo-hitting utility infielders. And, having seen that the Orioles have sold out most of their games since 1992, the owners appear to think that the ticket to success--financially, at least--is to evoke hallowed ballyards like Wrigley and Fenway with an "urban traditional" architecture of brick, iron, glass, and archways. When done right, as with Pittsburgh's new park, the effect is magical. But it's less successful when the owners demand an old-timey design in the middle of suburban shopping-mall country, like Milwaukee's Miller Park.

Don't get me wrong: Miller Park can claim to be among the sport's elite facilities. The distinctive fan-shaped roof, designed by NBBJ Sports, opens and shuts radially from a point behind home plate. The dome paid off right from the start on a chilly, windy opening night, keeping the temperature at least 25 degrees warmer than the 40 degrees outside.

A capacity crowd of some 42,000 joined the Brewers' housewarming, including President Bush. (Bush Lite, as he was inevitably nicknamed in a ballpark named after the Miller brewery, short-tossed the ceremonial first pitch into the natural grass just as his daddy, Genuine Bush, had done in opening Camden Yards nearly a decade earlier.) In this three-deck, taxpayer-supported, $400 million amphitheater, the most expensive seats go for $50 each; the least expensive bleacher seats are $5. There are also a couple of hundred $1 "Uecker seats"--named after Bob Uecker, catcher turned broadcaster, and located waaaaay behind home plate and obstructed by support pillars.

For many fans under the overhanging decks, it's impossible to see the flight of a pop-up or a hit to the outfield. I spent a portion of the game in upper right field, some 200 feet up, where several people, perhaps oxygen deprived, were catching naps. They perked up for the Klements Racing Sausages, four people dressed as sausages who stumble around the infield while fans scream, "Go Kielbasa! Go Polish! Go Italian!" Bratwurst won, though I'm not sure the race wasn't rigged.

Miller Park is hosting next year's All-Star Game, assuming there's no strike or lockout. There has been a lockout or strike in each of the past eight negotiations, and the present talks appear headed the same way. (The current labor agreement expires Oct. 31.)

Let's put aside those unhappy thoughts and head to one of the happiest new places to watch a game, PNC Park in Pittsburgh. The no-frills stadium cost $262 million, just $10 million more than the Texas Rangers paid to hire one shortstop for ten years. PNC Park was designed as if by the baseball gods, who, as we all know, favor a game played on natural grass, under open skies, without a designated hitter, and with unobstructed views. The concourses are broad, the concession stands offer dozens of interesting ways to get heartburn, and the bathroom lines move swiftly.

The first two-deck stadium since Milwaukee's County Stadium was opened in 1953, it has just 38,000 seats--making it the second-smallest ballpark in the majors, after Fenway. Despite its coziness, PNC does not have the bandbox feel of Fenway and Wrigley, no doubt because it opens out onto such a spectacular setting: Every seat looks across the Allegheny River, past Roberto Clemente Bridge, and into the downtown skyline. (As with San Francisco's delightful year-old PacBell Park, a long home run to right center will end up in the water.) When the sun is shining, as on Opening Day, and the fans are walking across the bridge or arriving by riverboat, there's a festive atmosphere that provides an almost tangible feeling of connection to previous generations of baseball fans, and overcomes the knowledge that the Bucs are more than likely to lose. They got pounded 8-2 on Opening Day, and everyone had a good time.

The 69 luxury suites sold out in 1999. The most expensive seats, at more than $150 per--food included--are the Home Plate Club (the first 12 rows behind the dish, but not as close to home plate as Milwaukee's prime seats). In the Pittsburgh Baseball Club (the first ten rows of the second deck), fans can ignore the game and play pool and nibble on crab cakes. For most other fans, ticket prices range from $35 for a dugout box to $9 for a real bleacher seat, the aluminum kind you see at Little League games.

Surprisingly the first food item to sell out on Opening Day was the $8.50 Homestand Sushi Special. Less surprisingly the worst-selling item was a jalapeno pierogi. At Pops' Plaza, named after Willie Stargell, a baked potato was $6.50. Luckily the Pirates let fans bring food in, and provide picnic tables.

Stargell died on Opening Day. Just two days earlier the team had unveiled a 12-foot bronze statue of the slugger, waiting to slam a pitch into the Allegheny. As fans filed past, some of them laid flowers at its feet, and others, just hearing the news of Willie's death, wiped away tears. But then they looked up at the brand-new ballpark where a new season was about to begin, full of promise, and they smiled. That's what baseball is all about.

FEEDBACK: personal@fortunemail.com