Jody Jackson Ackerley
I asked Jody Ackerley what it’s like to watch people become Diamondbacks fans in a city where everything else is competing for your attention—golf, resorts, sunshine. Her answer? Make the ballpark feel like family. That’s what Chase Field has done, from the roof-opening flyovers to Derek the lemonade guy’s unmistakable yell. Jody’s been there since 2000, and whether she’s up in the catwalk or watching Luis Gonzalez bloop his way into history, she sees it all through the eyes of someone who believes baseball parks aren’t just buildings—they’re places where people belong. And where magic still happens under a closed roof.
Chase Field in Arizona. How long have you been covering the Diamondbacks?
I’ve been covering them since May of 2000. When I started, I hadn’t really spent time in a retractable roof stadium, so it was fascinating. The most magical moment for me was November 4, 2001. It started to drizzle a little—something rare in Arizona—and there was just this aura. That night was unforgettable.
What was the game day experience like early on?
There was a producer, John Walsh, who came up with this “Where in the World is Jody Jackson” segment to introduce me to fans. My first gig was up on the catwalk—literally in the roof. Dusty, scary, hot—and yet, kind of perfect. That was my intro to Chase Field. And since then, it’s been home.
What’s it like seeing the park through your kids’ eyes?
In the summer, it becomes like a big indoor playground. That’s how my kids saw it. And there are so many great baseball fans here. Yes, many are transplants, but they’ve really built something special. Even fans of other teams will tell me, “When the Dodgers aren’t here, I’m a D-backs fan.” It’s a community.
You’ve seen people become fans in a city full of distractions—how does that happen?
It’s the game day experience. The moment you walk in, it’s warm and welcoming. Guest Services staff make it feel like family. Derek Hall took that vibe to another level. People come once, and they want to come again. They feel like they belong.
What about traditions?
They’ve worked hard to create their own. From D-backs win songs by Roger Clyne to The Sandlot kid zone, to Baxter the Bobcat, and Bobby Freeman on the organ. There’s even a guy named Derek Moore—our lemonade vendor—whose voice you hear booming: “Lemonade! Ice cold lemonade!” He’s part of the identity of the park.
What was the vibe like during the 2001 World Series?
I was there waving the towels. The crowd was on fire. The roof was open—late October—just a gorgeous setting. You could see the flyover through the open roof. When Game Seven unfolded—Mark Grace’s hit, Rivera’s error, Luis Gonzalez’s bloop single—it was chaos, in the best way. And the fans could feel it. That energy, that tension... it was unbelievable. The entire city came together.
Where were you when Gonzo hit the walk-off?
Tucked away in the Sedona Club, watching on a monitor, waiting to do postgame interviews. It was insanity. I wasn’t crying, but I was overjoyed. For the city. For the players. For all of us.
And Gonzo?
Luis Gonzalez is Arizona. He could run for governor and win. He’s on every commercial. He’s with the fans, always smiling. That bloop single didn’t just win a championship—it created lifelong fans. His family grew up in front of everyone. He’s not just a player. He’s a human mascot. And I mean that with love.
Chase Field might not have the old-school charm of Fenway or Wrigley, but it has something else: warmth. Joy. Identity. A place where kids become fans, transplants find connection, and lifelong memories are made. It’s a ballpark that’s ours—and that makes it sacred.
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NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.