At last, I am home. Is there anywhere else in the world
that has a better stadium, fans, hot dogs and ice cream? Nope. Photos: jman2112
I could not believe my good fortune when I found out the New York Yankees -
my favorite Major League Baseball Team - was playing in the city when I was
going to be in town to see the two Radio City Music Hall shows. How
fantastic. Two sold out back to back Rush shows Wednesday and Thursday, followed by a sold out
Yankees game on a Friday night. And of all the teams they had to be playing
- it was the California/Anaheim Angels. Somewhat co-incidental, but I'll
take it.
I started playing baseball when I was about five years old. Several years
later I started seeing Yankees baseball games in person, thanks to my
father, parents of other children who had boys like me who wanted to go to
the games and everyone else I saw games with. Back in those days, the early
70s, the Yanks played at the original "old Yankee Stadium," before major
renovations were made. There are people out there like me who can make that
"distinction." I think it's an important one, actually.
Those were the days of Thurman Munson and Bobby Mercer. And Phil Rizzuto
and Joe Garigila (I'm sorry if I butchered the spelling) doing the play by play. The days when you are an innocent little boy who was
a pitcher and a third baseman who wouldn't leave the stadium until the last
out was made regardless of what anyone else wanted or what the score was. Who brought his glove
with him to evey game hoping to catch a foul ball. And one who listened to coaches who
told him to watch the position players in person and watch what they were
doing so that I could do it too, and play like a major leaguer in the little
league games I enjoyed being a part of at that time. And then the high
school games. And then the AA adult league games.
I was conceived as a Yankee fan. My mother's uncle was a minor league player. My mother was a bigger
Yankee fan that I probably can possibly claim. Her teenage bedroom walls weren't covered with
Elvis posters. They were plastered with Yankees stuff like newspaper clippings, photos, posters and baseball
cards. The biggest story she has regarding this is that one day her mother (my grandmother) got
so pissed off at her obsession that she apparently went into my mom's room and ripped everything
off the walls and threw it all away. Included in that mess were baseball cards - including
such pieces as a Mickey Mantle rookie card, etc. Little did anyone know that that room was probably worth
about a million dollars by today's standard. But who would have known?
The one saving grace was her scrapbook, which I at this very moment have in my lap. She must have had
that hidden pretty well. It is the only thing that survived. It is a collection of box scores,
articles and baseball cards, programs and other assorted goodies (glued) to pages and pages and pages of Yankees stuff.
I think it would even raise the eyebrows of Mr. Steinbrenner himself today. Does anyone remember "Tinker to Evans to Chance," a short little
poem about Joe Tinker, Frank Chance and Johnny Evers of the Chicago Cubs? Does anyone reading this have the original
newspaper photograph of Yogi Berra tagging out the Phillies' Granny Hamner at home plate during the third game of the 1950 World Series?
I do. Anyone have a Phil Rizzuto or a Casey Stengal "Double" baseball card? It's right here. She gave me this
scrap book - this history lesson - when I was a very successful player in high school because she knew that I would keep it forever. And so far I have.
A discussion about the Yankees devoid of a mention of the Boston Red Sox would not be an accurate depiction
of the family history lesson we have evolved to at the moment. There exists a certain
number of Boston fans in the family, unfortunately, that I have to deal with from time to time. Most of this
comes from my mother's sister - and probably mostly from HER husband. After consulting with other
Yankees devoted family members, most of the blame for defection from the pinstripes to a dirty pair
of socks seems to rest on his intruding shoulders. This person currently resides in, of all places Albany, NY (Boston fans in NY are just not cool),
I should't speak too harshly about this person because one of those Boston, ah, people (who actually did live in Boston for a long damn time) is
employed indirectly with the Transportation and Security Administration, and if I say one more word
she'll probably put my name on some kind of terrorist watch list in the FAA database and I'll never be
able to fly on an airline again to see Rush, a Yankees game or anything else, for that matter.
The bottom line is that me and my mom have to hold the line because the family members ont he other
side represent a continual threat to otherwise neutral or newborn individuals.
It seems to me that a curse was also put on me by these Red Sox fans recently that may have
clouded my vision a bit, albeit indirectly, and apparently this happened when several family members gathered for an otherwise
innocent meeting in upstate New York. During this gathering it was found out that during an otherwise uneventful
dinner, the home cooked meal seemed to have some type of taint to it, because two Yankees fans became somewhat
temporarily ill immediately after the meal was finished. Someone who attended this meal in person
provides the sordid details.
Okay, back to the present.
I have returned to New York City many times as an adult, but each time the
Yankees have been playing away. For many years, each time I traveled to Long
Island to see relatives, watch siblings get married and to enjoy Montauk and
the Hamptons and the fine people and beaches there - no games. It was pretty
heart breaking being so close to the city and the stadium and having to
watch them play away at Boston or Kansas City on TV while actually being
within reach of the stadium. But not this time!
Not only was I seriously lucky with getting good seats to the Rush
shows, I managed to score an incredible single seat behind home plate in a
VIP box for the Yankees-Angels affair in the Bronx. I think I was quietly
and inwardly MORE excited about that single seat than for any seat I had for
the RCMH shows. Seriously. I have been trying to see a NYY game for over a
decade.
I know I am writing to a large audience, but I have to ask the question:
Have you EVER been to a Yankees game? Good lord have mercy, I had no
recollection whatsoever of what it is like to go to a modern-day game at
Yankee Stadium. I had NO idea of what lay at the end of the D train at 161st
street off the subway.
 |
 |
Because when I emerged from the subway at that very location at about 6:30
p.m. with that golden ticket (Box 219, Row C Seat 3) waiting for me at the
Will Call window, it was like walking onto some strange lunar surface a
billion miles from earth.
Oh.
My.
God.
It was like - Mardi Gras? As a writer (and participant), I can't even
describe what those steps up to and out into 161st Street were like. I
emerged from the subway into complete mayhem - pandemonium for me? It was so
crowded and so packed and so hot (temperature) and there were so many people
and so many NYY hats (including the one on my head) and jerseys and pennants
and, and, and - and I was FINALLY THERE! The sight was really - shocking. I
was in disbelief. So much so that I had enough sense to take my camera out
immediately and try to get a shot of the crowd exactly at the moment I was
feeling these things. Unbelievable. Shocking! The wonder! The HORROR of
being away for so long! And not a Boston hat or fan around for 100 miles.
You mean I could wear my aged Yankees hat without shame? Go ahead and try
wearing a Yankees hat in Southern California. I've even purchased a white
Yankees hat trying to tone it down. No one here likes the Yankees. If you
wear the hat, it's like you are a gang member or something. Some no good New
Yorker who has invaded Southern California, someone who is rude, has too
much attitude, is over-priced, over-paid - a tough guy - whatever. It's not
too easy going to a lowly Padres game (where I actually root for them to
LOSE) wearing a NYY hat, especially since the Yanks took the World Series
from the Pads in what, 1998 or something? Unfortunately, I wasn't in NY or
CA for those games.
Anyway, the question of the moment seemed to be just like outside a concert
venue - "Extra ticket? Who has an extra? Single? Pair? Hey man, you have
tickets?" Except it's not 10,000 or 12,000 person event. It's a 53,000
person affair and it was sold out. What more could one want than a Yankees
game in the hot, sticky humidity of the Bronx in the summer with the Bombers
6 1/2 games up on Boston? I felt like a million bucks. "Nope, no tickets,
sorry," I would say, and smile. And then this New York kind of walk came
over me, all bold and confident an cocky, making my way through the hordes of people
packing the sidewalks and the streets - as I headed to actually get my
ticket. When it was in my greedy little hands I felt like that
seven-year-old again. I gripped it in the palm of my hand harder than a
first row seat to see Rush at Hollywood Bowl.
 |
 |
Oh the wonder of being inside the stadium with its flags and the pillars
lining the top of the stadium in the outfield. The beautiful manicured
field. The blue seats and the white facades. EVERYone decked out in Yankees
gear of some type or another. Like a friggin army. Please pinch me and tell
me I'm actually at an American League East venue, will you? In desperation
in past years I have been to Anaheim, Dodger Stadium, Qualcomm Stadium, the
new Petco Park, Pacific Bell Park and even the Skydome in Toronto (that
counts, I guess, during TFE). I'd trade ALL those tickets, all those games,
everything - plus the shirt off my back (but not my hat) for this one
Yankees game. The smells, the sounds, the people, the sights - what a place
to be. I could not believe I was there.
Do you think it's disgusting to want a hot dog? I mean, as much as I wanted
to see this game, I wanted to see this game and eat a hot dog at the same
time. And let me tell you something. I love ketchup. It's the best sauce on
the face of the planet (with the walnut honey chicken sauce with Great Aunt
Joyce at the Chinese restaurant running a very close second). And I don't mind ketchup on hot
dogs.
But you see, the hot dogs at Yankee Stadium are so fucking good you don't
even need ketchup to cover up the bad taste of the dog. All you need is
mustard. Gulden's Deli Spicy Mustard. The hot, steamy, fluffy bun that
disintegrates in your mouth. The burning hot foot long dog that stays that
way wrapped in foil all the way to your seat and stays hot when you are
eating it. Not some damn 5 inch piece of recycled, dried up, wrinkled piece
of JUNK that's been on a rotisserie grill for five hours before the game
piece of crap dog that comes in a stale or stiff bun that you have to
cover in relish and onions and ketchup - like the ones out here that give
you a belly ache if you eat one.
No. No. No. You can have all that. I'm never eating another dog at a stadium
again unless it's in Yankee Stadium and I'll wait another 10 damn years if I
have to, too. I might consider trying one at Fenway. Maybe. But I've never been THERE. I hear they are
pretty good there, in Boston. You can have the damn fish tacos and the garlic
fries (admittedly pretty good) and the foo-foo crapola and the cappuccino
bullshit that they try to pass for stadium food out here. Please wait a
minute so I can go PUKE at the thought of eating any more of that.
 |
 |
Oh, where was I? The game. Yeah.
I met a very nice couple behind me, in their 60s or so. Long time fans. Long
time season ticket holders. They like seeing who sits in the seat that I
obtained the ticket for. Because since they have the three seats behind me
(there's three seats in a row in the boxes, six seats to the box), and there
are also two season ticket holders in the row I was sitting in - my seat is
always a single. Open most of the time (take the hint, New York singles -
the couple said the seat is open all the time. So you can call the stadium
or Tickethacker and get the seat! Yankees fans only!). So they told me the story with my seat
and I said I purchased it online a couple of weeks ago while I was in San
Diego ($68 - a BARGAIN). I liked listening to him talk quietly to himself
about the plays and the players, etc. It was so great - the whole place was
packed. Radio City has a capacity of about 5,500. This was tenfold that -
not a seat left anywhere.
"Is it always like this," I ask, about the third inning, after I come back
with my dog of paradise and a Sprite.
I try to make the hot dog last and nod my head in approval, trying to
pretend it all seems so natural. But I am awed by the crowd, the atmosphere,
the seat, the dog, the street - wow.
Seventh inning stretch. Except there was no seventh inning stretch. For some
reason, the scoreboard went black. Like, the whole thing shorted out. I was
looking forward to hearing "God Bless America" in New York City - but not
this time. Or at least, not via the PA system. Because the crowd stood up
anyway and pockets of fans started singing it anyway with no PA. Can you
imagine? The last three innings of the game there was no video, no balls and
strikes displayed, no outs, nothing - no pitch counts, replays, league
scores, the game's box score - nada. Zippo. The couple behind me said
nothing like that has ever happened before. And I gather they have been coming to
games for a loooooong time. You don't give up your behind home plate season
tickets - you put them in your will for someone who will go to the games.
Like me.
And wouldn't you know, even though the Yanks lost 5-0 to the Angels, I just
had to stay until the last out. Lots of people left. Inning after inning,
run after run, a shut-out game for the NYY, people were leaving. I just wish
they knew how good they have it. Look at how long and far I have traveled
and look how long I have waited to see my Yankees again. I was going no
where. I was enjoying my melting, dripping Carvel ice cream in a NYY cup hat
way too much in the 8th inning to even consider leaving. But the game ended,
I took a last look around and - found myself back in the mob that is 161st
Street on a Friday night after a Yankees game.
It was hard to resist spending $10,000. I wanted everything in all the
stores. The thing I wanted the most was a NYY gray "away" button up front
official jersey, $180 everywhere. Same price store to store. Oh well. I
settled for a couple of hats and a $30 shirt that I really dug a lot.
When will I be there again?
I do not know.
But what I do know is that I WILL be there again. So it just doesn't
matter. Boston fans take note.
The hot dogs, now THAT matters. I swear to god. I am not eating another hot
dog at another stadium again. EVER.
