One of the silver linings of our visa delay presented itself in the opportunity
to catch the last game of the American League playoffs for the Yankees. I'm
embarrassed to say I had never been to Yankee Stadium, old or new.
We drove up on Thursday (sorry, New York pals, this was a quick baseball-intensive visit). The traffic gods were on our side -- which should have been an omen for the outcome of the game. We got to Manhattan and walked around on a perfect sunny afternoon for a bit, and then took the subway up to Arthur Avenue in the Bronx for some authentic Italian food. Again, the fact that the food was delicious and the folks were welcoming and warm all around us should have given us pause that bad stuff was about to happen.
About an hour before game time we joined the throngs of jersey-wearing, boisterous, cheerful fans heading into the stadium. I managed to buy a Derek Jeter t shirt for five bucks just outside, a kind of garish, tacky shirt with three different views of Jeter which will probably fall apart in the first wash. I slipped it over the cardigan and t shirt I was already wearing, looking a bit overstuffed.
We drove up on Thursday (sorry, New York pals, this was a quick baseball-intensive visit). The traffic gods were on our side -- which should have been an omen for the outcome of the game. We got to Manhattan and walked around on a perfect sunny afternoon for a bit, and then took the subway up to Arthur Avenue in the Bronx for some authentic Italian food. Again, the fact that the food was delicious and the folks were welcoming and warm all around us should have given us pause that bad stuff was about to happen.
About an hour before game time we joined the throngs of jersey-wearing, boisterous, cheerful fans heading into the stadium. I managed to buy a Derek Jeter t shirt for five bucks just outside, a kind of garish, tacky shirt with three different views of Jeter which will probably fall apart in the first wash. I slipped it over the cardigan and t shirt I was already wearing, looking a bit overstuffed.
And walking around Yankee Stadium, the holiest of holies for
my father, my husband and my son, was about as spiritual an experience as I’ll
get. Pictures of Babe Ruth, DiMaggio, Jeter, Whitey Ford. I felt the history. The
buoyancy of the crowd, the New York-ness of all of it, was enough to carry us
to the nose-bleed seats behind home base.
What a game. What a heart-breaker.
Even so, I loved the chance to scream myself hoarse, to
drink beer, to stomp and clap and trash-talk and scream at the umps, to laugh,
to groan, and to chime in with this reaction from just about every one of the
50,000 or so fans who stayed until the wee hours: Fucking A-Rod.
So you two were there! Sorry (still) that they lost....glad you got to feel the Stadium vibe.
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