The Old Grey Mare

So before it gets too late in the game so to speak I wanted to circle back to the final game at Yankee Stadium.

I spent a few hours walking around the stadium taking pictures and eating waiting for the Farber boys to arrive. There was palpable excitement but it was more like a party. Oddly, the typical stadium-area no-nonsense edge was missing. People were generally happy to be there – a lot of different shirts, people representing their favorites; I was wearing my Bernie shirt in honor of his return.

The ceremony ended up being long, especially because of the parade of Yankee stars, all inspiring and deserving our adulation. Clapping and standing got tiring after awhile. I loved seeing O’Neill again, and Bernie and Cone. Yogi looked great. I missed seeing Mattingly and Torre and Piniella, the latter two play-off bound unlike (maybe) us (oh, and A-Rod was booed, slightly – I guess .300, 35 HR’s and 100+ RBI isn’t good enough.) Babe Ruth’s ancient daughter took a giant step to avoid treading on the first-base foul line on her way to the mound to throw out the first pitch, the baseball tradition evidently coursing through her old blood. All in all, it was a fitting tribute to most of the players who have “graced” that sacred field over the years, but in a way not sufficiently venerating the PLACE itself.

Perhaps that was up to the fans. The sold-out crowd cheered through the ceremony and the game that followed and I witnessed no looting nor rude or rowdy behavior of any kind. It was just one last fun night at the game. The stadium has wonderful memories for me and my familiarity with the place made it always a comfortable and fun place to be. But she has grown old and I felt a little like she was shoo’ing us away; saying that she had done her duty and it was time for her to go. A little dramatic I admit but I think I’m feeling less sentimental than most about the old stadium going under the wrecking ball. I think generally her time has come. I felt terribly sad leaving but a chapter was closing and it was time for it to end.

After the game the players and their families gathered on the field to take pictures and grab souvenir shovels of mound dirt under the overwhelming (and on horseback) protection of the NYPD, keeping the scumbag fans that (over)pay ALL the bills at a safe distance (THANK GOD – we’re all so gross, with our smelly store-bought Yankee gear stained with $4.50-worth of French’s mustard and $8 beer.) Clearly I found it a little galling and slightly disrespectful, little Jason Giambi Jr. and his brother rolling around in a rumble on the infield while Mom and Dad got snapshots of each other and all their rich friends. Again, a little dramatic but we were all eventually asked to leave so I’m not sure how long the country club party went on without us.