Leaving Home

I was at the game last night as part of my "Farewell NY" tour, I'm headed back to CA, my time in NY at an end, and was hyper aware of the idea that, aside from one more game with my cousins at the end of the month, this was pretty much it as far as attending Yankee games goes. 

As much as I dislike the current stadium, and I say current because I'm sure Hal has one more bilking of NY left in him. Probably in 2041. 

After all, "Customers attending Yankee games uh.. I mean fans, need and deserve a stadium with gambling kiosks and immersive goggles at every seat. Our customers... uh fans, need to experience what it's like to be at the plate in order to fully engage with the product uh... game."

But I digress...

As much as I dislike the current shopping mall / Vegas hotel homage to a non existent team, it is still Yankee Stadium and the Yankees, such as they are, play there. 

So, my mind kept leaping back and forth from its current iteration to times spent sitting behind pillars and eating popcorn out of Yankee themed megaphones. Getting Phil Rizzuto's autograph because the press box was once an open area. Being called a huckleberry by him for daring to ask him for it but getting it any way. 

The mid-seventies. Out of college for the summer along with a bunch of Yankee fan friends and no place on earth we'd rather be than in the upper deck, stoned, and watching what to me is still my favorite Yankee teams of all time. Flinging Reggie Bars. Seeing Chambliss hitting a game winning HR in the 9th in 1976 that presaged the one he would hit in the playoffs. Yankee Stadium an oasis of green and endless possibility, even as the Bronx was burning. 

The eighties and nineties when a visit home meant a pilgrimage.

In the 2000's taking my son, first to the actual stadium, then to the current one. Showing it to him like I lived there. Like a part of my old neighborhood. Because that's how the stadium always feels to me. Like I'm home. 

Last year, doing the IIHIIF meetup and getting to hang out with and talk to so many of you. Bringing back how it felt in the seventies to watch a game with a bunch of friends. 

And, last September watching my uncle, my late father's twin brother, get honored as the Veteran of the Game. Getting to stand on the field, if off to the side, as a packed house out cheered for him and by proxy, for all the remaining WW2 vets. A guy who, as a kid, rode his byclcle down the Grand Concourse hoping to catch a glympse of Joe D. The stadium was his home too. 

And so, last night I went and I decided to put aside all the negativity and the all too accurate assessment of this year's team and just enjoy watching baseball. Yes Gleyber made bad plays. Rodon almost melted down... you all know the drill.  Hey, they won.

More importantly, I got to see, for perhaps the last time live, the best baseball player I have ever watched regularly, in Aaron Judge. 

I got to watch a future Hall of Famer, Juan Soto and got to witness what I hope is the the actual beggining of a long and great career as The Martian took his place in the lineup. 

And then there was watching Austin Wells continue his emergence and sensing that, when all is said and done, he will be my new favorite Yankee.

But what I really got to see... was me. From age eight to age sixty eight with all of life's visisitudues. Still loving the game. Still cheering. Still walking around the building like it's my home.  

One last time.