As a kid, New York City fascinated me. Maybe it was the big buildings and the endless streets. Perhaps it was the crowded sidewalks, the subways, or the chess players in Washington Square Park. Whatever it was, I loved going there. My mom navigates "The City" with extreme ease and finesse. It's like the city knows she's there and slows down ever so slightly when she visits. I'm convinced she could charge a hefty sum for her tours. New York City has cleaned up quite a bit since the 80s, but we lovingly referred to it as "New Yuck Stinky," with stops at the "Empire Stink Building" and my favorite, "F.A.O Dirty Shorts."
Similar to only a few other cities in the country, a visit to the baseball stadium is mandatory when visiting New York, and a lifetime of trips to The Big Apple are meaningless without seeing a Yankees baseball game. Love them or hate them, they are a sports club with a ton of history. New York isn't really New York without baseball.
I wasn't particularly a Yankees fan when I lived in New Jersey. Actually, I was more of a Mets fan, with the likes of Dwight Gooden, Greg Jefferies, and the always-exciting Darryl Strawberry, just to name a few. As kids in the late 80s, my brother and I were drawn to collecting baseball cards, since going to an actual game was out of the question. We were quite the collectors. How do 7 and 10 year old boys support a baseball card collection hobby/habit, you say? Well, we were self-proclaimed entrepreneurs, selling anything we could get our hands on. We also stole quarters from our sister (Shelly, if you are reading this, we probably owe you like $10 if you don't charge us 25 years worth of interest). Baseball cards and Bazooka Joe Bubble Gum living 45 minutes from The Big Apple; life was good.
You can imagine my elation when my mom came home one day and said that her work was giving its employees tickets and chartering a bus to an upcoming Yankees game. My mom received 3 tickets and I won out over my brother and sister; just mom, dad and me. A bus ride to Yankee's stadium for a baseball game is nearly too much for a 10 year old kid to handle. "Just buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack. I don't care if I never get back." I don't remember too much about the bus ride, other than sitting on the right side of the bus, starring out the window, and praying like mad that the dark clouds that were forming didn't turn to rain. Had someone been looking into the bus at me, they would have seen the saddest little face ever on the other side of a rain-soaked window. The rain came and didn't stop, and the game was called before we even got to the stadium. Rather than heading straight home, the bus was diverted to Liberty Park. Rain or shine, it's always a good day to visit the Statue of Liberty. I never did get to a Yankees game. In fact, I didn't attend my first professional baseball game until I was an 18 year old Marine Recruit watching the Padres play in San Diego, but I remember very clearly my trip to Liberty Park.
9/11 nearly made a Yankees fan out of me. The emotions of that day and the weeks that followed were that of uncertainty, fear, vulnerability, and anger. The healing began on different days for everyone, but for me, it was watching President Bush throw out the first pitch in game 3 of the World Series on October 30, 2001. That moment elicited emotions of patriotism, resolve, unity, and endurance.
I was almost a Yankees fan. Things could have been a lot different, but it just didn't work out. There is NO WAY that I could have attended a Yankees game at the age of 10 and not have been converted to a lifetime fan. To this day, I don't have a baseball team that I'm drawn to. Don Mattingly was a cool baseball card, but if I would have seen him play live, it would have cemented a love for a team that once housed Ruth, DiMaggio, Gehrig, Mantle, Maris, and Jeter. Given the chance, I will certainly attend a game at Yankees stadium; not necessarily to root for the home team, but to celebrate a team that I almost spent a lifetime cheering for.
