New York New York
Sunday night I watched the farewell ceremony to Yankee Stadium. I felt very similar to this NYTimes editorial writer. As I saw the Yankees of old, and the Yankees of my ‘heyday’, I cheered. Guys like Paul O’Neil and Bernie, Jeter, and Brosius bring back memories. But just like the article’s author, more than thinking about my memories of the Yankees, I thought about memories about me and my dad at Yankee Stadium. The first time I remember going, Steve Sax stole second base and became my hero even if his career as a Yankee didn’t amount to anything spectacular. I remember crying after the game because I wanted this rabbit stuff animal in a Yankee uniform (I was 5 – 8 y/o). My dad relented and bought him for like $16 dollars and I named him Steve Sax. He still sits atop my bed at home waiting for me to return. I remember sitting in foul territory (I think it was first base side) with my dad and we both had our gloves. A ball was hit in our direction and bounced on the ground and was headed right at us. I thought my dad was going to catch it. I don’t know what he thought cuz the ball hit him square in the nose and bounced away and someone else got the ball. I remember another time my dad fought for a foul ball and got beer spilled on him but he came away with the ball. I remember sitting in the left field upper deck for a playoff game with my whole family. I remember sitting in the highest possible seats above home plate w/ my dad and sister. I think our backs touched the wall (maybe not that far but it was pretty close to it).
As I sat and watched the TV as they counted back the memories of past Yankees and past achievements, my mind played back all of my memories of Yankee Stadium but it wasn’t the players I was honoring but the times spent with my dad.