The House Where Dreams Went to Die

sayonora! good-bye! have a good life!

Yankee stadium is burning to the ground and i will not miss it. the new york jokees are moving out and i cant wait. the new stadium is across the street. im excited for the new beginning, but more importantly im excited about forgetting the past. my memories of the venerable stadium are not pleasant. i have attended many a game in that fabled baseball shrine, but for some reason my experience was always somewhat withholding. to make matters worse, other fans always seem to remember games they went to like they were david effing halberstam. everybodys a story-teller the day after a yankee game. i never met anyone who went to a game and the score wasnt 5-3 red sox going into the bottom of the eighth. lemme guess, cano(or soriano or brosius for that matter) led off with a line-drive rope single just over the glove of the leaping mike lowell. then posada (or oneill or knoblauch)grinds out an 11 pitch at bat and takes first on the fourth ball. then oh my g-d a-rods up, but he whiffs like a school girl trying to fend off a rapist. but no worries, giambi( or bernie or tino) steps up to the plate and after fouling off countless pitches he blasts one off the wall to bring in two to notch it all up at five apiece. then after a random strikeout and giambi still on second, guess who slowly strolls to the plate rolling sand paper around his magic wooden stick. bob sheppards' voice is heard clearly through the pa system announcing "now batting ......the shortstop number 2 - derek jeetuh- number 2". while at the same time a popular hip hop song is blaring to somehow counteract the pure, classical, baritone voice of mr. sheppard. when he steps to the plate, he inserts his right index finger in his helmet ear hole to adjust the helmet. the entire stadium is on its feet. when the new pitcher is finally warmed up, the captain goes to work. on a 1-2 pitch he inside-outs one and fists it into right-field with all his might. as the jumbotron shows dereks mother and father jump out of their seat astonished like they havent seen what just occured happen in their entire lives, jason giambi chugs 'round third. with catcher -like speed he, along with the crowd, expects a close play at the plate. and if you are just lucky enough to be at the game that night, a collision. the ball is gobbled up by drew and in one fluid motion swings his arm and bb's one toward home. the throw is a bit off line but the catcher lunges for home plate to receive the slide of the barreling 260 lb first-baseman. its a bang-bang play and too close to see even from my friends box seats 3 rows up from girardis' nostrils. the ump throws his hands out to his side like an airplane and the world knows mariano is getting ready in the pen. its top nine and the greates closer to ever live ,with his cutter, shreds three bats like a buzzsaw. down go the red sox one-two-three. and everybody is having a grand old time celebrating the victory, half-drunk on beer and stuffed on hot dogs and crackerjacks. sinatra sends everyone home happy.

those type of games only happen to my friends or in my dreams. never once did i see a live game of that caliber. my games are bit more cynical and unfortunate, typically seen in the blowout version of baseball. i went to yankee-angels '02. the score was 14-3. i was at the 19-1 demolishment at the hand of the tribe back in '06. the tickets i get my hands on always seem to feature the piching matchup of a carl pavano or denny neagle or hideki irabu or some 20 yr old douchbag they just called up. i was at the game in '03 when jeter got hurt at third base. my personal won-loss record for my attendance is 6-23. seriously. ive seen mo blow three saves( no one can say that), giambi strikeout five times, giambi commit two errors in an inning, both in the same game. chad curtis misplay a ball in left to allow the winning run to come in('96), soriano let a slow-roller under his mitt in the eighth inning of a close game in september of '01. ive seen leads of 6, 8 and 10 evaporate. ive arrived at games in the second inning and starter was already in the shower. ive seen bases-loaded and no one out amount to nothing. ive seen every great yankee in the last 13 years smack in the middle of their annual slump.

ive never seen a grand-slam, never seen a walk-off hit of any kind. never seen a complete game. never seen a comeback of more than two runs. never seen a manager get tossed. never been to yanks - devil rays(pre 2008). ive never sat lower than loge.

ive been in 5 fights. ive been rained out three times. ive been rain-delayed six times. ive been kicked out twice. ive been hit with bird shit once. ive had to use the stall 4 times. and thats nasty, its not something you wanna do in yankee stadium if really dont have to. ive had three beers thrown at me, and on one occasion my cap was stolen. my pictures never come out clear, always dark and murky. ive gotten 2 speeding tickets to and from the stadium. i once arrived at my seat only to find dried-up vomit all over it from the night before. i sat on the stairs the entire game.

and the number one reason that i will not miss yankee stadium is i have never come within one section of a foul-ball. i know this sounds silly but ever since the first game i went to at seven years old, all i wanted was a foul ball. as i got older all i imagined was me lunging for a ball with ten other people and snatching it out of mid-air. maybe getting on tv, maybe getting it autographed by the guy who hit it. nah, none of that. just dried-up vomit.


jimmy sports