With a national treasure like Yankee Stadium closing its doors after 85 years, I decided to take a moment and express my appreciation for the ‘House that Ruth Built.’ After you take a gander at my article, feel free to leave any memories of the Stadium you may have in the comment section.
As my friend said in a conversation on Sunday night during the Stadium’s farewell game, “The stadium itself sucks, its so gloomy inside, it’s a good idea they’re blowing this one up, but you cannot deny its got such a historical place in history.”
I grew up a mere 15 minutes from New York City so Yankee Stadium has always been an important place when it came to getting my baseball fix. I cannot remember my first baseball game, but I do know that I took the “short” ride from my home, across the George Washington Bridge, undoubtedly was stuck in bumper to bumper traffic on the Major Deegan Expressway, and eventually found my way, with my mom of course, into the hallowed cathedral.
I have been to more Yankee games at the Stadium than most metro-area sports. Why? Because when I used to go, the team sucked, the tickets were easy and cheap to get, and my mom called it a family bonding experience by taking myself, my two older cousins, and, when she was old enough, my sister.
When I think back on it, I’ve had many unique experiences at the Stadium:
I can remember almost always sitting on the third base line, always behind the visitors dugout.
I remember going to a game versus the Detroit Tigers and getting a foul ball during batting practice, then almost getting another during the game, but it careened off the padded wall in front of me.
I remember going with my cousin to get Paul Molitor’s autograph while he was playing for the Blue Jays, then sprinting down the left field line to try and grab David Cone’s who was signing by the foul pole. I can even remember the annoying little kids who were behind me calling Molitor “Butler” confusing him for Brett Butler. I also remember the not too pleased reaction my mom had when we get back to the seats because my older and “wiser” cousin never told her we were running down there.
I remember my mom using a channel of connections got me and my friend to meet John Flaherty before a game against the Tigers, and being so awestruck that I was talking to a professional ballplayer that I couldn’t formulate a coherent sentence. He signed a few autographs, took a few pictures with us and went back to taking batting practice. Unfortunately for me, however, later on my program which he signed was stolen.
My grandest memory of all came in the fall of 1996. After the Yankees had knocked off the Rangers in four games, and then Jeffry Mayer made his infamous catch to help the Yankees to a series victory against the Baltimore Oriels, the Yanks squared off against the Braves in the World Series. My mom, again using her connections, managed to get her hands on a set of World Series tickets, because it was the chance of a lifetime. Her and I, along with two other family friends, went down to the Bronx and huddled together during that frigid October night. The Yanks ended up getting hammered by the Braves 12-1, but for the first time ever, we stayed until the bitter end of a blow out. After the game, I bid farewell to the Fall Classic as the rest of the tickets were already allocated to other people she promised games to, and the fact the Yankees home games were on school nights.
Unfortunately for her, after the Yanks had brought the series back to the Bronx by winning three straight on the road, she fell off a ladder while painting and ruptured her Achilles tendon. Unable to walk, yet alone drive or stand, I got another chance of my life, to see a World Series won, at home. She cut me some slack because of the rarity of the situation, and off to the Bronx I went with two of her co-workers.
I can remember not paying attention at all during school that day, being way too excited about that night. I had a Tino Martinez jersey/shirt bought for me outside of the stadium before heading in. I remember being one of 56,375 screaming fans, and feeling the upper deck of the stadium rocking back and forth during the national anthem and throughout the game. I don’t remember seeing Charlie Hayes make the final catch but that was simply because my view was obstructed from both fans and our vantage point. Lastly, I remember watching Wade Boggs traverse the outfield on the back of a mounted police officer’s horse as the Bronx erupted in celebration.
So as Frank Sinatra singing ‘The Theme to New York, New York” was blared over the PA system Sunday night, I thought back to all my memories of Yankee Stadium and what it has meant to me since I’ve been a fan of baseball.
