September 16 – Day 10: Take Me Out to Another Ballgame
One of my goals in life is to visit every major league ballpark. (One
should keep one’s goals modest and unimpressive, I believe; it makes it that
much easier to achieve them.) When I was prepping for my trip, I realized I
might be able to take in games at both Citi Field and the new Yankee Stadium.
Doing so would take me up to 13 parks (Dodger Stadium, Anaheim Stadium, Jack
Murphy Stadium, Candlestick Park, the Oakland Coliseum, Phone Bill Park,
Wrigley Field, Comiskey Park, Nationals Park, old Yankee Stadium, and Fenway
Park are the others), though I still have 21 to go, since some of the ones I’ve
been to are defunct.
I had a choice of seeing the Yankees against either the Red Sox or the Blue Jays, and opted for the latter, not only because a Sunday afternoon game wouldn’t interfere with rehearsal, but would also probably be cheaper (though “cheaper” at Yankee Stadium is relative). The same seats I had at Citi Field for $40 probably would have been close to $1000 in the Bronx. (I was also determined to not support what the East Coast Media keep telling us, despite all evidence, is “baseball’s greatest rivalry.”)
Something I like to do at a “new” ballpark is to just walk around the main level and get a sense of what it looks like, what concessions are available, and what the overall vibe is. Yankee Stadium has some additional cache, though, if only for Monument Park out in center field. Pidge and I were at the real Yankee Stadium in 2008, the year it closed, and (despite the renovations and “improvements” of the 70s) it reeked of history: that was the mound Don Larsen on which had pitched his perfect game; Babe Ruth had stood at that plate and hit home runs over those fences; Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle had played in that center field. The new park, as much as it tries to emulate the old one, just can’t capture that; it’s like going to a wax museum.
The old park felt old; a relic from the 20s. It was cramped, a little dirty, and aged. It felt like a shame to tear it down, but I could understand why it needed to be done. The new park is much more spacious, cleaner, and chockful or retail and restaurant opportunities, but it also feels like the combination of a mall and a minor league ballpark in a moderately-sized Midwestern city.
It’s an easy park to get to, what with two subway lines and a station across the street from the main entrance, and once inside, as I say, there are plenty of opportunities to buy things. (I must have seen a dozen Yankee stores.) The atmosphere struck me as cheesy, though; there’s always been an arrogance around the Pinstripers, and that carries through a lot of aspects of their ballpark; there’s almost an attitude of “we’re the greatest team ever, so we don’t have to try particularly hard.” The signage is crummy and unhelpful (no matter how hard I tried, I never did find out how to get to Monument Park), the billboards are garish, the content on the scoreboard and message board is useless; even the organ sounds a little thin and reedy.
I planned on arriving about 11:30 for a 1:05 game, but got off to a late start and was misled by my subway app. I finally got there around noon, but that turned out to be plenty of time. I arrived, went through the bag search (I knew it was going to be as hot as hell, and had no other way to carry my tube of sunscreen), went through the gate, was given a free t-shirt (which turned out to be extremely handy), and there I was in the concourse, an area full of Yankee stores, promotions from sponsors, and an occasional food vendor.
The House Next Door to The House That Ruth Built
(That Got Torn Down)
I soon discovered that this was only step one, and that if I wanted to get anywhere in the park, I was either going to have to go up a series of stairs or escalators. I opted for the former, but had to take a break because there were just so damn many steps. I got to the 200 level, where my seat was (the 100 level was just too expensive), sat for a moment, then took off to see the sights and scope out where the food was. I’d done my research and determined that I wanted to get a steak sandwich from Lobel’s Butcher Shop, which was located somewhere in the 130s. That meant I had to work my way back down to the 100 level, then make my way around the park from there. As I got out to left-center field, I looked back and had to admit that, for all its faults, though, there are a lot of nice aspect to the park and its views.
Once I’d seen everything I felt I needed to see, I made my way to the 130s and located the Lobel’s counter. There was no line (which actually kind of surprised me), and as I was trying to figure out what to eat, I saw a burnt ends sandwich on their menu, and that particular competition was over. I stepped up, ordered one and a beer, and found an empty table to eat at. It was pretty good (overpriced, but all ballpark food is) and satisfying, so I was happy—
—until I threw away my garbage and saw that I hadn’t been to the Lobel’s window; I had been at the Mighty Quinn’s barbecue window which was right next door. Not that I was unhappy with the burnt ends; they just weren’t what I’d been expecting. I briefly thought about getting a second sandwich—especially when I saw that, at Lobel’s, I could see they literally had a butcher in the window trimming meat. I soon realized, though, that that was folly, and passed. (Next time!)
With my dietary needs met, it was time to take my seat. Since I seem to be one of the few civilians who still keeps score when he goes to a ballgame, I almost never get up during a game; I just don’t want to miss a play (though with MLB’s app, it’s always possible to catch up on what just happened), so I was in for the duration. I was sitting on the third-base side, near the plate (it was a great seat), but had read that by sitting there, I was going to get a lot of sun, which turned out to indeed be the case. I slathered on the sunscreen, which meant trying not to get grease all over the pages of my scorebook (I mostly succeeded), wrote down the lineups, and waited for the game to begin.
Don't let the apparent overcast fool you;
it was friggin' HOT
Following the two national anthems (which I hadn’t experienced since seeing the Expos play the Dodgers in the 80s), the game began, and it turned out to be pretty good. Despite the distractions—the fans to my left and front who arrived about 90 minutes into the game, and then left about an hour later; the guy in back of me who kept predicting what was about to happen—and was wrong every single time; the kid who was with him who kept bitching about the heat—it wasn’t too bad of a game.
Four things to note:
1) Foul balls were sprayed all around me, but nothing came close to me (in more than 50 years of going to baseball games, I’ve never been near a foul ball).
2) There’s a kind of tradition that, if a fly ball ends an inning, an outfielder will probably throw the ball he caught to a kid in the stands. After an inning-ending fly in this game, a kid in front of me leaped to his feet and began waving his glove to get that ball. What didn’t occur to him was that we were in the second deck, about 200 feet from the outfielder. Shockingly, the outfielder neither saw the kid nor tossed the ball.
3) The Yankees have vendors who roam the stands selling margaritas in a sort of a dumbbell-shaped container that’s about two feet long. The price? $16.35. Beers in the stand are $5.30. I just couldn’t figure out why the odd prices; were people likely to have exact change? The only thing I could think of was that they wanted to make sure the vendors would get a tip—and one as big as possible (“Here’s a $20; keep the 3.65.”)
4) As predicted, it was as hot as hell—nearly 90 and no breeze to speak of—and the sun was brutal. It was so hot, in fact, that I rolled up my pant legs to try to get some relief. Finally, after a couple of innings, I realized I could use my free t-shirt to make some shade, so I plopped it over my cap and it actually seemed to work. I kept track of how the shade was moving (slowly) toward me, and around 2:45, it finally arrived, and everything became much more tolerable.
Even though Yankee starter Lance Lynn was pretty dominating (7 strikeouts in 5 innings), the Blue Jays rallied in the 8th to send the Yankee fans home unhappy. Despite the loss, though, the loudspeakers played Frank Sinatra’s version of “New York, New York,” a song I thought they played only after a win. Then they played it again. Then they played it a third time. It was still playing a fourth time when I last heard it. I hope Kander and Ebb make big royalties off of the team.
I’d waited a little while before leaving the stadium (or the Stadium, I suppose), hoping the crowds might thin out a little. They did some in the concourses, but decided to bunch up and stop short on the stairs and exits, clogging things up as much as they could. I finally got across the street to the subway station and, rather than following the masses to the overcrowded 6 train, somehow ended up on the D, which was much less crowded (I even got a seat). I got off on West 4th St. and decided that, since it had turned into a nice afternoon/early evening, I’d like to have a glass of wine or a cocktail, and sit at a sidewalk café, and watch the world go by. Since I had passed a number of places on St. Marks (including David’s Café from the day before), I thought I might as well try there. Most of the places were overcrowded or loud or just unpleasant, though. I stopped in at David’s and asked how late they were open, planning on coming back later in the evening. In the event, I ended up a little farther down the block and saw that a place called Bua’s not only had outdoor seating, it had front windows that raised up to provide secondary outdoor seating. On top of that, it wasn’t at all crowded, so I went in and got a good seat in the window, ordered a cocktail, and people-watched for a good hour. Even though I knew I shouldn’t have, I ordered a second cocktail (never a good idea), spent about another hour before settling up, and left.
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