Kelly and I made our last pilgrimage for a game at the old Yankee Stadium last night, one last trip on the clattering No. 4 train this season, squeezed so tight together with fellow pinstripe revelers that you can barely breath, much less move. Three home games are all that are left. It was a cold evening, and that's not taking into account the pall cast over the Stadium with the growing realization that the Bronx Bombers are going to miss the playoffs for the first time since 1993. But it was nevertheless memorable, as almost all of our excursions in this mind-boggling city are, with Kelly taking pictures of almost anything that moved and me trying my best to avoid getting in the frame. There was a lot of shivering. Some laughs. A little bit of cheering. Lots of smiles. Bobby Abreu nearly deposited a home run in our laps and watching the camera flashes go off when Derek Jeter steps to the dish is almost always worth the trip. It was a particularly strange one for me, though, the first time all year I've sat in the stands, where I could listen to belligerent drunks and obnoxious fans for a full nine innings without the pressure of sending a story to the world when the umps bellow strike three. Didn't stop me from offering a brilliant lead to Kelly during the sixth inning of the 9-2 blowout of the White Sox, prompting a "shh" from the wife. But the company not withstanding, I'll still take the quiet sanctity of the press box and pressure of the deadline any day. Getting paid to be there, instead of shelling out $180 bucks for a pair of upper deck seats, makes the choice a little bit easier.
So about the stadium itself: There's still going to be a great gray edifice at the corner of 161st and River in the Bronx. The new Yankee Stadium already stands just across the street as a testament to times past, an effort to improve on what once was without losing all that once was. But it's not where the Bambino became great and a hayseed from Oklahoma became known simply as "the Mick." Nope, you can't replicate tradition, no matter how hard you try. True, I can't wait to cover my first game in the pleasure palace that the Yankees are erecting, which, from everything I've read, is surely to be the most opulent ballpark in the majors. Having more comfortable seats in the press box would go a long way towards making me forget all about the old place. But when I walk into the Yankees clubhouse, even if they preserve a locker for Thurman Munson, it won't be the same one I always saw just a few feet from where Jeter sits, where Munson really did dress. And when I leave the clubhouse and head down the dark
tunnel, under the blue sign that reads "I want to thank the Good Lord for making me a Yankee," I won't emerge into the same dugout that Joe DiMaggio, Lou Gehrig and Phil Rizzuto sat in. When I step onto the field, it won't be the same one where opposing titans like Ted Williams and Jimmy Foxx drew fervent vitriol from the passionate fans. Who knows? Maybe the ghosts will indeed follow the monuments across the street. The cheers certainly will. But change is inevitable, even if it's not always easy to accept, and often comes with great sacrifice.
Kelly and I made our last pilgrimage for a game at the old Yankee Stadium last night, one last trip on the clattering No. 4 train this season, squeezed so tight together with fellow pinstripe revelers that you can barely breath, much less move. Three home games are all that are left. It was a cold evening, and that's not taking into account the pall cast over the Stadium with the growing realization that the Bronx Bombers are going to miss the playoffs for the first time since 1993. But it was nevertheless memorable, as almost all of our excursions in this mind-boggling city are, with Kelly taking pictures of almost anything that moved and me trying my best to avoid getting in the frame. There was a lot of shivering. Some laughs. A little bit of cheering. Lots of smiles. Bobby Abreu nearly deposited a home run in our laps and watching the camera flashes go off when Derek Jeter steps to the dish is almost always worth the trip. It was a particularly strange one for me, though, the first time all year I've sat in the stands, where I could listen to belligerent drunks and obnoxious fans for a full nine innings without the pressure of sending a story to the world when the umps bellow strike three. Didn't stop me from offering a brilliant lead to Kelly during the sixth inning of the 9-2 blowout of the White Sox, prompting a "shh" from the wife. But the company not withstanding, I'll still take the quiet sanctity of the press box and pressure of the deadline any day. Getting paid to be there, instead of shelling out $180 bucks for a pair of upper deck seats, makes the choice a little bit easier.
So about the stadium itself: There's still going to be a great gray edifice at the corner of 161st and River in the Bronx. The new Yankee Stadium already stands just across the street as a testament to times past, an effort to improve on what once was without losing all that once was. But it's not where the Bambino became great and a hayseed from Oklahoma became known simply as "the Mick." Nope, you can't replicate tradition, no matter how hard you try. True, I can't wait to cover my first game in the pleasure palace that the Yankees are erecting, which, from everything I've read, is surely to be the most opulent ballpark in the majors. Having more comfortable seats in the press box would go a long way towards making me forget all about the old place. But when I walk into the Yankees clubhouse, even if they preserve a locker for Thurman Munson, it won't be the same one I always saw just a few feet from where Jeter sits, where Munson really did dress. And when I leave the clubhouse and head down the dark 
tunnel, under the blue sign that reads "I want to thank the Good Lord for making me a Yankee," I won't emerge into the same dugout that Joe DiMaggio, Lou Gehrig and Phil Rizzuto sat in. When I step onto the field, it won't be the same one where opposing titans like Ted Williams and Jimmy Foxx drew fervent vitriol from the passionate fans. Who knows? Maybe the ghosts will indeed follow the monuments across the street. The cheers certainly will. But change is inevitable, even if it's not always easy to accept, and often comes with great sacrifice.
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