The Good Life

I hadn't been to Yankee Stadium for a long, long time. The last time I was there, back in 1983, George Brett was using extra pine tar to hit balls out of the park. I'm more of a Shea stadium type of guy, but I sure wasn't going to pass up a chance to see the Bronx Bombers for free, let alone in box seats. I didn't even know what box seats were when I was first offered them. I knew they were good, but I had the impression that they were where people too important to be exposed to sunlight sat behind glass enclosures, making deals and not paying attention to what was going on in the baseball world.

Getting to the Bronx was an adventure in itself; hearing the Metropolitan Opera singer-turned-subway-car- crooner was quite an experience. When we arrived at the stadium, my friend Ken and I didn't sit in the right seats, and when the attendant pointed us in the direction of our correct seats, I noticed that they were practically on the field. They even came with an extended table on which we placed our wallet-busting slices of Sbarro pizza. Ken quickly pointed out to me that our extended table was really the roof of the dugout and the attendant promptly scolded me for placing my food on it. Now I'm not so ignorant of the ways of baseball as to not know what a dugout is, but I'd never been so close to one since my little league days. I customarily sit so far up in a stadium that I have to watch the big screen to see what's going on. I used to figure a television with good surround sound in my living room would achieve the same effect. I'd have to hire someone to spill beer on me, though.

It was truly awe-inspiring sitting so close to the action. I realized the players are actually human beings, not plastic figurines trapped in a box that I call my television. And they talk too! Well, not to me, but to the guy next to me, who earlier informed me that he goes to every game, and that I was sitting where Gregory Hines sat not too long ago. He said that he and Ricky Henderson went way back, and even spewed out some Spanish expletives at him to prove it. Ricky, however, didn't seem too eager to talk after his verbal battle with Yankees pitcher Black Jack McDowell in the sixth inning. The verbal barrage wasn't just limited to the field. I was surrounded by at least 20 would-be managers, each of whom was confident that if he could just call the next play the Yankees would take home a pennant in October. The amount of betting that went on would have made OTB jealous. At least once during every game, the big screen shows a video of subway trains traveling at breakneck speed toward Yankee Stadium, and fans are supposed to guess which train will win. Of course, I didn't choose the winning train and as I was handing my dollar over to the investment banker, he smugly told me that he knows which train wins every time. Apparently, it's not exactly a game of chance.

Before the Henderson incident the game was moving a bit slowly, but that was okay with us. It took six innings before we could figure out how to pronounce the name of the A's pitcher, Wojciechowski, anyway. Ken kept scolding himself for not remembering to bring his camera, and we agreed that we could be taking Sports Illustrated quality photos from our vantage point. Nearby, a bunch of women were belching and kids all around were shouting profanities. I found myself getting into the action, cheering the Yanks and booing the A's as loud as the rest of the t-shirt and shorts clad folks in our section. Meanwhile, the dollar I had lost to the investment banker was returned to me on a fairer bet, and someone in the dugout threw me a baseball, my first game-used baseball ever. This was the good life.

After the game, I was there with the rest of the grown-adults-turned-children begging players to autograph my baseball. I'm still not sure if the 10 year old I shoved aside to get closer to Don Mattingly has recovered from his concussion. When I arrived home, I called my father to ask me if he had seen me on television. After hearing me tell how I had gotten the great tickets and what a great time I had, he of course had to ruin it by saying, "Don't get used to it." Well, maybe it was good advice. After all, I'd probably get jaded if I had those seats for every game. And getting knocked unconscious by a foul ball or mugged on the subway is a distinct possibility. But you know what? I think I'll risk it. Besides, the surround sound in my living room isn't so great.