A Sad Story

Hey Jon–

It’s been quite some time since I’ve posted anything here.  Lame, I know.  One of the things that’s been going on this summer is that my love for the grand old game has been entirely and completely rekindled.  You and I followed the Braves a little bit and watched quite a bit of postseason ball when we were in school, but my interest in the game hasn’t risen to this level since that fateful day almost 18 years ago when Coach Clark at KSU delivered the devastating news that my baseball career was over.  Anyway, there are all kinds of reasons why baseball is back on the radar at the level it is, and I’ll write about those later. Today I want to tell you a story that I may not have told you before. If I have, please bear with me.

When I was 16 my grandparents (my Mother’s parents) took me on summer trip, just me and them.  They planned the trip around things they knew I would love to do.  So my 16th summer was spent in New York City and then upstate in Cooperstown, home of the Baseball Hall of Fame.  It was a wonderful time.  The Hall of Fame was incredible.  It was a baseball lover’s dream to be there.  There I was, 16 years old, having breathed, eaten, drank, and slept baseball since before I could remember, and I was looking at all these exhibits and artifacts I had read about many times.  It was so cool. 

In the city I saw all the traditional sights–the Empire State Building, the Statue of Liberty, St. Patrick’s Cathedral, and so on.  I stood on top of the towers of the World Trade Center.  But the highlight of that part of the trip was supposed to be a game between the Yankees and Rangers at Yankee Stadium, complete with dinner in the Clubhouse Restaurant at the Stadium.  But while we were eating, we got word that the game had been rained out, and rescheduled for a time that we would not be in the city.  I was in Yankee Stadium, but I was not going to be able to see a game there.  I asked–no, begged–to be allowed just to walk out onto the concourse and see the ballpark.  But to no avail.  They wouldn’t let me in.

Now, you know that I am no fan of the New York Yankees.  My hatred for the Yankees goes back at least to October 14, 1976 (“Chris Chambliss” is still a dirty word between my father and me).  But as a student of the game I know that Yankee Stadium is a big deal.  It’s the house that Ruth built.  So many big things have happened there.  So many great players have played there.  Many folks have referred to it as a “cathedral” of baseball, particularly this year at the All-Star Game and all the hype surrounding it, since this is the last year baseball will be played there.  And that’s the sad story.  I got so close, and there’ll never be another opportunity to see the game played on the field graced by Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Berra, Mantle, and all the rest.  Alas.

Sean