Wasif's World

I had the chance to visit Yankee Stadium last Wednesday. For years I heard this place was a rundown smelly dump, but it looked pretty bright and shiny to me. Not sure what the fuss was about, though. It seemed to have very few memories in it.

They are adept at taking your money, I must say. I was told to bring my checkbook. (Though I found it curious that a ballpark would take checks and just brought cash.) I wanted to try the cheesesteak, but my loan application was rejected. Beer was relatively inexpensive, on the other hand. Unfortunately, cup prices were through the roof.

I bought my $30 bleacher seats which, all things considered, seemed to be fairly reasonable, that is until you calculate the cost per minute. It was the shortest American League game, I think, I’ve ever been to -- only 2 hours and 20 minutes long. And it was only a show of their greatest hits: Pettitte starts, Rivera closes, Pettitte picks a runner off, Damon and A-Rod homer. None of the new stuff ... like a Seattle win. Griffey did homer, though.

I guess seeing history was something – it was the first time since Mays and Aaron homered in the same game back in the 70’s that two hitters with over 500 career homers hit ones in the same game – but no one realized this at the time.

The main detriment to my experience, was their “security” policy, which caused me to miss the first inning.

You walk up to the first barrier which has work relea --er -- trained security personnel checking your possessions. My friend had a shoulder bag (okay, man purse) which was virtually empty. Inside was an iPod shuffle and his cell phone, which he put in his pocket. And he held the bag open for them to see.

“Sir, you can’t bring that bag in here.”

“But it’s empty,” he replied and held it open so they could yell inside and hear the echo.

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s stadium policy.”

I was asked to show underneath my hat. I guess that makes sense, because if I were to possess a sharp object like a knife, I would keep the blade pressed against my skull.

But the matter at hand was my friend’s disbelief that he couldn’t bring an empty bag into the stadium. As he argued, we looked at the lines beside us and at the women who were waved through carrying bags big enough for my friend to have hopped into. (“Are you smuggling a man into the game, Miss?” “Yes, I am.” “Fine, go right ahead.”) And standing around getting negged was my friend and several other men with their arms out to their sides in a pleading manner and their mouths agape.

So we figured out, if you ever go to Yankee Stadium, find a lady (not one of those Jersey girls with the moustache) to bring your bag into the stadium for you. Evidently, stadium policy is “guys no, women you betcha.”

We were directed to the money burning -- er -- bag check station, which was back across the street. We crossed illegally in front of cops and some lady with a megaphone instructing, “Do not cross against traffic. Wait till you have the light.” (I’m sorry, what is this “light” you speak of?).

The sign at Stan’s bar said, “Stan the Man! Bag Check $7.” Seven dollars! AND there was a TIP JAR on the counter (just to piss you off even more).

And two doors down, a bowling alley had no line and only a $5 bag check. (I wondered how much of a share they gave to Stan for making it seem they were a reasonable option. And I wondered how much both places shared with the stadium.

Anyway, we made it inside the park for the second inning. (By this time, I had picked up a Setaline torch and hid it under my hat.) I heard that I had to see “Monument Park” and I followed the signs, but couldn’t find it. So I located one of those people with the “How May I help you” paddles. They’re easy to find because they were beating anyone with a Seattle hat or jersey over the head with it. “It’s right down there,” the guy said, pointing behind center field, “but it’s closed.” Fitting.

And I was upset that I didn’t get a chance to visit the “Big Papi Excavated Shirt Exhibit” at the park. But this is not to imply that being at the park was not without its advantages. I still enjoyed myself, surprisingly, among Yankees fans. Plus, I didn’t have to listen to John Sterling yell “An A-bomb from A-Rod.”

As you can see by the picture, rumors of their dominance have been greatly exaggerated:



Incidentally, I also went to Philadelphia’s Citizen Bank Ballpark after a Phillies sweep of the Mets and had the pleasure to return to the parking lot with a friend of mine who’s a Philly fan that walked up to the Mets players waiting by the player’s parking lot and said to them, “The losers get have to wait a long time, don’t they?”

He then proceeded to board a Mets fan bus and announce to the passengers, “Hey, guys, just wanted to wish you all a nice trip.”

It was brazen fan taunting at its most hilarious. (I suppose it was funnier to me than had it been a Yankees fan saying it to me pre-2004.) Of course, that was the last I saw of my friend as the bus doors closed and it took off.