The family and I spent this holiday weekend in New York. We had the true holiday weekend experience, which included barbecues, fireworks, and a hefty helping of holiday traffic. Driving up Friday morning, the normally 4 hour 10 minute drive took us just about 6 hours. It was not a wasted six hours. It gave me the opportunity to put to practice some of the techniques I’ve been learning through meditation–particularly that of equanimity. Bad traffic raises my blood pressure, but I think I dealt with it calmly nearly the whole way up. (The merge on the upper deck of the GW bridge always gets me.)
Friday evening, my brother-in-law and I had tickets to the Mets v. Yankees game at Yankee Stadium. We had good seats and it was going to be the first major league baseball game I’d been to in a few years. We hopped on Metro North, changed trains and got off at Yankee stadium with what seemed like a few thousand other Yankees fans (and a sprinkling of Mets fan) screaming at the top of their lungs. The pouring rain outside the train station did nothing to dampen their spirits. We lined up to get into the ball park, entering at Gate 2, about 20 minutes before first pitch. The tarp was still on the field, so rather than go to our seats–which were field level up the third baseline–we wandered around the stadium. We bought a couple of $17+ beers. The beers come in only one size: Giant. This is 25 ounces of beer in a can. We then found a dry place to stand, and chatted while we waited for the game to begin.
It never happened.
Just before 8:30 pm, got in line for some food, and while standing in line, the game was postponed. We had about 2 hours inside Yankee Stadium (only my second time at the new ballpark) and spent $35 on beer. We took Uber to a restaurant not far from where my sister and brother-in-law live, and we had a nice dinner. I was back at their house around 11:30pm.
The game was rescheduled as part of Sunday day/night double-headers. We opted to exchange our tickets for a game later in the season. I think we made a good choice. While we sat out on my sister’s deck eating a great Independence Day barbecue, and while our kids played tag (or possible, “the floor is lava”) all around the yard, the Yankees got battered 10-5 by Mets, and Chappy blew another save.
It felt a little strange being back in Yankee stadium. I still think of it as the new stadium. It is not the stadium I remember from my youth, where you could look to the outfield and see the top of the Bronx court house. They players I know are all gone. Baseball, for all of its player longevity, is still a fleeting game, a game of youth, and those still clinging to their youth. I couldn’t even say that I felt the ghosts of former Yankees wandering the great causeways among the tens of thousands of fans. Those ghosts are anchored to a different piece of land.
No, the game we missed–the game I missed, always seems to be the one that is already long over, the one I can recreate in my mind just by looking at a messy, food-stained scorecard, with the sound of the imagined crowd like the sound of the ocean in seashell, ringing in my ears.
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