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Monday, July 10, 2017

Rant #1,934: Everyone's a Winner

I hope you had a nice weekend.

I had a nice weekend, a good portion of it spent in the Bronx, New York.

On that day, my son and I went to Yankee Stadium to see the Yankees play the Milwaukee Brewers.

The Yankees won in walk-off style after Clint Frazier hit a three-run homer in the bottom of the ninth inning.

It was sort of a payoff for a long day sitting in the sun, enjoying ourselves in the big ballpark in the Bronx.

I have always loved going to baseball games in person.

I was relating to my parents the other day about the first game I ever went to, way back in 1965 when I was barely eight years old.

It was June 1965. I don't remember the exact date, but I did not go with my father to my first game; I went with my friend's dad and my friend to the original Yankee Stadium.

I don't remember the exact circumstances of the tickets. I can't remember if my friend's father actually bought the tickets himself or he was given the tickets by one of his passengers, as he was a cab driver like my dad was.

It was a mid-week game right before the end of school, and yes, my friend and I played hooky that day from P.S. 30, and we went to the game, where the Yankees played the-then Kansas City Athletics.

I don't remember the final score, although I know the Yankees lost, but it didn't matter; I distinctly remember walking into the big stadium, and I was just taken by its grandeur. The field was perfectly green, everything was so big, and here I was, this little kid taking it all in.

I was hooked, and hooked for life, and every time I go to a game, it is like I am that eight year old kid again, taking it all in.

But as an adult--and with my own son in tow--it isn't the same.

First off, this is the replica ballpark, a Yankee Stadium for the younger generation. To me and to my generation, it really isn't the real Yankee Stadium--that cathedral to baseball was torn down a few years ago to make way for this new ballpark--but I guess it is going to have to do.

And then you have everything tied into a day at the ballpark--the parking prices, the ticket prices, the prices for something as simple as a bottle of water--which all brings you down to earth, that this is not the world that you once lived in.

And then there is the driving, which can turn anyone completely off from the entire experience.

It took us about 90 minutes to get to the stadium from Long Island, which isn't bad.

It took us two and a half hours to get home, which was interminable.

But while at the Stadium, I have to admit that it was a lot of fun.

We sat in the lower portion of the upper deck in right field, right down the foul line.

Those were good seats in the hot sun, and yes, we did get some suntan on our legs that day--we wore hats, so we didn't really suffer anywhere else.

My wife was supposed to go to the game, but she was ill this weekend, and I managed to sell my ticket for a lower price than I paid for it. But as the game progressed, I noticed that the ticket wasn't used by anyone, as the seat was empty.

One mishap was that I went to the merchandise area to get shirts for my son, my wife and myself. I chose a female generic shirt for my wife, a Didi Gregorious shirt for my son, and an Aaron Judge shirt for myself.

Two transactions were going on while I paid for the shirts--there was a cashier next to the one I used that was also tallying up a purchase--and the shirts that I wanted somehow got mixed up with what the other people were purchasing, so what I got was the female shirt, and two medium Didi Gregorious shirts--my Aaron Judge extra large shirt went to the other people!

And like a fool, I never checked my purchase when I made it, and only found out about it when I got home.

Oh well, there will be another chance to purchase an Aaron Judge shirt at the ballpark, as we--and I am sure my wife will be fine by then--will be returning to Yankee Stadium on August 12 for another contest.

I will get my shirt then, which I can revel in as I sit in bumper to bumper traffic the entire way home.

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