Riley San Nicolas - Yankee Stadium (review)

4-25-14

 In the subway station in the Bronx and surprised not to see anyone going to the Yankees-Mets game. This is the first subway I’ve been in where I see multiple police officers patrolling the station and we’re the only two white people I can see. A bit of a shock, a good shock, and not scared but it puts perspective on things and placement and what does it feel like when its reversed? All of a sudden I hear a heavy New York accent and some buzz as a whole group of Mets fans strolls up from the steps and they’re obnoxious chatter blocks out everything else in the chatter. More fans roll up and the illusion is over, it’s clear we’re headed to the Subway Series game 2. 

 Out of the train and the big stone history of Yankee Stadium looms in the clear afternoon like an ancient statue and all of sudden I can see Joe DiMaggio and 1920’s aristocratic gamblers and street kids going to their first game and its a hectic vision presently filled with what seems like every citizen of the city dressed in blue and pinstripes and bright orange. The talk you overhear is a lot of baseball, accompanied by work talk and foreign languages and beer talk. It’s all a little overwhelming and after the Team store I don my new Yankees T-shirt. Not sure why, I’m a fan for the day but really just a fan of the spectacle, I could really give a damn about who wins. Every things overpriced and the cost of a bottle of Budweiser could have bought me a sixer of some real quality brew back home, but this is where I am. 

 It’s loud. The Mets are dominating and after awhile it seems like the number of Mets fans is growing. I suppose they’re only a few subway stops away, hence the rivalry name “The Subway Series”. “LET’S GO METS”. “BOOs” for A-Rod. All sorts of chants and the masses turn into a single entity like a great rippling sea monster rolling with the tides of the cheers and chatter and triumphant jumping and hollering. 

 America’s past-time. New York’s past-time. The working man’s escape. The white collar man’s delectable hobby. Father and son’s greatest memories. This is the heart of the town and it beats long after the players hit the showers and the bars close the doors and the moonlight hits the fading World Series banners.