April 6, 2007--Fanaticism LXXVI--The Boys of Spring
The last time I went to Opening Day of the baseball season the men wore jackets, ties, and fedoras. So you know how long ago that was and how old (very) I am. Of course a seat in the bleachers then was a buck and a half and hot dogs 50 cents.
But since the old Yankee Stadium is soon to be replaced, what the hell, we went for a couple of good seats behind home plate that cost $71 each. (Bleacher seats, by the way, now cost $12, dogs $4.75, and beers $8.) And the only man I spotted wearing a suit was Rudy Giuliani.
The Yanks won 9-5, A-Rod hit a two-run homer (though three nights later, in the second game of the season in the bottom of the 8th, he popped up with two outs and the bases loaded and the Yanks lost 7-6); and Mariano Rivera was perfect, striking out the side in the 9th inning. (See linked NY Times story.)
Beyond the obvious, a lot of other things were different. There were many more women there than years ago and most did not appear to be indulgent spouses or girlfriends who had agreed to be dragged along to the game, but rather genuine fans who knew as much about what was going on as the men. The woman to my left, who brought her 17 year-old son along with her, after Mariano’s first strike out, said, “It looks as if his slider is working.”
No one seemed to be able to sit still. Even during innings people were constantly leaving or returning to their seats, often with another beer, but just as frequently empty-handed. True, though most in the crowd were men, they appeared to be too young in general to already have leaky plumbing. Maybe they just couldn’t sit for more than a few minutes at a time. Or perhaps, as reported by educators and others, people can’t concentrate on anything for more than a minute or two. For whatever reasons, this ceaseless stirring about turned what for me has always been a relaxing and leisurely game, best enjoyed during the languid dog days of summer, into a fidgety affair.
There seemed to be plenty of room and good locations for fans in wheelchairs. I’m sure state or federal legislation requires this—back in the day, at the original Yankee Stadium or Ebbets Field, anyone gutsy enough to try to get into the ballpark in a chair was lucky not to be chased away by the cops from wherever it was that they found a space to settle.
And though baseball as the National Pastime has always been suffused with various forms of patriotic display, beginning always with the public address announcer asking all to rise for the singing of our National Anthem; and after 9/11, during the Seventh Inning Stretch, replacing Take Me Out to the Ballgame, we have been asked to “honor America” by joining Kate Smith in singing God Bless America, the other night, in contrast to the tearful fans who did then sing along with her, everyone stood, but no one appeared to be singing.
Perhaps that had to do with the announcer asking us to stand and sing in symbolic support of our “fighting men and women around the world.” Not that I or any of the other 55,000 who were there do not support them, but maybe we stood silent as a way of acknowledging their service but also to protest why they have been asked to make their disproportionate sacrifices.
Now if we could only take that to the streets. In the meantime, Play Ball!
But since the old Yankee Stadium is soon to be replaced, what the hell, we went for a couple of good seats behind home plate that cost $71 each. (Bleacher seats, by the way, now cost $12, dogs $4.75, and beers $8.) And the only man I spotted wearing a suit was Rudy Giuliani.
The Yanks won 9-5, A-Rod hit a two-run homer (though three nights later, in the second game of the season in the bottom of the 8th, he popped up with two outs and the bases loaded and the Yanks lost 7-6); and Mariano Rivera was perfect, striking out the side in the 9th inning. (See linked NY Times story.)
Beyond the obvious, a lot of other things were different. There were many more women there than years ago and most did not appear to be indulgent spouses or girlfriends who had agreed to be dragged along to the game, but rather genuine fans who knew as much about what was going on as the men. The woman to my left, who brought her 17 year-old son along with her, after Mariano’s first strike out, said, “It looks as if his slider is working.”
No one seemed to be able to sit still. Even during innings people were constantly leaving or returning to their seats, often with another beer, but just as frequently empty-handed. True, though most in the crowd were men, they appeared to be too young in general to already have leaky plumbing. Maybe they just couldn’t sit for more than a few minutes at a time. Or perhaps, as reported by educators and others, people can’t concentrate on anything for more than a minute or two. For whatever reasons, this ceaseless stirring about turned what for me has always been a relaxing and leisurely game, best enjoyed during the languid dog days of summer, into a fidgety affair.
There seemed to be plenty of room and good locations for fans in wheelchairs. I’m sure state or federal legislation requires this—back in the day, at the original Yankee Stadium or Ebbets Field, anyone gutsy enough to try to get into the ballpark in a chair was lucky not to be chased away by the cops from wherever it was that they found a space to settle.
And though baseball as the National Pastime has always been suffused with various forms of patriotic display, beginning always with the public address announcer asking all to rise for the singing of our National Anthem; and after 9/11, during the Seventh Inning Stretch, replacing Take Me Out to the Ballgame, we have been asked to “honor America” by joining Kate Smith in singing God Bless America, the other night, in contrast to the tearful fans who did then sing along with her, everyone stood, but no one appeared to be singing.
Perhaps that had to do with the announcer asking us to stand and sing in symbolic support of our “fighting men and women around the world.” Not that I or any of the other 55,000 who were there do not support them, but maybe we stood silent as a way of acknowledging their service but also to protest why they have been asked to make their disproportionate sacrifices.
Now if we could only take that to the streets. In the meantime, Play Ball!
posted by Steven Zwerling at
10:05 AM
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