Yankee Stadium

Speaking of finding my way home…

Last night, my little brother, Spencer and our father, bid farwell to a home they never saw in person. Sounds kind of crazy, doesn’t it? Saying goodbye to a place they’ve never stepped foot in.

My dad and Spencer are also kind of crazy in the sense that people like them…they’re rather rare in this part of the country: they are Yankee fans. In South Dakota. Don’t get me wrong; there is definitely a small but very known group of Yankee fans in the midst of the Midwest, but when it comes down to it, when Dad and Spencer go see the Yankees play the Twins, they’re definitely in the minority.

Regardless, they both watched Yankee Stadium host its last game last night via ESPN. Dad sat in the recliner he’s been watching Yankee games from for my entire lifetime, often sitting up unexpectedly when Jeter came to bat or when Andy Petite threw the last first pitch. It was as if sitting up, being a little closer to the television could take him into that atmosphere, like he could be a part of the last night in Yankee Stadium.

I say it’s the home Dad and Spencer never stepped foot in because they never did. The hours logged watching games, World Series be won (and lost) on television, talking about the players, explaining the more technical stuff to me… My dad, especially, has spent his whole life experiencing the ups and downs of every Yankee team since at least the early 1960’s. Spencer is just now starting to see the Yankees circle into a downward spiral; he and I came of age during that fantastic run when the Yanks won what…four World Series in five years? I know enough baseball to get me through a game and can recognize several of the more well known players, Yankee or not, but Spencer… I’m pretty sure part of the reason he went into Broadcast Journalism is because of all the time he has spent watching sports broadcasting as a child.

The thing with Yankee Stadium is that it connected generations. Last night, during a ceremony to welcome old Yankees back to the stadium one last time, I watched players (or their children) trot out to their old positions. Babe Ruth’s daughter threw out the last pitch. And it was lovely, but none of the emotion of the evening got to me until after the game, when the camera man found a little boy, probably about seven years old, wearing a pinstripe jersey and a Yankee hat way too big for his little head. One tear ran down that kid’s cheek. And that’s when I got it, the generation thing.

Yankee Stadium hosted all the great (and seriously depressing) events that bought my dad and my brother together, when they admittedly have little else in common. And though I love baseball, the sound of bats cracking, announcers freaking out (“…going, going…GONE!), the familiar sights of Yankee Stadium are not mine to claim. They belong to the real fans, the people that call that place home even when they’ve never actually been there.

Dad was part of the last night in Yankee Stadium. Derek Jeter, from the pitcher’s mound after the game, only enhanced a gut feeling I’ve had my whole life but never thought to put into words. "Although things are going to change next year and we're going to move across the street, there are a few things with the New York Yankees never change,” Jeter said. “That's pride, tradition, and most of all, we have the greatest fans in the world. We're relying on you to take the memories from this stadium and add them to the new memories we make at the new Yankee Stadium and continue to pass them on from generation to generation. We just want to take this moment to salute you, the greatest fans in the world."