It's Not Home

I've been to hundreds of ball games. I've been to lots of ball parks. I've been to games with lots of different people.

But there's just something special about sitting at Yankee Stadium taking in a game with my dad.

For the first time this year, I got to see a game with him tonight. For the first time - EVER - I managed to whip out my money before he could and bought him a program and scorecard. He actually asked me what I thought I was doing paying. (You practically have to take out a mortgage to buy dinner at the stadium so I thought it was the least I could do)

We made our way to the seats, a trek becoming more familiar with each game. We got to our seats just in time for the Phillies to start the game off with a bang - a walk off home run. (Followed by like 6 more over the course of the game)

We sit in our seats perusing the menu - trying to decide what designer ballpark food to get. I can't bring myself to spend $9 on a freaking hot dog. It's good and all - but if I'm going to spend that much on a dog, it should last longer than 3 bites and 30 seconds!

After we order, we stare out at the field. Is it my imagination or is the grass a little less green than it was across the street? The sky a little less blue? The place not as breathtaking that when you walk through the tunnels out into the light, you have to stop and stare? The history of the place certainly isn't as breathtaking as that amazing ballpark across the street.

My dad asks me, "So what do you think of this place?"

I respond with my typical cynical remarks about new Yankee Stadium: "If I wanted to see this much neon, I'd go to Vegas." This was followed quickly by, "It's a nice place to visit. But it's not home."

Only a true fan - someone who watched the Yanks through their worst years - someone who spent 26 years at the old stadium - would fully understand that comment.

Nodding in complete understanding, he says, "Exactly right. It's not home."