Last Day of Summer

On the heels of an amazing victory last night with the slaughter of the Red Sox and tonight's demolishing defeat, I thought I'd post this. (I think I'm posting it for the first time, but even if it's a repost, it's probably new to most of you) I wrote it after the last game at old Yankee Stadium. Special thanks to my favorite editor for clearing up some of my more glaring mistakes and not harassing me too badly for them.

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The day began unusually somber, like we were going to a funeral. Sure, there were moments of joy - like when my dad screamed out gleefully that the Ledger wrote about us in its tribute to the Stadium (yes, we were the anonymous fans who wore bags over our heads and led the stadium in anti-Steinbrenner chants). But where the trip into the Bronx usually holds so much excitement, so much promise, today it felt like dread and mourning.

I walked out into the stadium, from the dark of the walkways to the bright sunshine, the blue sky, the green grass - sights so familiar I usually take them for granted. But not today. Today it was like seeing them again for the first time. And I think back to how many people - kids and adults - I've watched stepping out into the light, seeing the stadium for the first time in real life, a sight so breathtaking, the history of the place so overwhelming that they just have to stop and stare.

We made our way to our seats, seeing the familiar faces that come with sitting in the same section for the past 23 seasons. My thoughts go to the friends we'd made over the years who were no longer there - "Cat woman" with her nails so long they curled around to her palm like claws, "doc" who always screamed "split that rock! crush that pea!" at the batters, Derek and his dad who sat in front of us for years until Derek went away to college, the guy with the huge earphones who never failed to yell "BACK" as a runner was about to be picked off or "GOING" when the other team attempted to steal a base, Elliott who tried to stump my dad every week with baseball trivia and his disappointment when he never could, even "vomit woman" whose name is self-explanatory.

The stadium holds so many memories for so many people. I've spent almost my whole life there. Sundays and Yankee stadium. It was tradition.

Games with my dad and uncle when I was young... They'd point spots out to me "That's where Mantle used to play." "Babe Ruth used to stand right there and hit balls out of the park so the local kids, like your grandpa, could get into the game for free." In the beginning, I was too young to appreciate the game - so I had my activity bag, packed full of coloring books and comics. I had been going to games since I was 5, scoring the games by age 7. Later, I was as into the game as dad and Unc and my sister was the one with the activity bag.

We were there in the 80s and early 90s when the team was so bad that no one wanted to watch them. They'd announce attendance at 30,000 but judging from the empty seats and the eerie quiet of the stadium, the real attendance never came close to 20. We were the die hards. The real fans - not like the ones today who have been so spoiled by years of good teams that they don't remember a time when the Yankees didn't make it to the post-season...Of course, they rooted for the Mets back then - so why should they remember those years?

I was at the game where they actually stopped play because some dumb squirrel was running around the netting behind home plate. Old Timers Days where the old Yankees used to play the old players from the opposing team. Concerts at the stadium that were far more exciting than the actual games. Senior year in high school meant the milestone of being able to skip class to watch opening day. My sister and I actually got an entire section of the upper deck to chant "let the girls stay!" when a playoff game went into so many extra innings my dad wanted to leave early to ensure we'd get up for class the next day. I grew up watching most of the guys who came back this year as "old timers," which still amazes me. We had tickets to, and I'm ashamed to admit, missed Wells and Cone's perfect games.

I missed the beginning of the pre-game ceremony, but when I returned to the seats, the '23 Yankees were standing in center field in their old uniforms. Through the lights and haze, it was like the ghosts of the past had assembled to watch the final game. You had to wonder what was going through their minds as they stood there one last time in the outfield, where they had spent the best years of their lives and careers, before the stadium is torn down.

My dad and I upgraded our normal seats for the final game and were sitting about 8 rows behind home plate. For most of the game, the crowd was quiet, too quiet. Even the bleacher creatures were subdued, bizarrely on their best behavior. The final role call and chants of "box seats suck" were almost reserved.

There were a few moments where the true Bronx fans made an appearance - a drunken fool behind us screaming at Millar in the 7th as he entered the on deck circle. "MILLAR! YOU SUCK" he slurred "I HATE YOU MILLAR!" 'YOU YOU YOU BOSTON PERSON!" and, as Millar hit the pop up to end the inning "HOW'S THE CHOWDAH MILLAR???" My dad has his own choice comments - barking at A-Rod and calling him a dog.

I saw Chamberlain's dad proudly watching as his son's pitching got us through the 7th and 8th innings. In the next section over, fans swarmed Wells and Cone, until the police chased everyone off.

As Mo's entrance music started to begin the 9th, I looked at my dad, tears in both of our eyes, and asked "Do we finish out the game here or our own seats?" He didn't need to answer... We grabbed our stuff and ran across the stadium to our normal seats, our home. My uncle and grandfather had the same idea. We watched the last 3 outs on our feet, screaming like madmen... and then, it was over.

The Yankees won the final game...

Next year there will be more games. A new stadium. A chance to create new memories to pass on to the next generation.

But this was the last game, the last day of summer... One last perfect night. And it will never be the same.