Take Me Out To The ATM

With every opening day the argument renews about whether it’s worth paying to see baseball in person, given the mortgage-inducing price for even a routine game. My at-home competition, like many American households, is a 50” high-definition TV, clean bathroom that has no line, and reasonably-priced concessions.

Working from home affords a few advantages, including avoiding daily torture on New York City’s public transit and not bumping into millennials who can’t look up from their phones. But last April featured $15 upper deck seats for a matinee Yankees game and no boss to notice my empty desk. Alighting from the subway and walking towards the ticket booth, the crowd and I passed by a full anti-terror squad in body armor and fingers wrapped around the trigger guards of their long guns. This probably meant: a) the visiting Twins represented an otherwise unknown threat to national security, or b) ISIS was looking to trade for some middle relief.

Ticket obtained without gunfire, the next adventure was simply trying to enter the stadium. Anticipating herds, barricades were arranged in a strangely familiar way. It was the back and forth lines of cattle pens, and instead of hamburger my Amex was about to go to slaughter. Navigating the back and forth of this impromptu 5K race course, we all ended up at…the magnetometers. Alas, my TSA Pre-Check is only good at the airport and my fellow fans didn’t seem to understand the do’s and don’ts of permitted goods. If fairness, the prohibited items list barely fit the largest Kinkos banner size.

After navigating this not-so-quite fan-friendly entrance, it was up to the top deck and a baseball game. Lunch al fresco would be a beer, hot dog, and pretzel. $26 later and my meal in hand, I was ready for what the announcer proclaimed would be my “fan experience at Yankee Stadium.” Apparently this meant providing my own entertainment or otherwise telling me, like a studio audience, when to “GET EXCITED.” A pair of townhouse-sized hands clapped on the scoreboard in not-rhythm to the sound system. Even worse, for all the money flying around, the hands only had three fingers and a thumb each. Other agitation included a “Kiss Cam,” “Fan Meter” and other minor-league entertainments between innings (or just between pitches, given the pace of this game).

Looking around, I spotted blocks of brightly-colored shirts scattered around. Naturally this meant middle school students on a field trip, which begged the question of the educational value of their outing. Then again, the kids were probably safer here than in their actual school and they could work on a math and biology problems. The number of fingers on a hand would be a good start.

If all of this carnival seemed designed to distract, it was working as planned. The actual competition on the field consisted of two errors by the home team, not one but two plays overturned on replay, and the visitors had already scratched out a few runs. Two hours on and only in the fifth inning, it became decision time: make a break for it or stay to what could be a very bitter end. But there’s a saying in baseball, “You see something new every time.” In this case the Yanks were getting no-hit by just one pitcher. This was in contrast to the Astros game I attended where the Yanks were no-hit with a combination of five pitchers. I was in and then also out $21 for a final beer and peanuts.

And then the game happened. The Yanks scored but then left men on base. The innings started to move by more quickly, and suddenly we were in the bottom of the ninth, another run in and a man on base. Gary Sanchez strode up to the plate and BAM! Home run! The players went crazy and the fans left deliriously happy.

Worth the price, you ask? It’s a tough call, even for this “budget” afternoon. But today I’m just focused on two words: “Play Ball!”

© 2019 Alexander W. Stephens, All Rights Reserved