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At least I said ‘good-bye’
  
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By DUSTING BASS, Sports Editor
I had to get there. There was no two ways around it. It had to be done. When a man is approached with a life-changing experience that he has yet to experience, but very well could, it only makes sense to experience it.
Four days before the closing and soon destruction of the greatest national monument America possesses, I had to jump on a plane, hop a bus, and snag a train to visit it.
Finally, Sept. 17 arrived leaving me only with an hour’s sleep before I had to catch my 6 a.m. plane flight. A few dozes later, I arrived in Atlanta, for a layover which only delayed my much anticipated arrival in the City That Never Sleeps.
Amidst my confusion after landing in La Guardia Airport in the Big Apple, I began to get my bearings. I didn’t even have my hotel ready when I got there.
It didn’t matter. I was in New York City and I was going to see the Yankees play in Yankee Stadium.
“Hackensack, New Jersey.”
“Hacken-what?” I asked my brother.
“That’s where you’re staying,” he said.
The drive took forever, but it was a good thing. I got to see pretty much the whole city, due to getting on the wrong bus. Surrounded by crazy New Yorkers, an angel sat next to me. Susan, a woman who was probably in her late 70s, looked straight ahead until she answered my question.
“32 years,” she said.
“And where did you live before New Jersey?“
“New York,” she said smiling.
She promised me I would have a good time in New York City and that I would enjoy myself at the game through a voice that was filled with a little hurt and bitterness.
“It’s a disgrace what they’re doing,” Susan said about the Yankees tearing down Yankee Stadium. “Just because something is old, doesn’t mean it’s no good.”
I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the stadium or about herself, either way she made her point and then she heard her stop.
As soon as I got to my hotel, I couldn’t wait to get back to New York City. A bus ride and I was going anywhere I wanted in the big city. I had 24 hours before the game started, so I had enough time to visit the City by the Sea.
I fell in love with the city, despite having to pay to just use the restroom and being bombarded with people asking for my spare change and then yelling obscenities even if I did. There was a smell that filled the air. There was a mystique along the dark streets even when they became lit up with billboards and lights.
Although the lights never went out and feet never quit walking the sidewalks, I did. Heading back to the hotel at 1 a.m. still seemed way too early, but I didn’t own the bus.
As soon as I woke up I was back in the city (well, after showering, brushing my teeth, and applying deodorant). The plan was to walk the city until having to go to the Bronx where the Bombers awaited.
I spent my time sightseeing and filling my camera with as many photos as necessary until reaching the pinnacle of my trip.
When the B train arrived at 161st, I was having a hard time containing my excitement, but there it was. Right when I walked off of the subway, it stood there like something to be admired. The new stadium, though not finished, was being built just across the street almost in a posthumous manner to the House That Ruth Built. Aside from the architectural blasphemy, it stood erect slightly shorter in stature but still evidently casting a shadow on its predecessor. Susan was more right than I thought she was.
“Tickets, tickets, tickets.”
“No, thanks. I have one,” I said almost smiling at the overweight scalper passing by with his hands in his pocket.
I was so proud to just say that I had a Yankees ticket. It wasn’t the fact that it was the Yankees I was going to see, but it was the fact that I would be sitting in Yankee Stadium.
I held onto my ticket like a gun in a knife-fight walking to the entrance.
The sun shone over the first base line bleachers and covered the field with magic, almost as if God decided to shine rays of light in pinstripes. After an hour and a half of looking around and taking pictures, the Star Spangled Banner played with every fans’ NY symbol placed on their hearts and then shooting it in the air to exclaim both of their allegiances and then sat down for the start of the White Sox and Yankees.
As the game continued through the innings and the Yankees took complete control, I turned and asked two ladies what they thought of the stadium being replaced and removed.
They heard the question, but couldn’t answer. I guess sometimes it hurts too much when all you can say is good-bye.
The lights blasted the field in brightness and defiance of it’s not too distant demise. The 85-year-old stood silent. It was putting on a good game. It knew what Susan knew. Everyone knew what Susan knew.
Finally, the game was over and all the NY hats scattered, filed lines and jumped back on the train. That was it. I would never see her again. She only had three more nights and there was a sense of sadness in the air. Perhaps it was fans knowing that just like the game they had watched, it would be soon be over for her too.
I guess in a way, it makes sense. All good things must come to an end as they say. I just figured there was a difference between good and great.
Maybe it is a disgrace to tear down a building full of America’s fondest memories and build a replica. It’s just like anything else. Nothing can replace the original, and as identical as the new stadium will be to the old one, it will never be the same.
I loved getting the chance to experience Yankee Stadium. It is something I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Yes, it’s sad to see her go, but nothing beats the joy of at least getting to say good-bye.
Dustin Bass is the Sports Editor for The Potpourri and can be reached at 281-357-0882 or dbass@hcnonline.com.
Four days before the closing and soon destruction of the greatest national monument America possesses, I had to jump on a plane, hop a bus, and snag a train to visit it.
Finally, Sept. 17 arrived leaving me only with an hour’s sleep before I had to catch my 6 a.m. plane flight. A few dozes later, I arrived in Atlanta, for a layover which only delayed my much anticipated arrival in the City That Never Sleeps.
Amidst my confusion after landing in La Guardia Airport in the Big Apple, I began to get my bearings. I didn’t even have my hotel ready when I got there.
It didn’t matter. I was in New York City and I was going to see the Yankees play in Yankee Stadium.
“Hackensack, New Jersey.”
“Hacken-what?” I asked my brother.
“That’s where you’re staying,” he said.
The drive took forever, but it was a good thing. I got to see pretty much the whole city, due to getting on the wrong bus. Surrounded by crazy New Yorkers, an angel sat next to me. Susan, a woman who was probably in her late 70s, looked straight ahead until she answered my question.
“32 years,” she said.
“And where did you live before New Jersey?“
“New York,” she said smiling.
She promised me I would have a good time in New York City and that I would enjoy myself at the game through a voice that was filled with a little hurt and bitterness.
“It’s a disgrace what they’re doing,” Susan said about the Yankees tearing down Yankee Stadium. “Just because something is old, doesn’t mean it’s no good.”
I wasn’t sure if she was talking about the stadium or about herself, either way she made her point and then she heard her stop.
As soon as I got to my hotel, I couldn’t wait to get back to New York City. A bus ride and I was going anywhere I wanted in the big city. I had 24 hours before the game started, so I had enough time to visit the City by the Sea.
I fell in love with the city, despite having to pay to just use the restroom and being bombarded with people asking for my spare change and then yelling obscenities even if I did. There was a smell that filled the air. There was a mystique along the dark streets even when they became lit up with billboards and lights.
Although the lights never went out and feet never quit walking the sidewalks, I did. Heading back to the hotel at 1 a.m. still seemed way too early, but I didn’t own the bus.
As soon as I woke up I was back in the city (well, after showering, brushing my teeth, and applying deodorant). The plan was to walk the city until having to go to the Bronx where the Bombers awaited.
I spent my time sightseeing and filling my camera with as many photos as necessary until reaching the pinnacle of my trip.
When the B train arrived at 161st, I was having a hard time containing my excitement, but there it was. Right when I walked off of the subway, it stood there like something to be admired. The new stadium, though not finished, was being built just across the street almost in a posthumous manner to the House That Ruth Built. Aside from the architectural blasphemy, it stood erect slightly shorter in stature but still evidently casting a shadow on its predecessor. Susan was more right than I thought she was.
“Tickets, tickets, tickets.”
“No, thanks. I have one,” I said almost smiling at the overweight scalper passing by with his hands in his pocket.
I was so proud to just say that I had a Yankees ticket. It wasn’t the fact that it was the Yankees I was going to see, but it was the fact that I would be sitting in Yankee Stadium.
I held onto my ticket like a gun in a knife-fight walking to the entrance.
The sun shone over the first base line bleachers and covered the field with magic, almost as if God decided to shine rays of light in pinstripes. After an hour and a half of looking around and taking pictures, the Star Spangled Banner played with every fans’ NY symbol placed on their hearts and then shooting it in the air to exclaim both of their allegiances and then sat down for the start of the White Sox and Yankees.
As the game continued through the innings and the Yankees took complete control, I turned and asked two ladies what they thought of the stadium being replaced and removed.
They heard the question, but couldn’t answer. I guess sometimes it hurts too much when all you can say is good-bye.
The lights blasted the field in brightness and defiance of it’s not too distant demise. The 85-year-old stood silent. It was putting on a good game. It knew what Susan knew. Everyone knew what Susan knew.
Finally, the game was over and all the NY hats scattered, filed lines and jumped back on the train. That was it. I would never see her again. She only had three more nights and there was a sense of sadness in the air. Perhaps it was fans knowing that just like the game they had watched, it would be soon be over for her too.
I guess in a way, it makes sense. All good things must come to an end as they say. I just figured there was a difference between good and great.
Maybe it is a disgrace to tear down a building full of America’s fondest memories and build a replica. It’s just like anything else. Nothing can replace the original, and as identical as the new stadium will be to the old one, it will never be the same.
I loved getting the chance to experience Yankee Stadium. It is something I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Yes, it’s sad to see her go, but nothing beats the joy of at least getting to say good-bye.
Dustin Bass is the Sports Editor for The Potpourri and can be reached at 281-357-0882 or dbass@hcnonline.com.
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