Farewell to Yankee Stadium

Seventy years ago today much of Long Island and New England suffered the most devastating hurricane to hit that area in modern-day history.  When the storm, dubbed the Long Island Express was over, it left over 600 fatalities and the damage assessed at almost $40 billion in today’s dollars.  Although for many New Yorkers and New Englanders, the date September 21st is a day to remember that fateful storm, in today’s sports world – this night will be remembered by more people as the day Yankee Stadium,  will see it’s last New York Yankees home game.  After 85 years of hosting America’s most successful sports team and a host of other events, the stadium is closing and will be torn down. Next season, the Yankees will be playing in the New Yankee Stadium just across the way from the current park.  Coincidentally, tonight’s game is against the Baltimore Orioles, the team that moved from Baltimore in 1903 to New York, first becoming the New York Highlanders and then in 1913 becoming the Yankees.

Like many baseball fans and in particular, Yankee fans, this night will beckon a host of memories.  Some of the most memorable moments in sports history have been witnessed in the old stadium and for anyone who has been to the stadium to watch a game, just being there is an experience that has an indelible quality to it. For me, I have some memories too and they are forever etched in my mind and heart.  Although I have seen my share of games in “the House that Ruth Built,” there are but a few that I hold dear to my memory.

Back in the 1988 season, I was able to take my son Aaron, then eleven years old, to see a game at the stadium.  When we got to the stadium, I was really looking forward to how my son would react to being at such a huge venue where are favorite team was playing.  I remembered what it was like when I was growing up and going with my father to Baltimore’s Memorial Stadium to see the Orioles play.  Like my son, who could recite the names and stats of every member of the Yankees, I was totally into the moment. (See my post on Bobby Murcer)  Although we ended up sitting in the upper deck, on the first-base side, it really didn’tmatter.  We were at Yankee Stadium watching the Yankees – live and in color and with thousands of other excting fans. As luck would have it, about a dozen biker-types were sitting a couple of rows behind us and they were enjoying the game with the aid of a considerable amount of beer.  As the game moved into later innings our biker friends began to get a little more boisterous and crass.  With the Yankees losing the game, the crowd starting calling for Yankee third baseman, Mike Pagliarulo to be put into the game.  Pags, as he was called hadn’t started the game and the fans wanted him on the field.  At that, one of the burly biker guys sitting behind us started yelling, demanding that “Pag-lee-a-ru-lo” be put into the game.  I noted the phonetics of Pag’s name for the purpose of noting that in fact, the “g” in his name is pronounced like a “y.”  When my son heard this mistaken pronounciation, he turned around toward this burly, tattoo-covered biker dude as shouted above the roaring crowd, “It’s PAH-lee-AH-ROO-low, Stupid!”  At that moment, I felt ice pour through my veins.  I began to image myself being chained to a Harley, being dragged to the street of New York by a biker named, Assassin!  As I awaited my fate, I felt what I thought was a baseball bat pressed on my right shoulder.  I hestantly turned to see what was weighing my shoulder down.  Much to my surprise, yet not relieved, it was the forefinger belonging to the guy who’s pronunciation my son had unceremoniously corrected.  Trying to muster up more courage than a schoolgirl and trying not to look directly at the “Assassin’s” eyes (or eye!) I turned toward the next, and possible last chapter of my life.  When finally the tattooed and leather-adorned creature came into focus, he grunted and with a typical, stereotypical biker voice grunted, “You’ve got a hell of a little shit there, don’t ya?”  I wasn’t going to argue with him, so I said proudly, “You betcha!”  Then the biker dude tapped me a couple of times on the back as we returned to our previous positions.  All that remanded at that moment was the smell of Budweiser in the air which permeated from every pore and the breath of my new-found biker friend.  As the game moved on (and Pags did play) the Yanks came from behind to win the game.  At the end of the game, we just sat there listening to Frank Sinatra singing, “New York, New York” and savoring the moment.  Aaron was in heaven.  I, on the other hand was stll wondering if the “Assassin” would make my “little shit” an orphan.

From time to time through the years,  Aaron and I, family and friends would visit the stadium.  Day games, night games, sunny days and rainy ones too, we just loved to be there where our “boys of summer” played the game which is our national pastime. We’ve been so fortunate to have the Yankee Stadium experience as part of our own life’s history.  Hopefully next year, my son and I can make a trip to the New Yankee Stadium to see the Yanks play in thier new digs.  Hopefully, I won’t have to fear for my life this time.

Related Articles:

Giving Up the Ghosts at Yankee Stadium – FOX Sports

Thoughts on the Closing of Yankee Stadium – Sporting News

Facts & Figures on Yankee Stadium

Monument Park at Yankee Stadium

Yankee Stadium Virtual Tour

Now Broadcasting in the Field of Dreams, Bobby Murcer

Last summer, we Yankees fans bade farewell to one of the most beloved of all Yankees, former Hall of Fame player and Yankees sportscaster Phil “Scooter” Rizzuto. Now, less that a year after Scooter’s passing, we bid farewell to another Yankee legend, Bobby Murcer. Like Rizzuto, Murcer played in pinstripes but eventually “moved up” to the broadcast booth to call Yankees’ game for the television audience. He will be most sorely and sincerely missed.

As a kid growing up in the Baltimore area, I had been a hardcore Orioles fan. Brooks Robinson, Dave McNally, Boog Powell, and Luis Aparicio were a just a few of my childhood heroes and lucky for me, I actually got to see them play at Memorial Stadium with my dad. Being there was magical. It was like being in another dimension. But even though I followed the Orioles faithfully early on, I was a bit smitten by the mystique and legend of the Bronx Bombers. I thought they were giants (not the New York or San Francisco versions). Whenever the Yankees played the O’s, I figured every Yankees hitter would probably hit a homer in every game.

It was strange how the mystique of the Yankees was embedded into my conscience. Even when I was playing Little League baseball, I always expected that the team that wore the Yankee pinstripes to be the team to beat. Legends and myths have that kind of power over one’s mind.

As I got older, and after living in North Carolina and Ohio from third grade through high school, I lost my interest in the Orioles and following major league baseball. Football was my passion and I didn’t concern myself with how “the Birds” were doing. But all that change when I began playing pitch-and-catch with my son, Aaron. He got me thinking about baseball all over again and it was his joy and enthusiasm for the sport that got my juices going one more time. Just so happened, he was a fan of none other than the New York Yankees.  I blame him for making me a Yankees fan.  (He blames me for making him a Dolphins fan!)

It wasn’t long after moving to Connecticut that we began to take trips to “the house that Ruth built, ” Yankee Stadium in The Bronx. To this day, those treks are some of my most-cherished moments, not because it was about the Yankees or New York, but because it was about my son. He was in his element and his joy was evident.  Even at a very young age, he could rattle off ERA’s, batting averages, who was who, the standings, and a ton of trivia. He even knew how to pronounce Mike Pagliarulo’s name properly. (It’s “PAH-lee-AH-ROO-low”)  Fortunately, when we weren’t able to go to New York to see the Yankees in person, our local cable company carried most of the Yankee games on WPIX, Channel 11.  At the time, they were the Yankees’ main broadcast station. That’s where we got to know Bobby Murcer. Game after game, he and Phil Rizzuto would talk baseball, golf, birthdays, anniversaries, and a hot of nonbaseball-related subjects.  Scooter’s favorite subject however was about his beloved cannolis. Actually, during their time together, Bobby Murcer would keep everyone in tune with what was going on the field while Scooter would talk about whatever was on his mind. It was fun to listen to.  Great comedy and always interesting.  Win or lose, Scooter and Murcer would leave you entertained.

It’s been a while since we’ve heard Bobby Murcer’s play-by-play, but I’m sure that in that mystical field of dreams, if Murcer and Rizzuto are not on the field playing, you know they’re calling the game between cannolis.

Related Articles:

Former Yankees Great, Murcer Dies at 62 – New York Yankees

Bobby Murcer.com

Murcer’s Finest Moment – Newsday

Against all odds, Bobby Murcer taught us to keep believing