Your memories of Yankee Stadium

They have Fall Ball playoffs in Shea?

 

What a heart-wrenching story, HB. Well done, George.

 

My Sheppard story: As a St. John's graduate, I wrote a column on him in the school newspaper during my junior year. It somehow made its way into his hands and a few weeks later I get a handwritten note from him, praising my work on Yankee stationary complete with the "From the desk of Bob Sheppard." at the top.

A few years later I'm in the Yankee dugout before a game and Sheppard is down there chatting with Jim Hall, who was also my speech professor at SJU. He called me over, introduced me to Sheppard and when he heard my name he knew immediately who I was, remembering the column I had written. Amazingly sharp for a guy who, at the time, was a shade past 90.

 

See you in the 2009 BASW, George...even if he did presumably write with a straight face that George Steinbrenner doesn't want special attention.

 

The old Yankee Stadium I last visited for the home opener in 1973. Me and some hippie fans smuggled in beer and ate too many peanuts, as the girl I was with was a vegetarian.
The Yankee Stadium they're tearing down this winter? Well, oddly enough, my most vivid memory wasn't on the field. It was watching the late innings of Game 7 2003 ALCS in the miserable confines of the press room, as we prepared to write our "Sox win" stories.
I remember watching not the TV, but the faces of all the national baseball writers as Pedro remained in the game for batter after batter. By the time Posada got up there, they looked the audience after the overture of "Springtime for Hitler."
Never before or after did I ever see sportswriters react to a game quite that way. They were incredulous, but they were also offended and horrified. Grady Little was trashing their sense of what's right and proper in the national pastime. Also, what's sane in our national pastime.
Games come and go. Faces I can remember for a long time.

 

I remember going for one of the first times in 1991 and thinking how can this team be so bad with all the names in the past. It was a Friday night, had great loge seats down the third base line. Mike Witt's pitching and gives up a grand slam to Brian Downing but the Yankees come back and win it 5-4 over Texas. Even with a bad year, a win in the bottom of the ninth can still make the place feel alive even if there were only 20,000 in it.

Of all the seasons, 1993 remains one of my favorite just because it was the first time I remember really well the Yankees being decent. I still remember the game of July 25, 1993 against the Angels when the Yankees were down 8-0 early and just kept chipping away and won it 9-8.

Another good one is back in 1995, when a friend can call you at 4:30 and ask if you wanted to go to the Yankee game. He was a Met fan but wanted to see Strawberry's first game with the Yankees. That turned out to be a great pitcher's duel between Mike Mussina and Jack McDowell.

Over the years of going to so many games, I've become familiar with the neighborhood and stores on 161 Street and even found different routes to get there that don't involved being on the packed subway.

Obviously the Torre years provide some good ones, like August 16, 1998, which also happened to be the 50th anniversary of Babe Ruth's death. The Yankees get their 90th win and win it when Bernie Williams hits an upper deck shot off Rangers' reliever Xavier Hernandez.

Another one, is May 17, 2002. Yes, Jason Giambi was probably on the juice at the time but to see him win a game like that on grand slam in the bottom of the 14th after 5 hours, 45 minutes was an incredible sight.

 

I went to the city to visit some buddies who are huge Yankee fans, and we decided to take in a game. It was a Saturday, and the Twins were in town. We bought subs from the Carnegie Deli to eat in our seats on the third base line. Yanks won, and it was a great day all around.

The next morning, my buddy's cousin had two tickets for the Sunday game from his work. He wanted to go, but only had one extra ticket. My budddy Steve and I went back and forth all morning on who would take the spare ticket.

"You go. You are a bigger Yankees fan than I am," I said.

"You go. You are in town visiting," he said. " I can see them whenever I want."

It finally came down to that Steve needed to get a haircut, so I took the ticket.

As the cousin and I were walking into the stadium, he asked me who Jeter was after seeing numerous people with a "Jeter" on the back of a shirt. The way he pronounced it though rhymed with cheddar.

I bought him a game program, and as he was leafing through, he pointed at a man and asked if that was DiMaggio. I corrected him by saying it was Steinbrenner. I mentioned he might want to keep his voice down if he had anymore questions.

We get to the seats, and they were spectacular as Teri Hatcher's breasts. We were about 20 rows behind the Yankee dugout. It was a beautiful late spring Sunday, and Beanie Baby Day at the park.

Seated behind us is an idiot who is wearing a New Jersey Devils hat. Typical idiot at a ballpark. We will get to him later.

As the game unfolds, I keep score in the program. It's a habit I'm sure most of us have when attending a ballgame.

The game is moving along briskly with the Yankees taking a three or four run lead. Wells is mowing down the Twin hitters with ease.

In the sixth inning, the cousin asks me if I am "one of those people who likes to stay for the entire game."

He said I gave him the look of death.

You see, there was no way the two words "perfect game" were going to come from my mouth. The idiot in the Devils hat had no problem saying it about every 15 seconds. If the perfect game was broken up, I was going to prison because I was going to kill him.

The cousin had no clue what was going on. He had no idea what a perfect game was, and I was not about to explain it to him. I did drop the hint that I hoped the batter who lead off the seventh inning for the Twins was not going to hit again.

"Why?" he asked. "That guy has not gotten a hit all game."

As the game went on, the stadium was roaring on every stike and every out.

"These Yankee fans really get into the game," he said.

Finally, after writing shaking scribbles in my scorebook, Paul O'Neill clutched the final out.

I was jumping up and down screaming while trying to explain to him what had happened. He saw something most people would never see even if they went to 160 games a year for 50 years.

My buddy Steve was crestfallen.

He was listening and watching the entire game, while debating to catch a subway to the stadium and get a late ticket.

He didn't.

He had said seeing a perfect game in Yankee Stadium would have been his dream.

I really had mixed emotions because I saw a perfect game, but my friend had missed seeing it.

Forward to next year.

I am on vacation in Upsate New York, and I hear that David Cone has thrown a no hitter. I had also heard that a French guy blew a three or four stroke lead on the final hole of the British Open.

Needless to say I am watching Sportscenter at 7 p.m.

The show starts and they lead with the Yankee game. I thought to myself the British Open collapse is a bigger story than the no-hitter, but then I realize that it was not a no-hitter. Cone had thrown a perfect game.

I raced to a phone trying to reach Steve. I was praying he had gone to the game. It was Old Timers' Day at the park. Yogi was mending fences with the organization.

And Steve was there with his father.

Good times.

 

Awesome story.

 

Opening day, 1981, Bobby Murcer hits a pinch-hit grand slam, place goes completely berserk. Went with two friends and had seats in the upper deck by left field and it shook like there was an earthquake. We were pretty well shitfaced, but apparently not as bad as some. We were walking out and saw a guy covered with mustard, all over his face and shirt. I don't think I'll ever forget that sight. How do you get drunk enough to miss your mouth with a hot dog that many times?

 

I remember the time I got blown in the bullpen. [mickeymantle/]

 

Thanks for checking in, Peter Golenbock.

Your lazy eye freaks me out, BTW.

 

Sadly, there were many. Occupational hazard.