The Game Just Isn't The Same
Going to a baseball game just isn't like it used to be when I was a kid growing up in Brooklyn. I'm sure a lot has do with what I do for a living - radio sportscasting. You have to be objective. You can't let your love for your favorite team cloud your judgement. Unless you're a sports talk host where management wants you to be as opinionated and outrageous as possible, you have to be neutral. So the rare times I get to a ballgame as a paying fan and not a member of the media, I sit in my seat much calmer and less out for blood than I used to.
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When The Game Was A Game
I remember when I was a kid, Al Kaline tore his shoulder making a catch against the Yankees for the final out. "I hope he dies!" I cried. I mean I really cried. My father said, "Joel, don't ever say that." I thought he was crazy. How could anyone not want someone who just made a ridiculous catch to beat the Yankees dead?
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There are other reasons the game has changed for me. Money. When I played amateur ball and tried so hard to make it to the pros, I never, ever thought of money as part of it. It was ego. Me smokin' my heater past the guy at the plate. Having my arm get me to where I wanted to go - the mound at Yankee Stadium where I could tip my hat to my dad in the front row by the Yankee dugout and make all the sweat and struggle to get there worthwhile. Walking out of the same players entrance where Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio and Mantle used to, signing autographs with a sexy blond with big hair and a tight skirt holding my (left) arm. And after a road game going to dinner with Ron Guidry and the guys feeling privileged and on top of the world. Never money though. Never an issue with me. Just making it was my goal. So seeing what ballplayers (and owners) make does take away a lot of the childhood passion I once had. No more Seaver vs. Stargell or Clemens vs. Big Papi. Now it's down to one guy making $23 million a season against another guy making $14.5 and how they could be wearing the other's uniform a year from now.
A Test of My Devotion
Two years ago I decided that I'd do all I could to see the first-ever game at the new Yankee Stadium. Not an easy thing to do especially since I live in Port St. Lucie, Florida. I managed to get a ticket through one of the online ticket resellers and book a flight to New York.
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My plan - to get to the Stadium early enough to take in the sights, take a few pictures, see the game and get out with enough time to make my return flight.
I got to the airport real early and to my surprise saw a few guys wearing Yankees hats. "Is this just another couple of ex-New Yorkers wearing Yankees hats as part of their fashion statement or are they crazy enough to be doing what I'm doing?" I asked myself. One guy sat across from me on the plane. So I asked him. Sure enough he was a transplanted New Yorker taking his kid to opening day. But not returning the same day like I was.
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Yankees and Indians, first game ever at the New Yankee Stadium. Gorgeous day. The place looked like a brand new sparkling version of the old stadium, the real one before the 1974-75 renovation. I got a couple of those $6.50 hot dogs and at the condiment stand stood next to a guy with a Red Sox hat on. What kind of schmuck would do this to himself? And the Red Sox were no where in sight! I usually avoid conversation with strangers but I couldn't resist. "Aren't you in the wrong place?" "Just checking things out," he said. So an enemy with at least some awareness of this historic day.
As I sat in my seat in the upper right field stands I couldn't help but pay attention to everything except the game. CC Sabathia against Cliff Lee. Didn't matter. Hey look at that scoreboard! Damn, that facade looks just like the one in the old place! I wonder how much they're charging for a scorecard...The game itself was a mere distraction. I could hardly keep my attention on what was happening on the field. Before I knew it, the Indians were up by like 10 runs. Now I'm keeping my eye on my watch. Should I take a cab to LaGuardia or chance it and leave in the 7th and save a few bucks by taking the subway? I couldn't deal with this anymore. Cab it was. Leaving a ballgame before the final out was never in my vocabulary. Heresy. Real fans don't do such a thing. At least anywhere outside of LA. Today, in the first game ever in a place that will be around a lot longer than I will, I have to throw in the towel. It's a long flight back I told myself. But deep down I knew better.
The game just wasn't the same anymore.
![]()
Going to a baseball game just isn't like it used to be when I was a kid growing up in Brooklyn. I'm sure a lot has do with what I do for a living - radio sportscasting. You have to be objective. You can't let your love for your favorite team cloud your judgement. Unless you're a sports talk host where management wants you to be as opinionated and outrageous as possible, you have to be neutral. So the rare times I get to a ballgame as a paying fan and not a member of the media, I sit in my seat much calmer and less out for blood than I used to.
When The Game Was A Game
I remember when I was a kid, Al Kaline tore his shoulder making a catch against the Yankees for the final out. "I hope he dies!" I cried. I mean I really cried. My father said, "Joel, don't ever say that." I thought he was crazy. How could anyone not want someone who just made a ridiculous catch to beat the Yankees dead?
There are other reasons the game has changed for me. Money. When I played amateur ball and tried so hard to make it to the pros, I never, ever thought of money as part of it. It was ego. Me smokin' my heater past the guy at the plate. Having my arm get me to where I wanted to go - the mound at Yankee Stadium where I could tip my hat to my dad in the front row by the Yankee dugout and make all the sweat and struggle to get there worthwhile. Walking out of the same players entrance where Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio and Mantle used to, signing autographs with a sexy blond with big hair and a tight skirt holding my (left) arm. And after a road game going to dinner with Ron Guidry and the guys feeling privileged and on top of the world. Never money though. Never an issue with me. Just making it was my goal. So seeing what ballplayers (and owners) make does take away a lot of the childhood passion I once had. No more Seaver vs. Stargell or Clemens vs. Big Papi. Now it's down to one guy making $23 million a season against another guy making $14.5 and how they could be wearing the other's uniform a year from now.
A Test of My Devotion
Two years ago I decided that I'd do all I could to see the first-ever game at the new Yankee Stadium. Not an easy thing to do especially since I live in Port St. Lucie, Florida. I managed to get a ticket through one of the online ticket resellers and book a flight to New York.
I got to the airport real early and to my surprise saw a few guys wearing Yankees hats. "Is this just another couple of ex-New Yorkers wearing Yankees hats as part of their fashion statement or are they crazy enough to be doing what I'm doing?" I asked myself. One guy sat across from me on the plane. So I asked him. Sure enough he was a transplanted New Yorker taking his kid to opening day. But not returning the same day like I was.
As I sat in my seat in the upper right field stands I couldn't help but pay attention to everything except the game. CC Sabathia against Cliff Lee. Didn't matter. Hey look at that scoreboard! Damn, that facade looks just like the one in the old place! I wonder how much they're charging for a scorecard...The game itself was a mere distraction. I could hardly keep my attention on what was happening on the field. Before I knew it, the Indians were up by like 10 runs. Now I'm keeping my eye on my watch. Should I take a cab to LaGuardia or chance it and leave in the 7th and save a few bucks by taking the subway? I couldn't deal with this anymore. Cab it was. Leaving a ballgame before the final out was never in my vocabulary. Heresy. Real fans don't do such a thing. At least anywhere outside of LA. Today, in the first game ever in a place that will be around a lot longer than I will, I have to throw in the towel. It's a long flight back I told myself. But deep down I knew better.
The game just wasn't the same anymore.
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