NEW YORK -- I will be attending my final Yankee game at the storied Stadium this week - and I will cry. What else can you do when you say goodbye to something that's been a constant your whole life?
In this throw-away, temporary society, you can't say that about much of anything these days, especially something that has brought you so much joy for such a long period of time.
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Unlike many people who remember exactly how old they were and what team the Yankees played the first time they ever went to the Stadium, I don't remember that at all - and I don't really mind. Because I grew up just blocks away and Yankee Stadium was a big part of my young life. Unlike today, when you have to buy tickets way in advance for a decent seat, or plan your commute and expenses, going to the Stadium back then was " hey, let's go to the game tomorrow!" And off we went, my mom packing lunches, my dad buying peanuts and a scorecard, my brother and I wearing our Yankee caps ready to yell and cheer.
And there we were, through the lean years of the late 60s and early 70s, the wild Bronx Zoo, the games at Shea, and then of course, the dynamic and dramatic post season play in the 90s.
But even with the changes of a renovation, of managers and players, the constant was the magical feeling.
Whether you sat in the old green seats under the classic facade, or moved up to a better piece of blue real estate, you were part of what was inside. Part of history and tradition that, even as it continued for the next generation, remained the same.
My memories include walking on the red clay warning track to see the monuments that were still on the field. There was the first bat day, ball day and cap day, and all the kids on my block went. Then, the good fortune of attending play-off and World Series games, and as a reporter, having the opportunities to personally interview Derek Jeter, Joe Torre and Mariano Rivera.
And I do believe in ghosts. Just ask the players, and they will tell you they are respectful of those who came before, who played where they now play, who seem to inhabit the air, and remain embedded in that red clay dirt.
The new stadium will be the new stadium; the same traditions and pinstripes, but different air. It's a different time, and it will be a different place.
But I hold out the hope that someone has the good sense to take a shovel's worth of the dirt from the current Stadium and throw it on the new field to carry forward what came before, to link the future to the past where the greats once stood, and to allow little kids like me who once walked in wonder, to still feel that magical feeling.
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