Hey! Save Me A Seat!

I have a confession to make. There's something I have to get off of my chest that I'm deeply ashamed of. In fact, I've spent the past few weeks debating whether or not I should even speak of it to my close friends and family. You may wonder why, if I'm so conflicted, would I out myself in my (annual) blog post? Well, I challenge you to name one other person who reads this (annual) blog and tell me he/she doesn't fit the category of close friends and family [Sorry Donnie, I've eaten a meal in your house, your lake house, your mountain house, and even your horse ring. Although you weren't there, I'm qualifying you anyway because it's my (annual) blog]. The source of my shame is something I swore I would never do (I know Mormons don't swear, but I did it anyway. Guess what, I drink Coke Zero too). In fact, on several occasions I've found myself judging other people for doing exactly what I'm contemplating. Harshly at times. I wish it were something as simple as a purchase like this, or a deep infatuation with this. But no, my disgrace emanates from an act far more heinous than love of 80's butt rock. I'm considering jumping on a bandwagon.

In the world of sports, there is nothing that will bring you more derision from fellow sports-lovers than bandwagon jumping. What's worse, the team to whose horse I'm considering hitching my wagon is none other than the New York Freakin' Yankees. Just reading that line makes me want to pour bleach into my own eyes. The Yankees? Really? The Evil Empire? The team about which I myself have made countless 'best team money can buy' jokes? The Yankees?

Yep, the Yankees. Here's the deal. Unlike basketball (Jazz) and college sports (Utes, Deacs, Heels, 'Horns, Banana Slugs), I've never really had a baseball team to pull for. Sure there were the Texas years with the Rangers, but I was never fully invested because football always comes first in Texas (and second through fifth). I tried the Padres on for size and had to take them right back because nobody should hate themselves as much as is required to cheer for the Padres. It's unhealthy. There was the Angels when my man Chone (we always pronounced it 'Choe-nee' whereas it's actually pronounced the same as 'Shawn') Figgins started playing for them, but that was just because his name was Chone Figgins. I even went the rounds with the Mariners in the Griffey years, but then they traded him away along with any possible reason to cheer for them.

So here I find myself living in the world's #1 media market. It all started innocently enough. Shortly after we arrived, a genuinely nice guy (or an insidiously cunning n'er do well, you be the judge) gave us two tickets to the Yankees-Blue Jays game in the Bronx on the fourth of July.

Quick fact: If there's one thing I love in life aside from my family and meatloaf, it's 'moments'. You could even argue one of the main reasons I love sports so much are the 'moments'. I'm constantly on the lookout for reasons to create 'moments' (it drives my wife crazy). So,

Yankee's + Fourth of July + Biscuit + Emilee = moment

Seemed like a logical equation to me. Had I only anticipated the self-loathing that would soon be my constant companion, I could have spent the day getting glared at by the snotty clerks in Bloomingdale's. Or, even enjoying the various odors that you can only find during the summer in The City.

As it turns out, this is the Yankee's first season in their new stadium. As you can tell from the video, there are royal families in this world whose palaces aren't as stunning as this place. There were tributes to history and tradition everywhere you turned. Significance oozed from the cracks in concourse floor. The only other time I've ever felt that sensation was when I walked the halls of the Dean Dome in Chapel Hill, North Carolina.

As we made our way to our seats there was an electricity in the air that can only be created certain places, on certain days, and in certain situations. The new Yankee Stadium, a breezy 75 degrees, our nation's birthday, and going against one of the game's most dominant pitchers, just so happens to be such a combo. Oh yeah, did I happen to mention it was my son's first major league game? It's like the fates were openly mocking me at this point.

I should make it clear right now that I went to the game intending to be, and remain, perfectly neutral. Switzerland, taupe, and the 'N' on your car's gear selector had nothing on me. But as the first few innings wore on, I found myself coming out of my seat a little further as each Yankee fly ball drifted closer and closer to the outfield. I was giving little fist pumps each time Jeter turned a routine ground ball. I let out small groans each time the Blue Jays scored a run or saved a home run. By the time the Yanks rallied to tie the game in the bottom of the seventh inning I was openly jumping up and down yelling at A-Rod, booing every call against the Yankees even when they were obviously correct, high-fiving middle-aged dudes wearing brand new Mark Teixeira jerseys. And basically acting like any other guy named Vinnie who grew up within a popup of E 161st street. I couldn't help it. Frankly, I didn't really want to.

The ninth inning came and went with the score tied 5-5. So did the tenth and the eleventh. Each time the Yankees came up to bat I found myself trying to will them to victory with the fervor I usually reserve for those moments like Utah 48, School-Down-South 24 (how's that for a gratuitous shot). It wasn't that I was just caught up in the momentary excitement. And it wasn't that I was afraid to ride home on the subway with a bunch of angry and intoxicated Yankee fans (at least not entirely). It was more than that. I wanted the Yankees to justify my suddenly irrational fanaticism. I wanted them to give me a reason to care. I wanted them to give me a moment.

And they did. In the bottom of the 12th, Hip-Hip-Jorge Posada singled in A-Rod for the game-winning run. We went wild. The perfect ending to a near perfect game on an absolutely perfect day.

Now I'm not saying I've taken my seat on the pinstripe bandwagon. I have too much pride (or deeply rooted insecurities) to do that. And as an added sucker punch, the Yankee's have turned up the bandwagon dial by cranking off an eight game winning streak to take over first place in their division. Regardless of all that, since July 4 I've watched more baseball than I had in the previous 10 years. I'm staying up much later than I should to watch SportCenter. I even find myself checking espn.com for updates during my morning poop. I care again. I can talk baseball with my little brother when he calls (although, he's a big Red Sox fan, so that introduces another layer of complexity into the situation). Maybe it's a passing fancy and I'll get over it when NFL players report for training camp this week (you just felt butterflies, didn't you? DIDN'T YOU??). But I doubt it. It feels different this time.

No matter what, I'm intrigued to see where this new infatuation takes me over the next few weeks. Who knows, this may be the catalyst for me to make regular blog updates. Hey, I told you this was serious.