Baseball!
You know what the fun thing about baseball is–or for any sport? Rivalries! Celtics-Lakers, Bruins-Canadiens, Arsenal-Liverpool, Brazil-Argentina, Cowboys-Redskins, Cubs-Cardinals, Red Sox-Yankees. That’s the biggie. And it’s a reason to love watching sports.
Now, I’m not the first to say these things, but I am the first blogger (that I know of, anyway) who will now devout a blog a day to a different thing about the Yankees that I hate, kind of like a page-a-day calendar. I promise that I will be thorough in my reasoning, but do not promise to be fair, as most of the reasoning is based on my gut reaction. That said, today is the first installment of why I hate the Yankees…
Reason #1: Yankee Stadium is one of the worst places to watch a baseball game.
You know, at the root of it all, I feel sorry for Yankees fans. They have to sit in a lifeless bowl that doubles as a ballpark, with piped-in ear-splitting music to announce each and every lousy Yankee whiner when it’s his turn at the plate. Not only that, but you’re so far away from the action no matter where you’re sitting, it’s no wonder fans don’t want to stay the whole game: they can’t see the field.
Now, to give credit where credit’s due, the Yankees have tried really really hard to make the place lovable, from the expansive parking lots in the front, to the faux-grandstand look in the outfield. But I guess I’m just spoiled, watching games at Fenway. Not everywhere can be as beautiful as Baseball Heaven.
I’d have to say that the only thing going for Yankee Stadium is Memorial Park in center field. No one can argue that the Yankees have had some of the greatest players to ever pick up a glove. But you can argue, and I will, that by removing the park from center field has only hurt the mystique and aura about the memorials. The scoreboard on the Green Monster is so special and unique because it’s still part of the game, balls bounce off of it at funny angles, players jump into it–hell, there are people inside of it for most of the game. And Memorial Park used to be like that, but then something happened.
Yankee centerfielders turned into wusses. They didn’t want to ‘play the field’ the way it was meant to be played–dodging stone memorials and flagpoles. The occupational hazards that Joe Dimaggio and Mickey Mantle had to deal with on a daily basis suddenly became obsolete. Around that time so did the Yankee Mystique.
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