Yankee Stadium Remembrances: Someone Needs a Hug

Yankee Stadium, October 21, 2001: the pre-game flag ceremony.

Since this year's All-Star Game is at Yankee Stadium—in its last year, hadn't you heard?—SoSG has decided to share some memories of the House that Ruth Built from those lucky enough to have been there.

To start us off, we'd like to welcome back Mrs. Orel with the latest entry in our Guest Writer Series:

The sky, clear and blue. The sun, warm and yellow. Very like the climate people had described for New York City six weeks previous. That day, September 11, 2001, ended grotesquely, dusty and dark. This day, October 21, 2001, would end jubilantly, clear and light-filled.

Like so many, I spent too much time watching television footage of the 9/11 attacks. My head rocked with the stories and my heart broke for the loss. I wanted to stretch my arms as wide as a comic-book hero and embrace the city in a giant hug. I wanted to kiss the tops of the Chrysler and Empire State buildings and nuzzle the Brooklyn and George Washington bridges. I wanted to crunch all of Central Park close to my chest and murmur that it would all be okay...one day...again.

My husband and I arrived in the city on Friday, October 19. He came for work and I came because I didn't want him on a flight without me. I also wanted to see it for myself. I needed to know that New Yorkers could and would survive the nightmare.

We checked into our hotel across from Madison Square Garden and I insisted we take a long walk, a longer drink, and support the economy with dinner.

I dressed in black, seemly for New York on an autumn evening, and because I felt somewhat like we would be attending a funeral. Our sense of solemnity quickly was shattered.

In the Village we struggled to find a place for a drink or dinner. The restaurants and bars overflowed with New Yorkers in high spirits. It could have been Mardi Gras or St. Patrick's Day. We queued up and listened to laughter and boisterous singing.

After dinner we continued south and smelled the acrid, bitter air. The night sky billowed smoke backlit with the odd illumination used by the city and fire crews laboring below Chambers Street. We stopped at the barriers and held hands.

We wandered back to our hotel past nightclubs where mini-skirted young women danced in the street and threw their arms around any fellow in a uniform. Gratefulness created a mood of spirited affection. Seriously, if you were a mail carrier you could count on getting bussed by a cute gal. Anyone in a uniform seemed likely to score in New York City that October evening.

We looked at his stubby finger pounding on the diagram at the single seat in the entire stadium he had left to sell.

"Think we could get tickets to the game?" my husband asked me the next morning. Game 4 of the ALCS between the Yankees and Mariners was that night.

"I doubt it...really doubt it, honey...it's the pennant race and it's Yankee Stadium."

"Yeah, I guess."

"But we could take the subway up to the Bronx and...you know...walk around and get a feel for it."

And that's exactly what we did. The subway car was packed with giddy Yankee fans. We mingled as if we belonged. The stadium ticket booths were, as expected, locked up tight. There were no tickets for sale...except...wait a second—

"Single seat, single seat!" a voice cried out, and my husband hatched a plan.

"We'll buy two separate singles and find a place to sit together."

Scheme in hand, we pulled out a credit card for the pudgy seller crammed into the one tiny booth left open. "Two singles, please."

"One!" he yelled at us in typical New Yorker fashion. We looked at his stubby finger pounding on the diagram at the one seat in the entire stadium he had left to sell. "I'm tellin' ya, I have one single ticket. Ya want it or not?"

"No, but thanks anyway." We walked away, dejected.

"Well, it was a nice try," I said. "We almost—"

"You wanna see this game?" another voice asked.

We stopped and turned to a man, standing alone, with tickets shoved toward us.

"Uh, sure—"

"Here, take these. Have a good time." It was a command, not a wish.

And he was gone. Disappeared, as if vaporized, before we were able to pay or even thank him. Dazed, we looked at the two bleacher seat tickets and at each other to confirm this wasn't a dream.

That's how we got into, hands down, the best baseball event of my life. After the national anthem played we cried as the eagle named Challenger flew from between the bleachers to the pitcher's mound. The crowd stood for every two-strike count Roger Clemens had and every at-bat Derek Jeter took. We cheered and howled, hot dogs held high, as if we were one of these brave souls and not recently flown-in Angelenos.

The game remained scoreless until the eighth, when Bret Boone hit a solo homer and New York worried. Bernie Williams countered with a solo homer in the bottom of the inning and New York rallied.

With the game tied and the stadium on its feet in the ninth, a 25-year-old rookie, Alfonso Soriano, hit a two-run walk-off homer...and we discovered, in the best way possible, that New York City was going to be A-OK.

Frank Sinatra sang "New York, New York" at the top of his lungs and we screamed until our throats were raw.

Today Williams is retired, Soriano is a Cub and Joe Torre manages the Dodgers. Tomorrow the 2008 All-Star Game will be played and soon Yankee Stadium will be torn down. Lots of memories will be shared over dinners and drinks, generation to generation, but none more so than the day New York City gave two out-of-towners a big fat hug and assured us everything was all right.