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A Yankee among Diamondbacks
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The "old" Yankee Stadium
This article originally ran back in April, on opening day of baseball, also known in our house as "Anything Can Happen Day".
Well, anything and everything DID happen this year for the Yankees. In tribute to their winning the World Series for the first time in nine long years, here again is a synopsis of what it is like to be a Yankees fan in Arizona.
Congratulations to the 2009 World Champions, the New York Yankees!_______________________________________________________________________________
Jimmie has always been a huge Yankees fan. He wears the golden Yankees logo on a chain around his neck, right next to his cross. That seems about right. His all-time idol is Mickey Mantle. And when choosing a wedding date, there is no way I would have attempted to compete with the boys of October. More importantly, we narrowly averted an extremely serious conflict because I grew up in a Mets family. I was brainwashed to believe the word "Yankee" literally meant "bad guy". But it didn't take much effort to convert me. As far as sports go, I'm easy.
There are really only two things my husband misses about New Jersey: one is the Jersey shore and the other is its proximity to Yankee Stadium. Thankfully we at least we moved to an area that hosts spring training! And Bank One Ballpark (now known as Chase Field) conveniently opened the spring after we moved here, in 1998. But the first time we attended a game there Jimmie looked around, nodded his head, and commented that although it was a decent facility—right down to its rentable special seating section that houses a swimming pool, and its extensive selection of foods which goes way beyond hot dogs—it was no Yankee Stadium. He felt no history as he walked in, no ghosts of former greats, nor generations of cheering fans' echoes. In other words, it gave him no chills.
Little wonder there were no echoes, since we would soon discover that fans in Arizona were much quieter and more polite than their New York counterparts (which of course is not saying much). Maybe it was because they are simply quieter about everything. But also the home team-the upstart young Arizona Diamondbacks-had not yet built a following. Their spectators were a motley bunch of transplants, after all. Except for the rare true natives who were happy to finally have a baseball team of their own to root for, the rest of the attendees were there only to get their "fix", since going to their own home teams' games would have involved too long a commute.
I'll always remember the first time we saw our Yankees play west of the Mississippi. It was in 2001, shortly after September 11th. The sports world had decided to resume play for baseball's World Series, and the Yanks were up against the almost brand new D-backs.
We wore our Yankee shirts and hats and although we weren't the only New York fans there, we were definitely outnumbered by those rooting for Arizona. The Yankees were the visitors, not the home team, and once again I perceived that strange unfamiliar sensation of being in the minority. As we walked through the crowd, we heard many interesting comments (think "Yank this!"). It was an unsettling experience, both because of the repressed hostility and because that time period immediately post-9/11 was so surreal.
I was torn. I wanted the Yankees to win, especially since New York needed that boost so much. Yet I also felt excited for the unknown entity, which at that point seemed to have no chance of winning against the powerful dynasty. I always wish for both teams to win. No matter what the sport, I feel bad for the loser.
I guess we all know how the story ends so there is really no need to repeat it here. Suffice it to say that from that point on, Arizonans pulled together behind their team.
And even as I write this, my husband is grumbling because he came home for lunch hoping to catch the beginning of the Yankee game but was unable to do so because those damn Mets are taking too long to finish.
Play ball!
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