Jackson’s First Game

On September 6th, Hurricane Hanna decided that Jackson’s first baseball game was not going to happen. The game was postponed to the next day, but the 16 family members who couldn’t make it on the rain day forced me to simply accept the offered refund. We were disappointed because we wanted Jackson to have pictures and memoirs of both Shea and Yankee stadium before they are torn down at the end of this season.

Yesterday, on a silly whim, I gave the ol’ Met’s website a shoot for tickets for today’s 1pm game. Somehow, someway, we got two tickets...on the FIELD! Someone must have died. Woo Hoo!

We arrived at the game, and were ushered to the parking lot which was located in Canada. After a 5 hour walk, Nicole, Jackson and I found our way to our gate, got our tickets and made our way through the stadium crowd. To this day, I am still in awe every time I enter a major league ball park. There is just something so amazingly special about walking through the passage from the stadium to the field. It is almost like the infield and outfield, loge and tier, hot dog and beer become one great life all their own. It is so overwhelming.

We sat in out seats, and 30 seconds later we were pouring sweat in the 95 degree heat and humidity. Frustration levels rose, until I finally gave in and agreed to go inside. Thankfully, the inside of the stadium was much cooler, and we still were able to see the game from a field level perspective. Nicole and I ate all of the baseball cuisine, and washed it down with the finest, most expensive bud light in New York. Then I noticed something.

It was the fifth inning. I opened up my wallet to buy another beer. Between the gas, tickets, beer, food, parking, and souvenir ball, I had spent a small fortune. I handed over another $8 for a beer, and looked around, noticing that everyone was white. I saw no blacks, no hispanics, and no asians. Minorities were non-existent. I guess the closest class to minorities were the fat white people, but they were quickly gaining membership and would outnumber the skinny and healthy with in a matter of a few corn dogs. This got me down.



Baseball is the American game, but unfortunately, “America” can no longer afford to treat their family to this game. It’s becoming an elitist club of white people who can afford the pastime. This is sad to me, and as I look in the ass-crack of Shea stadium at the hemorrhoid of Citi-Fucking-Corporate-Park, I wonder where this country is going. Personally, I am cool. I can afford it, and I will be able to share the “simpler” things, which aren’t so simple, with my kids...but will they be able to do the same with their children? What if my kids don’t make enough money? Will they not be able to take my grandkids to a game? It really is a shame. Maybe the answer is in minor league games, or college teams. Maybe the answer is little league. I don’t know. I guess I’m just too much of a pussy to go head to head with hockey, baseball and soccer moms.