Come Sunday, the last game in the history of Yankee Stadium is going to be played.
I've been staring at that sentence for weeks now trying to grasp what it means and coming up with nothing. My second home is closing, and as such, I've been thrown into a quasi-existential-sports-fan crisis. Who am I? Why do I care? To be or not to be? There is no spoon!
I know that the closing means that the place where Babe put the sport on the map is getting shut down. I know it means the place where Lou Gehrig declared himself "the luckiest man on the face of the earth" is being replaced. I know it means the place where Mantle, Maris, Yogi, Reggie, Goose and Jeter became immortal is gone for good. But as I lay on my couch at 4 a.m., wearing nothing but a blanket, watching my sixth straight hour of Yankee's Classics and sipping Jack through a sippy cup, I realize that, deep down, despite all that history, it's okay.
It's strange — and possibly sad — but reaching this conclusion and saying it out loud really makes me feel like I've grown up a lot. It means I've conquered my greatest fear as a sports fan: losing the Yankee mystique. This fear that has been hiding under my 26 World Championship-sized ego, just waiting for some shrink to pry it out of my subconscious, has finally, because of the imminent closing of the stadium, forced itself out into the open.
Listen to any true Yankee fan talk and you hear this intense, insatiable worry that the Yankee mystique is disappearing before our very eyes. The fairy dust that gives us an advantage before we even step on the field is vanishing as more money is spent and the new stadium is built.
See, we think in the movie that is baseball, we're the main character, and obviously, the main character is supposed to win. Imagine Rocky traveling to Russia in Rocky IV (1985), training his ass off and breaking down Cold-War barriers only to lose to Draco in a blowout. That's kind of what the Red Sox 2004 ALCS comeback felt like for us — just plain wrong.
But this competitive advantage by way of mystique is a child's dream, and as a baseball fan, I'm too old for that crap anymore. Baseball, while so much more than a game, is just a contest of throwing, catching, hitting and luck. Yes, there is something special about donning the pinstripes. But right now, there's also something pretty special about having "Rays" written across your chest. My entire life I've mistaken confidence and playing the game "the right way" for this so-called "mystique."
Our incredible run to four out of five World Series was due to good players and good personalities merging at the right time. There are no ghosts floating out of Monument Park that make it all happen. There's nothing special in the air of the South Bronx or in the water fountain in the dugout. It was purely smart personnel decisions by Yankee management and great execution by the players they brought in.
It's kind of like when I finally realized Santa Claus can't possibly drop presents down 6.7 billion chimneys in one night. But it was just time to grow up as a baseball fan and realize that you win because you're good and you lose because you aren't. There just isn't much more to it than that. So, bring on the new stadium. Bring on the new Yankee era. Hit me with the $5,000 seats, luxury boxes and sushi counters. But also hit me with some young talent, good team personalities and guys who know how to win. With that, the true Yankee "mystique" will be restored.
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Gideon Jacobs is a sophomore who has not yet declared a major. He can be reached at Gideon.Jacobs@tufts.edu.
