I give this space over, from time to time, to non-bloggers. The idea is to bring other voices into the mix and, possibly, get others hooked on the joys of blogging.
I've known and worked with Judd Cohen for more than 25 years. We worked together at a mid-size p.r. agency back in the early 1980s, and we've shared office space and, occasionally, clients since the early 1990s.
Judd is a baseball fanatic. For several years, he and his family made their summer vacation a pilgrimage to visit and see a ballgame in every Major League park in the U.S. and Canada. He may write a book about it some day.
Next season, he'll have two new ballparks to visit -- right here in New York. I know which will be first on the list.
....
I was at Yankee Stadium last night; my final visit after 56 years attending Yankee games.
The final night at The Stadium was a tribute to, as everyone called it, an "iconic" ballpark that
some of the greatest teams and players called home and where some of the greatest games were played. But, what most of us were celebrating were memories and the passage of time. For me, it started with my first game and my father buying me a hot dog (25 cents, sold from wicker baskets) when I was eight. They tasted so great back then. I took my son to his first game at age six on a cool, sunny September Sunday during the Yankees skein of losing seasons in the late '80s and bought him almost every item in the souvenir store.
Everyone last night had memories. That's what we were really cheering, the memories and the players who helped make them and brought them back to life last night. After the game, as the Yankees paraded around the field, I looked around the stadium at the great seats behind home plate that my father used to get, to the last row of the upper deck in right field (they called it the Grandstand then, and admission was $1.25), where I used to sit in high school, to the seat where we sat when Jim Abbott pitched his no-hitter (my younger son's second game), to all the other seats on Opening Day, the World Series, playoffs, dull games. The ballpark was alive with memories. I felt emotional, but held it back and put my arm around my son. In a way, he had grown up at Yankee Stadium. He is now 25, a broadcaster who covered many games there in the past several years. He interviews players whose autographs he sought as a kid and is friendly with journalists and broadcasters he looked up to. He has his memories.
A baseball game is a great bonding experience for fathers and sons, perhaps the best, and in talking about baseball we usually say much more. I also learned something years ago. In the relaxed environment of a baseball game, kids probably tell their parents more about their lives than they normally do.
So the old ballpark is no more, the games will move across the street to the Xanadu by the East River, but the memories remain. We'll have new ones starting next year and some day my son will go to a game with his kids and tell them about his memories of the old stadium, and the last game there.
-- Judd Cohen
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