The Prize

In 1995, the Yankees three decade slide came to an end. As Jeter, Posada, Williams, Pettite and Rivera ascended, the post season returned as a right not a privilege. 16 years out of 17. And so, what was once an extraordinary event now has lost at least a little of its magical quality. But in the beginning...

I stood in the rain, outside a Ticketmaster outlet in Bergenfield, hoping to be awarded a wristband that would give me the right to return at a later time to get my reward. Some strategized and traveled long distances to find just the right outlet, where the fewest fans were likely to congregate. In other years, I waited for hours in a line that snaked seemingly forever around the old Stadium. People camped out for days. It was a love-in, a baseball fans version of Woodstock.

Earlier this week, I received an email from my son. He had gone on-line at exactly 3PM, and had garnered tickets for a game in each of the first 2 rounds of the playoffs. On- line had replaced in-line, and the gathering of the multitudes was now just one person and his computer.

Time and technology have combined to take most of the romance away. No longer are we chasing after a new love, hoping to be the chosen one. Now, we are in a long term relationship and do only the little we are required to keep it going.

Don't get me wrong. These past 17 years have been wondrous. I don't long for the days of Horace Clarke. I realize that while standing in the rain can give added gravitas to the effort in retrospect, it is not really all that much fun. I get that Bergenfield is not actually another Woodstock. But in my reverie, alone at my computer, I remember with great fondness the dawning of time and the almost mystical chase for the prized ticket. When it was in my grasp, I would hold it aloft, like I had just won the lottery.