Spring in the Bronx

April 3, 2013- Yankee Stadium-  New York Yankees versus the Boston Red Sox

The good, the bad and the ugly.

The good:  The company of my children.

The bad: Dressing as if I was to take part in an Arctic exploration

The ugly: The Bronx Bummers

A half empty Yankee Stadium told a tale of low expectations and even lower wind chills.

The people on the field are strangers. There is no cosmic connection to anyone but the second baseman and the center fielder.

Defeat finds a comfortable home almost at once. By the third inning the score is irrelevant. The simple and plain truth is that we are witness to a performance that pretends to be between haughty and hated rivals, but is really nothing of the sort. If you were looking for drama and meaning, you took a wrong turn when entering the ballpark.

If the baseball season is a marathon, I fear this team won't be able to make it anywhere near Heartbreak hill (I understand it is a Boston based metaphorical reference in a New York piece). While we wait for the beat up, very rich, humbled masses yearning to come off the disabled list, this squad of pretenders faces the real possibility of sinking faster than the Titanic.

I search for positives. Actually, the new cafe-like seating in the concourse is neat. Hey, if what is happening between the lines is of no moment, then the aesthetics will have to do.

Huddled under blankets, shielded from the worst of the elements by a back wall that rises but a few feet to our rear, we are, if not comfortable, at least not shivering. But waiting on line for hot chocolate that proves to be none of the former, I am given vivid reminder of the definition of bitter.

There is a collective discourse on the most pressing question of the moment: how long do we remain tethered to this stadium.  Too soon and we seem wholly ungrateful for the tickets that have been given to us, too late and we risk frostbite.

After 4 innings, an injury to another Yankee and a boatload of Red Sox players adding crooked numbers to their side of the scoreboard, my son and I give up the ghost. As we get up to leave, my daughter and her friend remain defiant and proud sitters. I admire their fortitude and question their sanity.

One inning later, all 4 of our seats will be empty.