Sunday, September 21, 2008

Amish Paradise

Tonight is the last game at Yankee Stadium. As a Red Sox fan it pains me to say it, but Yankee Stadium will be missed. Pick out any of baseball's greatest moments and it is likely that it happened in the Bronx at The Stadium. Without the House That Ruth Built, only Wrigley Field and Fenway Park will remain as baseball's classic stadiums. As nice as some people may consider Nationals Stadium or Camden Yards, they pale in comparison to the experience provided by older stadiums. It is becoming increasingly rare for today's younger generation of baseball fans to see a baseball game as it was meant to be i.e. nine inning of baseball and that is it. At older stadiums, there is no need to be told when to cheer or when to clap. There is no T-shirt toss or Hot Dog race. There is just baseball. This is the true experience. Without Yankee Stadium around, there will just be one more corporate named stadium with overpriced seats and no history to romanticize the team. Tom Verducci wrote an excellent article in Sports Illustrated this week to capture the moment of Yankee Stadium's passing. When the wrecking ball comes in a few weeks, a big part of baseball history will be obliterated with it.

Other Random Thoughts:
  • Why don't you hear more Weird Al music on the radio?
  • I have been told that getting a tattoo is painful. I know that you can't get a tattoo if you are intoxicated. I presume that this is so that you won't regret it in the morning. However, why can't you go into a tattoo parlor at, let's say, noon to make an appointment for later that evening? You can pick out the design of the tattoo at that time. You then spend the next few hours getting hammered. By the time, you show up for your appointment, you won't feel as much pain and you won't have any regrets the next morning. It seems too simple.

1 comment:

Jaimie said...

I think it has more to do with the alcohol in your blood stream, thinning it, than your actual committment to the tattoo. You do tend to bleed while getting inked. At least, that's what I was told when I got mind. You know, when you're chatting with the guy scrapping your skin with a needle full of paint.