Steve insisted on leaving two hours early for the game, because he hates dealing with the traffic on the Cross Bronx, which meant that we got to the stadium ridiculously early. It gave us plenty of time to eat and to people watch.
About 90 percent of the people in Yankee stadium that Saturday thought they were going to casting call for Jersey Shore. I sat next to a "The Situation" wannabee in a muscle t-shirt who would periodically shout at the Yankees pitcher to get off the fuckin' field for being such a fuckin' loser. The women wore pin striped jerseys with lacy cammies peaking through. Lots of gold jewelry.
My favorite baseball fans are the ones that come alone to the field. They're not there for the food or the chitchat. They mean business. Three rows in front of us was an old dude with the big belly and white hair. He came to the stadium wearing radio headphones, so he could listen to AM radio commentary while watching the game.
And then there's all the spectrumy people who geek out on the statistics. A few seats down from us was a middle aged woman with a neat, brown ponytail who came by herself. She had a large binder to keep track of the statistics. No $10 program for her. She sipped on a cup of Mountain Dew and recorded every ball, strike, and popout.
We had a lovely time even though the Yankees lost. The boys sat patiently for over four hours. Last year, Ian was a little freaked out by the elevation in our nose-bleeder seats. I had to walk around the stadium with him for a long time. This year, no problems at all. He still doesn't quite understand all the rules, but we're getting closer. In a few years, I can see him with a larger binder and a cup of Mountain Dew.