The Day the Yankees Lost

It's kinda strange...I'm writing about our big day yesterday, and it has already become a bit of a blur. I guess that's why we're keeping a record of events -- my mind has become a bit mushlike from all the intake. I do remember rolling out of bed around 10:30am ready for the game. I'm not sure what's in the air, but we've been exhausted since we got here. We stayed in on Tuesday night so that J could catch up on work and to recover from the emotional day we'd had. I fell asleep on the couch at 9:30 and slept for 13 hours! But all that energy was saved up for our first Yankees game. We donned our brand-spankin new Yanks hats and headed out the door to find coffee and the right train.

Since we've mostly wandered around our neighborhood and those closely surrounding us, we've had most of our experiences in Chelsea. I was curious before we left how this area would affect J -- he does love to dance and regularly, albeit privately, rehearses for the boy band that he's sure will someday materialize and send him to stardom. At around 3am on Wednesday morning, he missed his chance. We awoke to the sound of performance on the street below and couldn't resist getting up to check it out (a sure sign that we're not true New Yorkers, who most definitely would not have wasted energy getting out of bed). It was like the mothership calling Jason home -- we made it to the window just in time to see one of the five gentlemen below pull his shirt back to reveal his nipples while sashaying to the tunes blaring from the open sunroof and doors of a shiny red beemer. Apparently the music had overtaken them while driving home from the bars and they just had to get out and dance.

This sight was fresh in his mind as J and I made our way up 8th to one of the local coffee shops -- the one with t-shirts that advertise to "Put Something Hot in You" -- on our way to the game. The cute fellow behind the counter was obviously in a festive mood, as illustrated by his urban cowboy hat, and immediately asked J what he needed. I thought for sure J would request an application for the singing group we'd seen that night, but instead he lowered his voice beyond what I have previously heard and ordered a huge mocha -- the manliest of drinks -- to go. Is there a more fitting send off to the Bronx for a baseball game?

Ah, the game. After arriving and wading through the crowds, we spent the National Anthem trying like mad to find our seats -- which was a flippin impossible feat and we came close to turning on each other a couple of times. The tickets weren't helpful in determining where we were supposed to be, and we finally gave up and sat down with some fellas who obviously attend as many games as possible. After we were booted from these seats by a nice guy who offered to switch tickets with us, we discovered an usher who finally lead us to what turned out to be good seats. What can I say -- how can you top two beers and two hot dogs, sitting in 65 degree weather, watching the Yanks play the Sox, surrounded by guys that sound like Joe Pesci in My Cousin Vinny -- two utes? I think J figured it out -- the city doesn't offer many opportunities to see green, so the beautiful field was like a paradise. We sat back and enjoyed the show, which was only partly made up by the actual game. The fights in the upper stands, the "F--- You Damon" screams every now and again, and the pure energy of those around us made it an incredible game. We were truly enjoying ourselves until Jeter got beaned in the 8th, when the crowd turned ugly, and we spent the rest of the game on our feet only partially participating in the boos and screams that the situation required.

The train ride home seemed to take forever, as we were exhausted from enjoying all the creative cursing, and we didn't even warm up the leftovers from the night before scarfing them down and collapsing. J worked and I read Time Out New York until 9:30, when we had to leave the comfort of home to hear the Bantu teacher we had met on the subway on Saturday play with his band at a not-far club. Despite the $24 cover and $45 for four drinks, we really enjoyed the band. They had dancers, drummers, two guitars, a few horns, and Chris (the teacher) singing and playing the mbira. The message of the music was really positive and even an older couple in the balcony couldn't resist getting up to dance. The band was called Panjea and will be performing there every Wed, so maybe we'll wander up again next week. After walking home happy but pooped, we poured into bed and slept through the night without a single performance from our friends the Chelsea players...maybe they'll be back tonight :).