The Cherry Blast

Whenever a paratrooper makes his first jump after Ft. Benning, it's called his cherry blast (for reasons I hope I don't have to spell out here. This is a family website, after all...)

Since this is the last year of the Shangri-la known as Yankee Stadium, I thought I'd share the story of my first visit and solicit visitors to leave a comment about theirs.

All Yankee fans will remember 1998 as the year the pinstripers laid another claim to the Greatest Team of All Time tag. What didn't go right that season? The list of accomplishments is too long to recall here in detail, but the final tally of 125 wins and a World Series sweep over the San Diego Padres were perfect capstones on a phenomenal, historical season. And for this Yankee fan, it also marks the season of The Pilgrimmage.

On July 22, the Bombers were hosting Detroit. It was a stifling Wednesday afternoon. I think the thermometer hit 96 just before game time. Our seats were in the outfield along the third base line, in the eighth row. We were about level with where Tim Raines played in left. El Duque was on the hill, and the Tigers never stood a chance.

Chuck Knoblauch, Darryl Strawberry, and Jorge Posada hit home runs. Knoblauch's hit the foul pole screen and bounced back, landing about ten seats to our left. In the mad rush of fans -- which I stayed out of -- a woman's halter top was, shall we say, reconfigured. (And yes, the bra had been left had home.) My daughter, in full stare: "Oooooo, Daddy! Did you see her?" Me, looking up into the third deck: "Hey, doesn't that cloud look like Yogi Berra?"

(I'll leave you to decide on the truth of that scene...)

At another point in the game, a foul pop -- from whose bat, I don't recall -- landed even closer, but I was in full protection mode as a mob formed under it while it was still in the air. When it hit the deck, I was hunched over my daughter, shielding her from sure destruction.

And my daughter is what made it all so special, if I may use such a shopworn and banal adjective to describe something that provided memories which still seem almost magical to me. (Ugh! There's another silly descriptor!) I was eight years old when I attended my first major league game at Veterans Stadium in Philadelphia, accompanied by a man not my own father. He was the father of a friend of a friend. My father never did take me to a game, and without getting maudlin I'll just say that to those who had fathers who did take you to games, I'll be forever envious. But having my daughter there with me on 161st and River, when she was nearly ten years old and excited to be seeing Derek Jeter (and bitterly disappointed that it was Tino Martinez Cup day... sorry Tino. I was excited by it!) was something that only fathers know.

Because she was young she was a little mystified when her father stopped to stare up at every team photo hanging above the concourse doorways, and she may have been a little embarrassed when I cried quietly on the 4 Train as we approached the Stadium at noon and saw that gorgeous grass green/Yankee blue contrast that riders witness as they pass by the outfield. But by the end of the day, with her Yankee bandanna wrapped around her head, and the Yankees walking off the field with a 13-2 victory, she understood it all. (She even understood why I was pissed off at the usher who didn't allow us to linger too long in our seats after the game. Prick...)

There's no way to top a day like that. A man waits nearly 21 years to fulfill a dream, and then it's over, and the dream wasn't even close to the reality, which was indescribably better than anything that could have been imagined. (And it didn't hurt that sitting across from me on the train downtown, after the game, was maybe the most gorgeous, dark-haird woman I have ever seen. I don't even care whether or not she was real, or just a Yankee angel sent down from Blue Heaven to make my day complete. She was smokin'....... Thank you, Lord.)

So that's the cherry blast in the Bronx. I hope all of you had equally thrilling days your first time around. I'd love to read about it. Drop your story in the comment slot.