Mourn With Me Brothers: The Death Of Yankee Stadium

Give me a megaphone...give me some platform where people will hear. Give me the power to unify the people into a single movement. Give me the friggin' power to actually change what is about to happen. They are tearing down Yankee Stadium. We need to stop it.

I am sick over it.

I watched a montage on ESPN the other night, and I was overwhelmed by this intangible feeling of gloom. I was sinking through the floor. It was a unique feeling. This is off the map in my realm of human experience.

I keep asking questions like, "Why is this happening?" and, "Can't some historical society save it." I don't have answers to those questions, and I feel trapped and powerless to do anything about it because I don't have billions of dollars. I can't turn the tide of the inevitable...my God, they are tearing down Yankee Stadium...

I talk with my friends about it over dinner. I talk with them about it over a few brews. I see the same sick feeling in their faces. I can't help but imagine all of the people in the Bronx doing the exact same thing...feeling the exact same way.

Some of these people have far more history at the storied ballpark...more personal memories that smell like hot dogs and dad's cologne...but being powerless to stop it is the worst. I swear that when I walk out of the bar after a game—when I walk out into that odd silence—I can hear some car radio playing "...they paved paradise and put up a parking lot" mixed with the wind.

I wish I had Davey Jones' power from Pirates of the Caribbean 3. Except I wish that instead of summoning the Kraken, I could summon Chuck Norris. I would send him to kick the freaking Steinbrenner's in their greedy faces. They are moles on a triumphant organization. They should be charged with baseball espionage. They don't love baseball; they love money. They are unfit to own the Yanks. They are full of greed.

Poll any real Yankee fan on earth. Ask them the following question: If it was your decision, would you have Yankee stadium torn down?

I don't have to hypothesize the answer for you. Ask any boy from the Bronx that has a broom handle in his hands where he dreamed of playing hardball and see what he answers.

Ask the men in pubs throughout the city to recount their favorite sports moments...what is in the background? Yankee Stadium's memories will run like a river as rich recollections of great men are recounted with increasing speed and volume. The old men can still here scratchy broadcasts and smell the cigar smoke.

The memories will run like water as she bleeds from the damage of the wrecking balls. The ghosts of Ruth, DiMaggio, Mantle, Gehrig, Maris, Ford, Stengel, and Rizzuto still get up and smile at each other when they hear "New York, New York" blaring at the end of a game...but not for long...and then never again.

"The House that Ruth Built" will be no more. Baseball's Colosseum, where its gladiators fought epic battles before the masses, won't make it for history's sake because Nero Steinbrenner will play his fiddle while Rome burns.

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