Last Trip to Old Yankee Stadium Winds Up Being FIRST Trip INSIDE New Yankee

I don’t remember a ton of details, the work was so incomplete; rough concrete, no grass, some seats installed most not, but man what a rush nonetheless. One of the distinguishing characteristics of the old Stadium is the frieze or façade that runs above the billboards and scoreboards in the outfield. It is often used as a symbol for the stadium, or the Yankees. It was a prominent component of this year’s All-Star Game logo.

Originally the frieze ran around the roof of the grandstand’s upper deck and was made of copper. When the roof was replaced during the ‘70s' era renovation, the 1923 frieze was not. That’s when the smaller white façade appeared in the outfield. Here in New Yankee Stadium, I am transfixed by the new frieze; it looks absolutely timeless, so New York YANKEE and so white, that in the noon day sun it gleams as if made of alabaster. 

Frank made a ‘follow me’ motion with his hand and I trailed him back to the dimly lit space under the stands. "Hey Rocky,” he said, as we disappeared once again in the dark bowels of the stadium, “this is gonna’ make one hell of a story for your grandkids.” I slap him on the back and hand him back the hard hat and clipboard and say, “Only because of you Frank, only because of you.”

As we walk through the near total darkness Frank asks, "Say, is Scott Bittle's 'thing' a gimmick pitch?" referring to the junior pitcher from Ole Miss that the Yankees recently drafted.  

"Not at all," I answer quickly, "It's wicked, and it's the real deal. Just wait until you see it, or until he throws it and you don't see it."

Back on the sidewalk I shake Frank’s hand and press two folded twenties in his palm. “What’s this? Nahhh,” he says, realizing what I am doing. “You don’t need to do that,” he continues, trying to hand the money back to me without letting it be seen. 

I clasp his hand and say “Frank, you’ve given me one of the most unbelievable gifts of my life. I am going to treasure these last five minutes for the rest of my life.”  I pump his hand as If I am shaking it, but actually I am keeping his fist closed tight around the money. “I’d love to take you to dinner,” I continue, “but I have to be somewhere after the game. How about tonight you grab a bite on me and consider it nothing more than a simple thank you.”

“Ok,” he considers the idea, “Why not?” he shrugs. “Sure,” he says, seemingly reconciled. “I’ll sure do it.”  And with that determined, I take a step toward the stadium and find myself quickly swallowed up by the crowd.

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