Specifically, I love the Yankees. I was informed of this prior to going apartment hunting with the aforementioned pretty girls; becoming a Yankees fan, and bringing along my beloved Boxee Box were the conditions on which they’d agree to move in with me. As such, when my brother came to visit this week, it seemed a selfless and generous birthday present to get him a ticket to see them play. And one for myself, obviously.
I was a little worried that sitting around for 3 hours with nothing to do but drink and eat American junk food would simply be just another evening in New York, the kind that I could have without buying a ticket; I wasn’t expecting baseball to be much more entertaining than say, cricket. But, what it lacked in grace (the players apparently never stop for afternoon tea or crumpets) it made up for in energy.
When the Yankees came up to bat in the 9th and supposedly final inning, they were one run down. When my new hero Number 20 Jorge Posada hit a home run on the first pitch I noticed I was hi-fiving the guy next to me. By the time the Yankees won in the 10th I was definitely in love with this sport. And the Yankees.
The only beer at the stadium I could see was $10 American lite beer though. Fortunately the game’s enjoyable sober.