At the age of twenty-three I worshipped at the altar of The New York Yankees. I never missed watching a game. I could recite the batting line-up and pushed to the edge of my seat when the game was close. It was the first time I was a true fan of a sport and it felt fantastic. I know people suggest that rooting for The Yankees is like dating the quarterback or at least back then….but it had fairy dust floating off the tips of bats. It was magic.
Inspirational sports movies have always made me cry. Well, those and Grey’s Anatomy-we all have our safe space to express emotion.
Before Memorial Day weekend I went to Yankee Stadium to watch them play the Texas Rangers. As my friend and I munched on crispy chicken fingers and French fries out of a $20 plastic bucket I stared out onto the grass and hunted for emotion but it was gone.
The quack of The Mighty Ducks had faintly edged off into a distant whistle and I found myself on a bleacher staring and talking about food blogs.
Where is the magic of too many years of adulthood? Hidden in the locker room of Club Getaway? Does life at a certain point lose it’s magic because of experiences and broken expectations.
Until I figure it out, I will keep going to the stadium in hopes that a ball flies in slow motion over my head and I can once again revel in the roar of the greasepaint.