Premium Tickets

When I was 16 years old my girlfriend Elissa’s Uncle Gene bought Yankee tickets for his parents, sisters, brother in laws, nieces and nephews. I was fortunate enough to have been included. It was my first Yankees game. We sat in a box--7 or 8 rows behind home plate. I had a bird’s eye view of Thurman Munson’s butt. It was the inaugural season--Yankee Stadium was new.

The year was 1999. A young Serena Williams annihilated her opponent as my husband and I sat watching from a courtside seat in Louis Armstrong Stadium. The match was over in an hour.

And in 2002 my husband, my daughter Kara, and I stood 5 feet behind Tiger Woods when he made his drive on #16 at Bethpage Black. The ball traveled so far I lost it in the distance.

There is nothing more special than being close to a sporting event and the key players in it.

And since Kara is finishing up her final year at Emory University in Atlanta we have decided to visit her around a Braves game. I want to experience the tomahawk chop before someone finally realizes how inappropriate and racist it is. The game is against the Mets—which may make it a decisive game.

And the three of us  will be sitting in a box several rows behind home plate---just like I did in Yankee Stadium in 1976. And the seats, the airfare, the hotel room and dinner will be less expensive than if we had gotten equivalent seats in either Citifield or Yankee Stadium. That’s how crazy ticket prices are in New York.

I hope to see Chipper Jones play—not because I am a fan—but because I am not.

And a week or two ago I went to my second Yankees’ game. Again it was with my girlfriend Elissa. And once again Yankee Stadium was new. Her Uncle Gene did not get us the seats this time. We sat where the real people do. But it didn’t matter. We ate our hotdogs and drank our beer and enjoyed our time together. And when Andy Petite, who was pitching that day got hurt, it reminded me that much in life is fleeting. Anything can happen at any time. The clock is always ticking. And it’s not just the moments or scores or seats that count, but who you share them with.