My dad has idolized Mickey Mantle for over 40 years. He has no other reason to be a Yankee fan, but that hasn’t seemed to stop him rooting for the pinstripes his entire life. We watched all the play-off games together when they were dominating throughout the late 90s, and even though I’m not a fan myself, I know how much that team means to him. This was reinforced when he left me a voicemail last night making sure I was watching the pre-game ceremony on ESPN2 and again when my mom told me this morning that he did not sit down once as the dozens of Yankee greats walked out on the field one last time.

I texted a friend, who is from NYC, last night:

Me: Sad day I am just glad I got to go to that stadium.

Jacobson: I’m at the game. It’s a weird feeling. Kind of like Coventry.

Coming from the biggest Phish fan I know, that meant a lot.

It doesn’t even matter if you are a baseball fan, if you call yourself a sports fan there are just some places you have to see in person. For me, I was lucky enough to visit Yankee Stadium only once, but it will stick with me forever.

My friend James and I were living in our frat house at the time, and he came down early on a Saturday night less than two weeks after September 11th. Being Orioles fans, he and another friend had bought tickets months in advance for Cal’s last game, which was supposed to be played in Yankee Stadium. Instead, the season was extended, and Cal would end his career in Baltimore several weeks later.

James’ friend pulled out at the last second and left him with two tickets for Yanks / O’s the next day. He offered me the ticket, and being a starving college student, I called my dad to ask for money, which he gave me without question.

With rowdy alumni smashing bottles two floors below, James and I slept through a Saturday night for the first and only time in college and drove from Charlottesville to DC at 5 am to catch a 7 am train to NYC.

We took the subway to the Bronx and went straight to the game. The Yankees honored Cal’s last game in New York before the first pitch, and he then proceeded to go 0-6. Why did he have 6 ABs? Well, the game, started by Roger Clemons, was a 1-1 tie through 14 innings before being called for rain. Not the most exciting finish ever.

Regardless, we sat in the upper deck and caught peanuts thrown from vendors 10 rows below, bought beers from guys yelling “bir’ here”, and heard Bob Sheppard announce “now batting number 2…Derek Jeter…number 2”.

The effects of 9/11 were everywhere. People were openly crying as “God Bless America” reverberated through the stadium during the 7th inning stretch, and all eyes drifted skyward as each plane flew overhead.

Afterwards, we took the subway to Ground Zero and walked through the silent mist and dusty streets. We saw the missing person posters and the thank you notes in fire station doorways.

Then, hoping to end our trip on a lighter note, we headed to the Times Square ESPNzone only to be seated and served in front row lazy-boys before dozens of TVs showing every sport imaginable.

Upon returning to Penn Station, James hit the books for a test the next day. He studied through the night on the train station floor and then through the entire train and car rides back to C-ville. I dropped him off 5 minutes late for the test and went home to sleep. It was one of the best 48 hour stretches of my life.

And James got B.