AUGUST 8

Ray and I did different things this morning. Ray visited WSCR (The Score) studios, a Chicago radio station broadcasting from the Grand Hyatt here in New York. Then he walked to the Brooklyn Bridge and the World Trade Center location. I took the train to the Staten Island Ferry, past the Statue of Liberty, turned around, took the train up to Columbus circle and had lunch at Trump Tower, a three-course price fixe for $20. Now that’s more like it.

Again, we rest in the afternoon to gear up for the Evil Empire, the New York Yankees (Motto: ‘We Demand World Championships!’) and all that must kneel before the greatness that is Rome.

The White Sox (Motto: ‘We just wanna be noticed’) are having a terrific year. Everything seems to be clicking and the players appear to be having fun. Of course, as I have so often heard, but rarely experienced, winning can be fun.

My last visit ten years ago to Yankee Stadium was the thrill of a lifetime. My seats were right by the dugout thanks to a friend, and David Cone pitched a one-hitter. This time was far different.

We started out with a beer at Stan’s, a watering hole across the street. It had the obligatory smart-ass New York bartenders, more so because of our Sox hats I suppose.

And I got frisked. Admittedly looking suspicious I didn’t expect that. It’s never happened before anywhere, anytime. And it was surprisingly unnerving.

And since our seats were bleacher seats we couldn’t get into Monument Park in centerfield so I was only able to get shots of people looking at the monuments to past Yankee greats.

And the place looked bad—run down, ill-maintained, and in disrepair.

And the bleachers were uncomfortable. In addition to the hard metal on my flat butt, it got very crowded with Yankee faithful, some boisterously so, and others venomously so. A cop kicked out a couple of guys who were in a Sox fan’s face 30 feet or so down the row.

And it rained—well, sprinkled at first, then a little harder, but by the fifth inning, it virtually stopped. It felt quite good and was a respite from the swelter.

And the Sox lost 3-2, and despite this being voted the best game of the trip, we didn’t ‘start spreading the news’ at least not as joyfully as the Yankeeacs were singing it on the way out of the stadium (voted Worst stadium of the trip).