Becoming, and Remaining, a Yankee Fan, Uncloseted

I BECAME A YANKEE FAN in 1961, when I was six. I saw my father watching televsion (it was the 1961 World Series), and started asking questions. When I found out that he, my mother, and all our neighbors hated the Yankees, I reasoned that the whole world was against them, and they needed help. I felt sorry for the New York Yankees. I was a compassionate litle guy, if a bit confused. After smooth sailing in 1961 and '62, they were in the fall classic once again in 1963, playing the Dodgers. Of course I confidently assumed they would win. They didn't, of course. They got swept in four games, scored only four runs, and suffered he worst defeat, up to that time, in their storied history. For four consecutive days I walked to school,wondering how the game was going all day while I was in class.. I walked home, and, upon my arrival home, found out that Koufax and/or Drysdale had once again done them in. With Koufax on the mound, Mickey Mantle didn't even see any reason to walk up to home plate, as he told Roger Maris. My father disappointed me a couple of other times in first grade. A neighbor gave me a beautiful brown baseball bat, my father made me give it back. I saw my father reading a book, asked him to notify me when he reached page "one hundred" so that I could see what that inconceivably enormous number looked like on paprer, and he forgot to do it. (I found out on my own later). He took me to my first baseball game when I was seven. The batter hit a foul ball, and a gentleman in the crowd caught the ball on the fly. I asked my father if the batter was out. Rife with misconceptions, I was an adult when I found out that an error does indeed count as a time at bat. I never should have become a Yankee fan. I'm an underdog kind of guy. But how was I to know? Our family enjoyed going to doubleheaders, two baseball games on the same day. My dad kindly took me to all Yankee doubleheaders, and we would often follow them around the country, taking in games one or two at a time. In those days, the second game of a doubleheader would begin about twenty or thirty minutes after the completion of the first, and you paid for one game. One ticket,one price,and got two games in return, a real bargain. I believe good tickets cost about three or four dollars. Now, of course single admission doubleheaders are a rarity; most often,they empty out the stadium after the first game,and refill it, with a new crowd for the second game, which is usually several hours later. Single game admission can be hundreds of dollars, sometimes, thousands. This split doubleheader arrangement imposes an inconvenience upon the players, and of course, makes it twice as expensive for the fans. In our modern economy we squeeze every possible penny out of our customers. Afer all, with players making millions of dollars per year, it becomes necessary. We always arrived as early as possible, for both doubleheaders and single games, to watch batting practice. I understand now that they no longer take batting practice on the field before games. Evidently they do it underneath the stadium, using pitching machines. Or, when they practice on the field, they charge a separate admission, believe it or not. Paying to watch batting practice. Whatever it takes to get that last dollar. Sometimes the Yankees still have single admission doubleheaders, much to their credit. I remember how proud I was as a nine year old, in 1964, when dad took us to see the Yankkes play, and on another trip, took us to see the St.Louis Cardinals, who played each other in the World Series that year. Until the Cardinals beat the Yanks to win the chamionship that year,I had pretended to be Cardinal fan, to fit in with the Cardinal fans in my hometown in Missouri. I was afraid of possible repurcussions of openly rooting for the Yankees, when the principal of my grade school announced, joyfully, that the Cardinals had won the World Series, every kid in the class cheered, except me. I put my head on my desk and cried. I was out of the closet, no longer able to deny my love of all things Yankee. That must be what its like to be gay, closeted at first, then, "out". Being a Yankee fan in the closet is a terrible way for a child to grow up.