Cano gives his dad - and all dads - a special gift

I’m sure I wasn’t the only dad feeling a little misty-eyed watching Jose Cano pitch to his son, Robinson, in the MLB Home Run Derby last night. I couldn’t help but think back to simpler times in my life, grabbing a bucket of balls and tossing batting practice to my son, Christopher, for hours on empty diamonds. Those were incredible bonding moments that I’ll always treasure.

So, yes, I was pulling hard for Robbie “Don’t Ya Know” Cano to win it all, which he did with a remarkable 12 homers in the final round to edge Adrian Gonzalez. My exhortations had nothing to do with the fact I’m a long-time Yankee fan, and everything to do with the fact I’m a fan of dedicated dads, like Jose Cano. This was a special moment for baseball and for any parent who has spent time bonding in an activity with his or her kids.

There clearly have been other good sporting moments in recent days – moments that have taken our minds off the avaricious lunacy of lockouts and reminded us of why we follow these silly games in the first place.

That header goal in the waning seconds of overtime by Rochester’s own Abby Wambach vs. Brazil in the Women’s World Cup Sunday was every bit as dramatic as a game-winning shot in the NBA Finals or a walk-off World Series homer. As I discovered while covering her during the United States’ march to Olympic soccer gold in Athens in 2004, Abby is one of those rare athletes who has a flair for the dramatic. And it’s also become obvious that literally and figuratively, her head is always in the game.

And while we’re on the subject of cerebral and clutch athletes, how about Derek Jeter, who entered the 3,000 Hit Club Saturday afternoon with a home run and a five-for-five batting line, which included the game-winning hit?

Perhaps the cherry on the topping of this historic day was the decision by fan Christian Lopez not to keep the milestone ball Jeter drilled into the left-field stands. Lopez could have pocketed more than $200,000 had he put the spheroid up for auction, but instead graciously turned it over to the Yankees icon. I know many people will say he was crazy, but I believe he did the right thing.

***

Jeter has been a model athlete with a rare knack for doing the appropriate thing on and off the diamond. But I disagree with his decision to beg out of tonight’s All-Star game. There were reports that he was emotionally drained from his pursuit of 3,000. And I can understand that. But it would have been good for baseball had he shown up tonight and was introduced with the rest of the stars. He wouldn’t even have had to play an inning. Just soak up the adulation and savor a special moment in the twilight of your career.

***

PERSONAL MATTERS: Congratulations to my niece-in-law, Laura O’Brien, and her new hubby, Donnie Smith, who were married Friday in Buffalo. Yes, there is a sports connection here. Donnie played briefly for the Rochester Americans several years ago, but was forced to cut short his professional hockey career because of concussions . . . Here’s wishing a speedy recovery to my fellow Bills (Radio) Brother John DiTullio, who is recuperating after having his appendix removed Friday . . . And, lastly, please keep my friend and former newspaper colleague, Allen Wilson, in your thoughts and prayers. Many of you might remember Allen from his days covering sports for the Democrat and Chronicle and Times-Union before he left to write sports for the Buffalo News. He’s a good, kind-hearted man. Get well, my friend.

Mark my words: McGwire still delusional

I'm glad Mark McGwire finally admitted what most of us have known for years - that he used steroids and other performance-enhancing drugs during his baseball career. But I'm disappointed to hear him say the juice had no bearing on him producing other-worldly numbers.

Come on, Mark.

If you are going to come clean, come completely clean.

We're not stupid. You never hit more than 49 home runs before in a season and all of a sudden you dial long distance 70 times and hit balls 30, 40, 50 feet farther than you ever hit them before, and we're supposed to believe that it was just your superior hand-eye coordination, some extra bench presses and your Wheaties.

As far as I'm concerned, your mea culpa only made it to second base. If you want us to forgive you, you're going to have to stop deluding yourself that you would have put up those numbers regardless if you were juicing or not.

***

Now that McGwire has sort of confessed, will we hear from the other major frauds of the Steroids Era - Barry Bonds, Roger Clemens and Sammy Sosa? Methinks not.

***

Hey, at least temporarily, NBC has created some drama in its 10 p.m. time slot. I normally don't watch Leno, but I flipped it on last night just to listen to him diss his bosses.

***

If you connect the dots, Buddy Nix probably is hoping for a Schottenheimer father-son coaching combo.

Nix sided with Marty Schottenheimer when the former San Diego head coach was on the outs with Chargers general manager A.J. Smith a few years ago. Nix would like to have Marty be the Bills head coach for the next year or two, then turn the reins over to Brian Schottenheimer, the Jets offensive coordinator, who will interview for the Buffalo head job in the near future. Interestingly, Brian's three NFL jobs before the Jets were with teams his dad coached.

If the Schottenheimer connection fails, Nix might lean to Ron Rivera, the Chargers defensive coordinator.

And I'm still wondering why Brian Billick hasn't been interviewed. I hope it isn't because the Bills aren't willing to pay for the top-flight staff of assistants Billick wants to bring with him.

***

Brian Schottenheimer spent the 1999 season as Syracuse's quarterbacks coach under Paul Pasqualoni. Troy Nunes was the QB that season as the Orangemen went 7-5 with a 20-13 victory over Kentucky in the Music City Bowl in Nashville. Schottenheimer left SU after one year to take a similar position with USC, before returning to the NFL. I don't know what kind of relationship Schottenheimer had with Pasqualoni, but I wonder if he would consider his former boss as his defensive coordinator should he become the Bills head coach.

***

Although Syracuse is ranked fifth again in the current college basketball poll, they haven't been playing like a Top-5 team lately. I still believe that when crunch time arrives later this Big East season, Wesley Johnson is going to need to become a little more selfish and take more shots. He's definitely capable of carrying a team.

***

I don't have a vote, but if I did Kurt Warner would be a first-ballot selection for the Pro Football Hall of Fame. He's a two-time league MVP and has a career passer rating of 93.7, which is better than all but a handful of quarterbacks in the Hall.

But the thing that seals it for me is his post-season play. He has a 9-3 record which includes a Super Bowl victory. In those 12 starts, Warner has thrown 31 touchdown passes, been intercepted 13 times and has an astounding 104.5 passer rating.

If that's not worthy of a bust in Canton, I don't know what is.

AL MVP? How about Derek Jeter

I know there will be a lot of clamoring for Joe Mauer and Mark Texeira, and it will be justified because they are both deserving candidates for the American League Most Valuable Player award.

But I'm rooting for Derek Jeter to finally win one. The classy Yankees' star is having a superb year at the plate and in the field where he supposedly no longer had the range to play shortstop. He remains the heart and soul and leader of a team that's currently the best in baseball.

I don't believe in using the MVP as a lifetime achievement award. I think it should be based on what you've done that particular season, and if you look at Jeter's stats (.332 batting average, 86 runs scored, 16 homers, 21 stolen bases), you realize he has earned it on performance rather than sentiment.

****

When a punt boinked off the scoreboard high above the Dallas Cowboys' new billion dollar playpen the other night, referees whistled the play dead and ordered a re-kick. I think it would be kind of cool if you had ground rules saying you have to play the ball off the scoreboard. It would be like the rules we made up when we were kids when trees, telephone poles and even parked cars were in play. You have to admit, it would make things interesting.

****

You would think for a billion dollars the architects and Cowboy and NFL officials might have taken into account a punter's ability to boot a football really, really high. Then, again, when I sat in the second deck in right field at the new Yankee Stadium - another billion-dollar edifice - I foolishly expected to be able to see rightfielder Nick Swisher when he took his position. Little did I know they would design the place with obstructed view seats.

****

Help me here, folks. The Bills play in a division in which each of their opponents have played 3-4 defenses for several seasons, and they're still acting like this defense is a complicated mystery. Not a good sign.

****

So Beth takes Sassy the Cat to the vets recently and runs into a farret who's name is - I'm not making this up - Farret Fawcett.

****
I can't recall a team more snake-bitten than the 2009 Mets. The injury-bug is so bad that their pitching ace Johan Santana and newcomer Jeff Francoeur might soon join David Wright, Carlos Beltran and 9 others already on the disabled list. The team is cursed.

****

Congratulations to Jenna Cacciatori and Warren Frame on their marriage, and get-well wishes to my good friend and fellow baseballist, Max "Country Mile'' Robertson, who's battling an infection on his leg.

Remembering Thurman Munson

Thurman Munson’s old locker, which had remained empty in the Yankees clubhouse for nearly three decades, is now on public display in the museum at the new Yankee Stadium.

It serves as a haunting reminder of the Yankees first captain since Lou Gehrig and how Munson’s life was cut short at age 32 when the Cessna Citation he was piloting crashed at the Akron-Canton Regional Airport.

Last Sunday marked the 30th anniversary of that tragedy – still one of the most shocking and saddest sports moments of my lifetime.

I loved watching Munson play. He was a superb athlete stuck in a squatty, unathletic-looking body, which no doubt added to his appeal for the majority of us who weren’t lucky enough to be born to look like Adonis.

The most appealing thing, though, about Munson was his competitiveness and grit. He always put his team first, often playing hurt and seemingly always finding a way to drive in the crucial runs.

And although Reggie Jackson wound up getting a candy bar named after himself, Munson’s teammates, to a man, would tell you that Thurman was the true straw that stirred the drink on those Yankee championship teams during the incendiary Bronx Zoo seasons of the late 1970s.

Besides the anniversary of his death, Munson is back in the news this summer because of a compelling new biography written by Marty Appel, a former Yankees public relations director and co-author of Munson’s autobiography roughly three decades ago.

Munson: The Life and Death of a Yankee Captain is a superb read that delves into his turbulent childhood and dysfunctional family. Through extensive interviews with Thurman’s estranged siblings we learn about his impossible-to-please father who continued to rail against his famous son, even in the days following his death.

In one of the more disturbing passages of the book, Darrell Munson approaches his son’s coffin just before it is lowered into the ground and shouts: “You always thought you were too big for this world. Well, you weren’t. Look, who’s still standing, you son of a bitch!’’

Although notorious for his gruffness with the media and strangers, Munson is portrayed as a loving husband to his wife, Diana, and a doting father to his three young children.

In a cruel twist of irony, he upgraded to a jet he may not have been totally prepared to fly in order to shorten the off-day trips from New York to Canton so he would be able to spend more time with his young family.

In one of the most compelling parts of the book, Appel does a masterful job re-creating, in riveting detail, the final days and minutes leading up to the accident.

Munson’s fatal crash is attributed to pilot error, but his heroism is evident to the end. His final actions helped saved the lives of his two passengers, and the first thing he asked after the crash were: “Are you guys okay?’’

Though the circumstances of his death are what many remember most about Thurman Munson, this book reminds us of what an incredible life preceded that tragic ending.

Cobbling together material garnered from more than 150 interviews and his own experiences with Munson during his days as the Yankees PR man, Appel tells, in page-turning fashion, the definitive story of a man and a player who will never be forgotten.

***

Munson was All-Ohio in three sports in high school – baseball, football and basketball. A number of major colleges offered him football scholarships as a flanker and safety, including Syracuse.

***

I never interviewed Munson, but I did speak to him once. My buddy, Wayne Cacciatori (yes, that’s really his name and his nickname was “Chicken’’), and I visited a friend of ours in Tampa in March of '78 and took in a spring training game between the Yankees and Mets in St. Petersburg.

The curmudgeonly Thurman was in an especially jovial mood and was even fielding grounders at third base with his catcher’s mitt on.

After batting practice was over, we called out to him, and he came over, asked us where we were from and posed for a picture from the stands.

I also saw Munson play for the Syracuse Chiefs and was in old Yankee Stadium the night he made his big-league debut.

While playing softball in the late 1970s, I grew a Fu Manchu mustache, and some of my teammates started calling me "Thurm.'' I took it as a compliment. (Hey, it's better than being calling "Squatty Body'' or "Pudge.'')

A day to remember a hero

I'm often critical of Major League Baseball and its clueless, short-sighted, money-grubbing leadership, but today - brace yourself, folks - I'm using my cyberspace to doff my cap to Commissioner Bud Selig.

I think it's fabulous that today, on the 70th anniversary of Lou Gehrig's poignant speech, the Commish is having the Gettysburg Address of Baseball recited by various speakers in Major League parks throughout America.

Sadly, we live in a time in which history is considered bunk. So, I believe it's even more important that we use these anniversaries to celebrate and educate people about moments that speak to the character and spirit on which the game and this country were founded.

That Gehrig, a shy, humble man, was able to tell the world that he "considered himself the luckiest man on the face of the earth" while dying of Amyotrophic Lateral Scelrosis (ALS) remains one of sport's most inspirational and transcendent moments.

The slugger's comments that day in front of 61,808 spectators at Yankee Stadium were so moving and so eloquent that William Safire included it in a book about the great speeches in history, alongside those of popes, presidents, kings and philosophers.

Gehrig remains the finest first baseman ever to play the game. But his enduring legacy will be the grace and dignity he displayed in the face of death. His name became associated with the hideous disease that destroys the nerve cells and results in paralysis and death, usually within five years.

There currently are about 35,000 Americans who suffer from ALS. Each year about 5,000 people die from it and 6,000 new cases are diagnosed.

Gehrig, a strapping man who played 2,130 consecutive games, remains an important figure in the search for a cure, nearly seven decades after his death at age 37.

Today's recitations of Gehrig's speech in ballparks across America will raise awareness about ALS and serve as a reminder about being grateful for the blessings we've been given.

Good job, Mr. Selig. Good job, Major League Baseball.

****

For those of you interested in learning more about Lou Gehrig, may I suggest two wonderful biographies - Ray Robinson's Iron Horse and Jonathan Eig's Luckiest Man: The Life and Death of Lou Gehrig.

In addition, I recommend Gary Cooper's portrayal of Gehrig in the movie, "The Pride of the Yankees.'' It can be a little sappy at times, but it's still one of my all-time favorites. And you'll even see a cameo by Babe Ruth himself.

****

Eleven years ago today, I took my kids - Amy and Christopher - to their first game at Yankee Stadium. Talk about an All-American way to spend the Fourth of July - family and baseball.

Not surprisingly, the trip and harkenned many memories of my first trip to The House That Ruth Built 32 years earlier.

One thing that made it even more memorable was that the Yankees, in honor of Lou Gehrig Day, had actress Teresa Wright throw out the first pitch. Wright, some of you may recall, played Gehrig's wife in "The Pride of the Yankees.'' As I've said before, love 'em or hate 'em, nobody does nostalgia like the Yankees.

****

One final Gehrig note: He was the first athlete in professional sports to have his number retired, which is why you'll see his No. 4 before Ruth's No. 3 in the lineup of retired uni's in Monument Park in Yankee Stadium.

Gotta go with Mo

It's difficult to compare closers from different eras because guys like Goose Gossage and Bruce Sutter pitched during a time (1970s and '80s) when they were the bridge to themselves.

They often entered games with men on base, and were forced to get out of that inning and often pitch two more innings to finish the deal.

In other words, they were set-up men and closers wrapped into one.

You definitely can argue that Mariano Rivera has had an easier road to traverse than Gossage, Sutter and other Hall-of-Fame relievers, such as Dennis Eckersley and Rollie Fingers, because the majority of the current Yankee star's 500 reagular-season saves have been of the one-inning variety.

That being said, I believe Mo is the best there ever was when you take into account not only his regular-season record but his post-season stats - which include a mind-boggling, miniscule 0.77 earned run average in 76 appearances.

The bottom line is that no reliever has ever been as dominating as Rivera when the pressure was the greatest - in the playoffs and World Series.

One of the amazing thing about Mo is that he's established himself as the greatest closer of all-time by relying on essentially one pitch - a bat-splintering, cut fastball.

Interestingly, the two teams that have given Rivera the most trouble during his first-ballot Hall-of-Fame career have been the Red Sox and Angels. He has made 44 saves and blown 12 games vs. Boston, and has 18 saves and blown 8 leads vs. Anaheim.

Longtime Rochester Red Wings fans might remember how Rivera was used as a starter by the Yankees Triple-A Columbus affiliate back in the early 1990s. In fact, Rivera once pitched a rain-shortenned, five-inning no-hitter against the Wings.

I keep waiting for Father Time to send Rivera permanently to the showers. Mo, who turns 40 on November 29, isn't as dominating as he was in his prime, but he hasn't slowed down much. Despite his age and off-season shoulder surgery, he has comverted 18 of 19 save attempts and has 39 strikeouts in 30 and 2/3s innings. We should all age so gracefully.

****

Downpours and a runaway foreign golfer who few heard of before Sunday made for a very uneventful 2009 Wegmans LPGA. Let's just hope that the 33rd edition wasn't the last to be played at Locust Hill.

As I wrote in this cyberspace last week, LPGA Commish Carolyn Bivens will be voted out of office if Rochester's tour stop goes the way of the Corning Classic and so many other LPGA events.

The bottom line is that the LPGA needs Rochester and Wegmans more than they need the LPGA, so Bivens better not play hardball.

****

In my book, Bernie Madoff is not only a scam artist but a murderer. The blood of those people who killed themselves as a result of his malfeasance is on his hands.

****

Beth and I are big fans of the Zooperstar mascots. We were rolling in the aisles at Frontier Field Saturday night, watching Clammy Sosa, Bear Bonds and Harry Canary perform their spastic hilarity during breaks from the Red Wings-Scranton/Wilkes-Barre game.

****

Here's hoping those rumors about Michael Jackson bequeathing the Beatles' music back to Paul McCartney are true. It was a shame that Jackson felt the rights to the Fab Four's music was more important than his friendship with Sir Paul. There were reports that the King of Pop had planned to meet with McCartney about returning the music rights to McCartney as a peace offering. Sadly, that didn't happen before Michael's premature death.

****

If Minnesota's game-plan was to draft point guards back-to-back last week in hopes of trading one of them, then shouldn't the Timberwolves deep thinkers already have had a deal in place? The T-Wolves apparently have received some offers for Spanish point guard Ricky Rubio, who they chose fifth, one slot ahead of SU's Jonny Flynn in the recent NBA draft. Rubio is threatening to play in Europe if he doesn't get the deal he desires.

I thought Flynn handled himself with class after Minnesota's bizarre move. He said he'd be happy to share the floor with another young point guard, etc., despite being as perplexed as the rest of us were.

Makes you hope that Flynn gets traded to an organization that isn't as disorganized.

****

Maybe, just maybe, the U.S. men's team is finally ready to be a major player on the world soccer stage. I thought the Americans were about to pull off one of the great upsets in their history after taking that 2-0 lead Sunday. Ah, but it was not to be as Brazil stormed back to win, 3-2.

It's sad that the Brazilians decided to talk trash rather than to give the Americans their due after the match.

My experience covering five Olympics taught me a lot about the lack of sportsmanship throughout the world. I saw similar behavior from the Brazilian women's team after the U.S. defeated them twice in Athens in 2004.

I owned Bob Feller. Well, sort of.

Rapid Robert Feller can still bring it.

OK, so his 100 mph fastball is now a 40 mph meatball.

But, what the hey, cut the guy some slack. He is, after all, 90 years old. The mere fact he can still deliver strikes from 60 feet, 6 inches off a 10-inch high mound at his age is pretty amazing.

Feller, the oldest living Baseball Hall of Famer, took the hill for two batters in last Sunday's Father's Day game at Doubleday Field in Cooperstown. The author of three major league no-hitters yielded a single to fellow Hall of Famer Paul Molitor and delievered a high-and-tight pitch that prompted former Rochester Red Wing Bobby Grich to charge the mound in mock anger.

Feller then came out of the game to loud applause from the more than 7,000 spectators.

Rapid Robert provided me with one of my favorite baseball-playing moments back in the summer of '77 (that's 1977, not 1877 for all you smart alecks out there. ;-)

I was a 22-year-old sportswriter covering the Mets' Class A, New York-Penn League affiliate in Little Falls, N.Y. for the Little Falls Evening Times, and Feller came to town to sign autographs at the ballpark.

Before the game, he took the mound, resplendent in his old Cleveland Indians uniform, and threw four pitches apiece to a handful of local 'celebrities.' I put that word in single quotes because yours truly was one of the designated celebs.

As a sold-out crowd of 3,000 looked on, I dug in. Feller went into his trademark, high-kicking windup and delivered a batting practice offering straight down the pike. I was so excited to be batting against one of the most dominant pitchers of all-time that I almost cork-screwed myself into the ground while fouling the pitch off my right foot.

The crowd roared with laughter.

"Now, we see why you write about sports rather than play them,'' bellowed one of the leather-lunged spectators, who sounded as if he had already imbibed a few too many Utica Clubs.

I turned as red as a St. Louis Cardinal.

Feller's second serving was every bit as good, and I lined a base hit to right field.

I stroked the third pitch to center and the final offering to left.

Three hits in four at-bats vs. the immortal Bob Feller.

I could now tell my children and grandchildren, and anyone else who would listen that I once had my way with a Hall-of-Fame hurler.

Years later, before interviewing Feller at an oldtimer's game in Buffalo, I mentioned that night in Little Falls to him.

Feller grew defensive.

"Geez,'' he said. "I was 58 at the time and I wasn't throwing hard because I didn't want to embarass anyone.''

I told him I understood that and that I didn't bring it up to be disrespectful. I just wanted to thank him for taking it easy on me and giving me the thrill of a lifetime.

I wasn't bothered by his response. In a way, it was kind of cool, hearing that kind of fire from a guy in his 60s.

And I thought it was even cooler when I read that he had taken the mound as a 90-year-old.

Once a competitor, always a competitor.

****

The Chinese government reported that the 2008 Olympics in Beijing turned a profit, not counting the construction costs for the venues and infrastructure. Yeh, right. And nobody was killed during those protests in Tianenmen Squre. In fact, the protests never happened. Just a bunch of propaganda created by the Western media.

****

For those soccer fanatics who believe the United States' upset of top-seeded Spain yesterday marks the arrival of their game as a major sport in this country, consider this: The news of Shaq joining LeBron in Cleveland received bigger play, as did several mid-season baseball games. The upset was a step, but the reality is that soccer will never be as big here as it is in most countries beacuse we have too many sporting alternatives already firmly established. That's not meant as a knock, just reality.

****
Speaking of Shaq, if he helps LeBron win the NBA championship, the big guy will be able to say that he helped Kobe, Dwayne Wade and King James get their rings. And, therefore, he'll claim that HE, not THEY, was the difference between being a champion or an also-ran.

****
David Stern has to be hoping that it's a Lakers-Cavs finals next year. Imagine what a soap opera that will be? You'll have two great story lines: Kobe vs. LeBron and Kobe vs. Shaq.

****
I was among the minority of writers who said the Yankees should have kept Joe Torre as their manager. What Joe T has done with the Manny-less Dodgers and what Joe Girardi isn't doing with a stacked roster in the Bronx is just further validation that the Steinbrenner boys and Brian Cashman made the wrong choice.

Fehr strikes out

I was bemused by some of the tributes I read about retiring baseball players' union chief Donald Fehr.

Yes, salaries reached astronomical heights during his tenure, but I thought he failed his clientele miserably on the most important issue - their health. Had he and his cohort in crime - Commissioner Bud Lite Selig - addressed the steroids mess earlier, perhaps we wouldn't have witnessed the tragic, premature death of former National League slugger Ken Caminiti. And who knows how many other tragic, premature baseball deaths we'll be commenting on in the coming years?

Also, the integrity of all those baseball records established and all those baseball awards won wouldn't be in question.

To me, Fehr and Selig were equally complicit in creating the storm cloud that continues to envelope the game.

So, I say, good-bye and good riddance.

Which will be my response when Selig finally leaves office.

****

The LPGA can't afford to lose its Rochester tour stop, so I'm thinking something gets worked out this week. The players love the support they receive from this community and there are few sponsors on tour as loyal and generous as Wegmans. I think if LPGA Commish Carol Bivens screws this up, the players will take action and she'll be looking for a new job.

****

Michele Wie still doesn't get it. Stop talking about playing on the men's tour and concentrate on finally winning an LPGA event.

****

Nancy Lopez remains one of the best ambassadors any sport has ever had.

****

For my Facebook friends out there, please join the group, "Put Lou Saban on the Buffalo Bills Wall of Fame.'' The second winningest coach in Bills history and the only coach to win a league championship (two American Football League titles) deserves to be immortalized with the rest of the franchise's legends.

****

As mentioned several weeks ago in this cyberspace, former SU point guard Jonny Flynn could go as high as fourth in tomorrow's night's NBA draft. Flynn is one of about a dozen players who has been invited by the league to attend the festivities in Madison Square Garden.

****

My good friends Michael and Hinda Miller are diehard Mets fans who courageously boarded a bus filled with Yankee fans recently to attend a Subway Series game at the new Yankee Stadium. I thought you would get a kick out of Michael's blog about the experience:

"There were 37 of us who went. Hinda and I constituted 2 of the 6 Mets fans on the bus. The rest were fanatic Yankee fans all decked out in Yankee hats and jackets.''

"To say we were intimidated is an understatement."

"Arrived at our hotel at 2:15 PM. The trip only provided for tickets to the Saturday game, so we went out to have dinner with old friends who live in NYC and who are also (thank God) Mets fans. They have had season tickets shared with 2 other couples for years, but, regrettably, even though the cost would be split between the 3 couples, they simply could not afford the new prices for season tickets at Citifield."

"In any event, we had a marvelous dinner at a small Italian restaurant in Manhatten and then retired to our hotel room to watch the game on TV. Last of the ninth, score 8-7 Mets, 2 out 2 on, K-Rod on the mound for the Mets, A-Rod (sometimes referred to as A-Fraud) at bat. He hits a routine infield pop. Game over, K-Rod doing his victory dance on the mound, A-Rod throwing his bat in disgust, Mets fans everywhere rejoicing, except Castilio muffs the catch. The Yankee players on base, off and running at the crack of the bat, both score, game over, final score Yanks 9 Mets 8.

"Oh, the joys of being a Mets fan. One good thing, the television set in our room was made of sturdy stuff, and survived the barrage of shoes we threw at it.''

"Next day, off to the stadium. and as our bus got us there early we had plenty of time to view the stadium. Hinda, as you know, has 2 artificial knees. The elevators stop at the third deck and you take a ramp to the fourth deck where our seats were located. It is a long ramp and Hinda just was not up to it."

"We went to the box office, told them of our plight and said we would pay the difference for an upgrade to handicapped seating. First, the gentleman at the box office told us we could not upgrade since our tickets were purchased as group tickets. Finally, seeing our distress, he broke down and said he would upgrade to handicapped seating at a cost of only $175 per ticket. We were in disbelief and shock as we walked away."

"Hiding her emotions is not one of my wife’s strong points. Just then a person holding one of those, “Welcome to Yankee Stadium. Can we help you”? signs, saw us and came over. He asked if everything was all right and when Hinda told him what had happened, he said, “wait right here, I’ll be back. 15 minutes later he returned with 2 handicapped seating tickets compliments of the NY Yankees. Points for your side. He then proceeded to take us on a guided tour of the stadium including the museum and personally escorted us to our seats."

"The stadium looked like it was built in Disneyland. All the electronic gadgetry, including the state of the art Jumbotron gave it the feel of an amusement park rather than a baseball stadium. I also missed the voice of the old stadium announcer with his deep voice saying “now batting for the Yankees, Number 52 Bernie Williams, Number 52."

"As an aside, Bernie Williams is an outstanding jazz guitarist and on his most recent CD he is given that same introduction by that announcer, preparatory to Bernie’s instrumental rendition of “Take me out to the ballgame”. His final song on the album is a fabulous rendition of “Glory Days” with Bruce Springsteen doing the vocal. Ah, but I digress.

"The weather in the Big Apple was more than miserable. The disadvantage of handicapped seating is that it is located where there is no protection against the elements. After 4 innings of cheering ourselves hoarse as the Mets piled up a lead, and being chilled and soaked through and through, we decided that our dedication to our beloved Mets was outweighed by our chances of getting pneumonia. Therefore, we adjourned to the Hard Rock Café located inside the stadium, sat next to a lovely young couple, watched the game on one of their many high definition TV’s, and proceeded to substantially reduce the Café’s supply of Nachos and beer, while having the joy of seeing us demolish the pinstripes, 6 – 2."

"This continues our streak of having never seen the Mets lose when we have been at a game in person. Omar Minaya, please take note."

"Sunday, we headed home, tired but happy, until our tour guide, also a fanatic Yankee fan, announced that in the Sunday afternoon game the Mets had failed to score while the Yankees did so 15 times. The announcement was met with uproarious cheering by the Yankee fans and particularly ungracious comments to the 6 Mets fans on the bus. Arrived back in Rochester at 9:15 PM, thus ending our Yankee stadium adventures."

-30-

Good summer reads

Despite being the public voice of Dodgers baseball for more than six decades – entertaining and educating tens of millions along the way - Vin Scully is an incredibly private man.

Which is why, the man behind the mike has turned down request after request after request to collaborate on a book about his remarkable career as the finest sportscaster of all-time.

Curt Smith, the voice of authority on baseball broadcasters, was among those who attempted to convince Scully to tell his story for posterity. The broadcaster respectfully declined, but Smith refused to give up.

Without Scully’s biography there was a huge void in the written history of baseball broadcasting, and Smith was determined to fill it.

So, despite Scully’s polite protestations, Smith put fingers to keyboard and the result is a wonderful tribute, published last month, titled, Pull Up a Chair: The Vin Scully Story.

It is a book worthy of Scully, whom Smith calls “the Roy Hobbs of broadcasting – the best there ever was.’’

And it is appropriate that Smith would do the honors of writing about Scully because my friend and former presidential speechwriter is the Roy Hobbs of baseball broadcasting chroniclers.

“Not having a biography about Scully would have been like writing about popular music without mentioning Sinatra,’’ Smith told me recently. “The library of baseball broadcasting would have been woefully incomplete.’’

The thing I’ve always admired about Scully and other old-time broadcasters, such as Mel Allen, Red Barber, Jack Buck and Ernie Harwell, is that they were storytellers.

Unlike too many current-day broadcasters, such as Yankees play-by-play blowhard John Sterling (“It is high, it is far, it is . . . caught.’’), Scully paints a word picture, puts us in the ballpark. We can smell the hot dogs. We can visualize the pitcher wiping his brow, the hitter gripping his bat more tightly. We can feel the drama, the tension of the moment. We are there.

And as Smith demonstrates throughout this page-turning homage, the thing that separates Scully from all others is his lyrical use of the language. He is a poet who’ll tell us: “It was so hot today the moon got sun-burned.’’ Or he’ll compare a poor fielder to the Ancient Mariner: “He stoppeth one in three.’’

Pull Up a Chair is a wonderful read and a fitting tribute to an 81-year-old broadcaster who hasn’t lost anything off his fastball; who’s still showing listeners why he is the best there ever was.

****

While I’m on the topic of baseball books, I’d like to throw a plug in for The Final Game: A Fan Says Goodbye, written by Jeff Fox.

Last September 21, Fox, a professional photographer and life-long Yankees fan, spent the entire day chronicling the last game at the old Yankee Stadium. What makes Fox’s book distinctive is that he took his pictures from the perspective of a fan. There are shots from under the elevated subway tracks outside the stadium, inside the crowded concourse, from the far reaches of the steep upper deck and in the parking lot following the game.

I was there that day, so the book provides me with a wonderful keepsake of a very emotional moment. Anyone who cares not only about classic ballparks but historical landmarks will enjoy this book.

****

Lastly, I'd like to encourage you to head out to Frontier Field tomorrow morning (weather-permitting) for the 17th annual Challenger Baseball World Series.

You won't be disappointed.

Challenger is a program, in conjunction with Little League Baseball, that brings together boys and girls who are mentally and physically challenged. It's their chance to experience the thrill of wearing a uniform, swinging a bat and journeying around the bases - even if they are in a wheelchair.

I've been involved in the program for all 17 years and I've always come away feeling uplifted.

Kudos to World Series director Tony Wells, Red Wings GM Dan Mason and all the volunteers who make the event so special.

Tony tells me there will be more than 200 players, representing programs in Greece, Fairport, Webster, Batavia and the Fingers Lakes region. Come out and cheer on these kids. There's no admission charge, and the event is open to the public.

Don't know much about history

I see where Manny Ramierez took a page from the Mark McGwire history-is-bunk playbook when asked about his steroids suspension. Man-Ram told the L.A. Times yesterday that the incident was in the past and that he wanted to move on.

You might remember how the juiced-up Big Mac kept saying during the Congressional steroid hearings a few years back that he didn't want to talk about the past. Faster than you could say "It's outta here,'' McGwire went from being The Incredible Hulk to the Incredible Shrinking Man.

"I didn't kill nobody; I didn't rape nobody, so that's it,'' Manny told the Times. "I'm just going to come out and play the game.''

Well, no he didn't kill or rape anybody (wow, what an original defense). But he did cheat himself, his team, the game's integrity and the fans who had turned Dodger Stadium in Mannywood.

Manny pointed out that he apologized to his owner, his manager and his teammates. Interesting, isn't it, how the fans - the people who showered him with adulation and ultimately pay him millions - didn't so much as receive an "I'm sorry'' from the slugger.

Just Manny once again being Manny. In other words, a fraud, like too many of his homer-hitting colleagues of the current era.

****

Speaking of fools, please put me in that category.

Yesterday in this cyberspace, I said I was going to reluctantly watch the BoSox-Yankees instead of the NBA and NHL finals because the hoops and hockey series were "duds.''

Well, I'm the dud because the endings of both the Pens-Wings and Lakers-Magic games last night made for compelling television, while the Boston-New York game proved to be a lopsided affair that was about as exciting as a C-Span fillibuster.

Foolish me.

Blame the Yankees for not upholding their end of the deal, which is becoming common place lately in a rivalry that's lost some of its luster. The Red Sox 7-0 thumping of the punchless Yanks last night at the Fens gives Boston seven straight wins in the series, dating back to last year.

New York manager Joe Girardi may dismiss the streak, but you can rest assured that Hal and Hank Steinbrenner aren't glossing it over. They're doing a slow burn.

****

Getting back to the hockey and basketball . . . that third-period of Game Six between Detroit and Pittsburgh in the Igloo was riveting, especially after the Red Wings had cut the lead to 2-1. Pens goalie Marc-Andre Fleury was sensational, turning away 13 of 14 shots, some from point-blank range, to preserve the win and force a seventh game. There truly is nothing like a tightly contested Stanley Cup hockey game.

And Game Three of the NBA finals looked like it was going to be a case of Orlando playing as well as it could and still not knocking off the Lakers. But the Magic prevailed, and all of a sudden what could have been a 3-0 L.A. advantage is 2-1 with the next two games in Orlando.

If I'm a Lakers fan, I'd be worried because Kobe Bryant is looking rubberly-legged to me, which explains why he was missing shots he normally makes. The fatigue shouldn't be surprising. I believe that "extra season'' he played while helping the United States reclaim the Olympic gold medal last summer is taking its toll.

Pontificating on A-Rod, Manny and my 'new' Big East

I'm not a big fan of the guy, but you have to give Alex Rodriguez his due. Since joining the Yankees after his hip surgery, the Bronx Bombers have gone 18-6. Clearly, no one has benefitted more from his return than Mark Teixeira, who's been looking like Babe Ruth reincarnate in recent weeks.

Of course, all of this will be forgotten if A-Rod proves to be A-Fraud again in October.

****

I envy the fact that my wife, Beth, wasn't born with the "sweet-tooth'' gene that I was. Man, if I could just lay off those cakes, cookies and Abbott's frozen custard I might have a chance.

****

Good friend Jim Quinn had an interesting take on my proposal for a new Big East Conference. Jim suggests adding the University at Buffalo, along with Army and Navy. I like the idea. And I would propose having two divisions, with the Big East championship football game being played every year at the new Yankee Stadium.

So, here's how I would align the new Big East:

Ol' Ben Division (named after legendary Syracuse coach Ben Schwatzwalder)

Syracuse
Notre Dame
Boston College
UB
Army
Rutgers

Joe Pa Division (named after legendary Penn State coach Joe Paterno)

Penn State
Pitt
West Virginia
Maryland
Navy
Louisville

We would make sure that certain interdivisional rivalry games were maintained every year: Army-Navy, SU-Penn State, ND-Pitt.

Yeah, I know I'm dreaming, but you have to admit it makes more sense than the current setup in the Too-Big East and Big Eleven, oops, Big Ten.

****

Here's another reason Major League Baseball makes me want to rip my hair out. According to the collective bargaining agreement "a player shall be deemed to have been eligible to play in the All-Star Game if he was elected or selected to play; the commissioner's office shall not exclude a player from eligibility for election or selection because he is suspended under the program."

So, you know where I'm going with this. Despite being suspended 50 games for being caught using steroids, Manny Ramirez is eligible to play in the All-Star Game next month if the fans vote him in.

How Bud Selig and the owners could have allowed this clause to be included in the CBA is assinine.

Sadly, the fans also are to blame. Instead of doing the morally correct thing, they've voted Manny the Scam Artist into fifth place among National League outfielders. He's just 106,000 votes from qualifying for one of the three starting spots.

The disheartening message here is that at least 635,000 fans who voted for Man-Ram don't care if athletes cheat or not.

If Manny truly cared about the game, he would request that his name be removed from the ballots and he would ask the fans to vote for other, more deserving players.

Classy Killebrew still knows how to go deep

Although everything wound up working out marvelously for Harmon Killebrew, the Baseball Hall of Famer occasionally wonders what might have happened had he accepted that football scholarship to the University of Oregon or signed with the Boston Red Sox rather than the Washington Senators after graduating from Payette (Idaho) High School back in the spring of 1954.
Though known even back then for his long-ball hitting prowess, young Harmon knew a thing or two about going deep on the football field, too. Like current Minnesota Twins slugger Joe Mauer, Killebrew was a high school All-America quarterback. So the lure of the Ducks football scholarship wasn’t easy to turn down.
“Four years later, they went to the Rose Bowl, and I always wondered if I’d been their quarterback if they’d have still gone to the Rose Bowl,’’ Killebrew was saying the other night before signing autographs at Frontier Field.
“It’s like Yogi Berra says, ‘If you come to a fork in the road, take it.’ I took this road, but wondered what would have happened if I had gone the other way. I guess everybody goes through life like that.’’
Not that he has any complaints choosing the direction he did. After all, he wound up smashing 573 home runs without the aid of performance-enhancing drugs during his 22-years in the big leagues.
The Senators (the forerunners to the Twins) signed him on the recommendation of Idaho Senator Herman Welker. Like many Washington politicians, Welker was a huge baseball fan who attended many games in D.C. One time, in the early 1950s, Welker ran into Senators owner Clark Griffith and casually mentioned this powerful Idaho high schooler by the name of Harmon Killebrew. Griffith had his farm director Ossie Bluege check out the kid, and he wound up signing him for $50,000.
Bluege got Killebrew’s signature on the dotted line just in the nick of time because a scout from the Red Sox had caught wind of Killebrew and Boston was ready to offer him a lucractive contract, too.
“I always loved hitting in Fenway Park,’’ Killebrew said. “Imagine if I had played for the Red Sox.’’
They would have had to resurface the Green Monster from all the dents he would have pounded into it.
As it turned out, Killebrew did just fine for himself with all his Bunyonesque Blasts in Minnesota.
At age 73, he continues to be a wonderful baseball ambassador. He and his wife, Nita, run the Harmon Killebrew Foundation. One of their main projects is building “Miracle Fields’’ for handicap baseball youth leagues throughout the country.
Killebrew still follows the game closely, and, like many of us, is saddened by the steroid scandal that has dogged baseball during this decade. He’s concerned not only about how it’s destroyed the integrity of the game’s records, but also worries about the future health of the players who used the performance enhancers and the message it sends to young athletes.
“I just hope that Manny Ramierez being suspended recently for 50 games (because of a failed drug test) sends a message to the other players that if you are using that stuff, you better stop because more than likely you are going to get caught,’’ he said.
Killebrew said the Twins organization has attempted to do things the right way when it comes to educating its players about the dangers and immorality of using performance-enhancers. He believes that the players on their roster are clean.
Not surprisingly, Killebrew is a big fan of Minnesota’s big boppers – first baseman Justin Morneau and catcher Joe Mauer.
Rochester Red Wings’ fans aren’t surprised by Morneau’s development. Or his power. Heck, anyone who saw the big-left-handed hitter park one almost to the railroad tracks beyond the right field wall at Frontier Field – a 500-foot blast – realized he was going to go deep often in the bigs.
But Mauer’s power surge this month has taken many by surprise. Including Killebrew.
“Joe liked to hit the ball all over the ballpark and not pull the ball so much, so I didn’t necessarily think he could hit a lot of home runs that way in the Metrodome,’’ Killebrew said. “But he’s been pulling it a little more this year. And if he continues to do that, with the power he does generate, he could hit a lot of home runs.’’
So far, Mauer – a two-time American League batting champion – has done so without compromising his high average.
“I think he’s capable of hitting 40 or more,’’ Killebrew said. “But will he decide to go in that direction if his average starts to suffer? It’s difficult to keep a high average if you pull the ball a lot. I know.’’
Killebrew admittedly cared more about going for the seats than for a batting title, as evidenced by his .256 batting average, among the lowest of any Hall of Fame member.
But that was OK with his fans who loved seeing him dial long distance.
There’s no question, he took the right fork in the road way back when.

A homecoming for former Red Wing Cal Ripken Jr.

Hey folks, tomorrow night the Rochester Press-Radio Club hosts its 60th Day of Champions children's charity banquet. Our headliner this year is Cal Ripken Jr. Here's the piece I wrote about the Baseball Hall of Famer and former Rochester Red Wing for our dinner program:

Cal Ripken Jr. was one of the rare ones who got it.

As far back as three decades ago, when he was still a Baltimore Orioles legend-in-the-making while honing his craft at old Silver Stadium, he realized his job went beyond hitting line drives and vacuuming up grounders. The former Rochester Red Wings star understood he had a responsibility – an obligation, really – to interact with fans, to be an ambassador as well as a shortstop.

Unlike so many big-name athletes, Cal never acted as if he were entitled. He always displayed gratitude for being given an opportunity to make a wonderful living playing a little boy’s game.

And that, as much as his famous ‘Iron Man’ streak of 2,632 consecutive games, his 3,000-plus hits and his 19 All-Star Game appearances, has always resonated with me and millions of others who long ago grew weary of the avaricious louts who often dominate the sports pages and the airwaves. It is why I’ve always admired Cal and often sang his praises during my time as a sports columnist.

More than 35 years in the business taught me that most prominent celebrities don’t get it. Though many of them hail from humble backgrounds, they often forget their roots when they hit the big time. They act as if this is somehow their birthright, to be rich and famous. They treat fans and media with disdain. They delude themselves into believing that what they do is somehow the equivalent of discovering the cure for cancer or a solution for world peace. They believe their profession owes them everything and they owe little or nothing in return.

Cal, though, isn’t that way. He’s been able to keep things in perspective. Despite his extraordinary popularity, he’s remained grounded. He has always given back to the game that has given him so much. His desire to interact with fans – especially young ones – is sincere and genuine.

“I guess I just realized that the game is more special because there were people in the stands watching,’’ says the man who won International League Rookie-of-the-Year honors in 1981 after batting .288 with 23 homers, 31 doubles and 75 runs batted in while playing in 114 consecutive games for the Wings.

Whether it was by signing autographs or posing for pictures, Cal always sought to bridge the gap between the stands and the diamond.

His victory lap around Camden Yards after breaking Lou Gehrig’s consecutive games-played streak of 2,130 on Sept. 6, 1995 remains one of baseball’s shining moments. And it couldn’t have come at a better time because the game was still reeling from the cancellation of the World Series the previous year. Many fans, disgusted by the greedy players and owners, had sworn they would never go to another game.

But Ripken won many of them back. His admirable work ethic and sense of gratitude was a reminder of what was right about baseball.

His return tonight will be a homecoming of sorts for the Red Wings most famous alumnus. This was where he spent the summer of ’69 while his father managed the Wings, and this also was his summer home 12 years later when he played shortstop and third base for our Triple-A club before heading off to the Orioles and embarking on a journey that would land him in Cooperstown.

“I’ll always have fond memories of my time in Rochester,’’ says Ripken, the recipient of this year’s Coca-Cola Sports Personality of the Year Award. “The people there were always kind to me, and they’ve continued to be wonderful every time I return.’’

Ripken has been back on numerous occasions since 1981.

While with the Orioles, he played several exhibition games at old Silver Stadium and the new Frontier Field. At the 1997 exhibition against the Wings, Ripken received a 25-second standing ovation from an overflow crowd of 13,723 – still the most ever to attend a baseball game at Frontier.

On Aug. 29, 2003, he returned again for his induction into the Red Wings Hall of Fame, and a youth baseball clinic he and his brother, Billy, conducted the following day at the ballpark.

And he was back again the following April to conduct another clinic for 40 kids from the Boys and Girls Club of Rochester. During that visit, he donated $100,000 for baseball equipment to the City of Rochester.

“I have not met another person who has such immense demands on their time who has shown so much willingness to give back to the fans,’’ says Wings general manager Dan Mason.

Mason saw that quiet class first-hand during Ripken’s induction into the Wings Hall of Fame.

“He said he’d come back, but he wanted to make sure he did a clinic for kids,’’ Mason says. “That was his stipulation, not mine.’’

Ripken’s kindness, especially toward kids, is as legendary as his streak.

No one knows that better than Carol and Mark Marchase of Honeoye Falls.

Eleven years ago, Ripken went deep into their hearts as gracefully as he once went deep into the hole. The 15 minutes he spent with their dying son, Kyle, before the Orioles-Wings exhibition in 1997 were among the best 15 minutes of the boy’s life.

Thanks to Ripken and the generosity of a friend and Mason, Kyle was able to fulfill a lifelong dream before dying of non-Hodgkins lymphoma at age 16 that November.

Kyle’s best friend, Rob Knebel, was well aware of how much his buddy worshipped Cal, and he figured a meeting with the Orioles great would boost Kyle’s spirits during arduous cancer treatments.

Rob’s mom contacted Mason and the Wings GM arranged for the Marchases to meet Ripken before the game.

“We thought it would just be a short meeting, and that was fine with us because we knew Cal was going to be busy that night and was going to be pulled in a lot of directions,’’ Carol recalls. “We were just honored to get the opportunity to meet him.’’

The Baseball Hall of Famer gave Kyle an autographed book, signed a jersey for him, posed for pictures, then spent 15 minutes talking baseball with the teenager.

When the Marchases read that the Orioles were going to play an exhibition in Rochester two years after Kyle died, they contacted Mason to see if they could meet with Ripken briefly in private. Before the game, Mason brought them down to the clubhouse, and they presented a plaque that included their thanks and the drawing of an angel.

“We included it on there because we wanted Cal to know that he was one of the angels in my son’s life,’’ Carol says.

Ripken was truly touched. His act of kindness was just one of many that endeared him to a place that has become his second baseball home. It was just another example of how he got it.

MANNY BEING FRAUDULENT

Ken Burns reportedly is hard at work on a two-hour documentary about what’s transpired in baseball since his critically acclaimed PBS series about our national pastime aired 15 years ago.

My advice to Mr. Burns: Don’t bother.

Those of us who truly love the game and its history would rather not relive the darkness of a regrettable era (make that error) in which some of baseball’s greatest stars became better known for wielding syringes than Louisville Sluggers.

Sadly, another big-name tumbled from his pedestal Thursday, when Manny Ramirez was suspended 50 games for testing positive for a banned substance.

Even sadder is the fall-from-grace lineup he joins, which includes big boppers Barry Bonds, Alex Rodriguez, Mark McGwire, Sammy Sosa, Rafael Palmeiro, Jose Canseco and Jason Giambi, as well as flame(and bat)thrower Roger Clemens.

Now, there’s a roster where chemistry is not an issue. Never mind a clubhouse for these guys. A laboratory would be more fitting. Forget about a manager. A mad scientist will do.

I started writing about the dangers of steroids at the high school and middle school levels back in 1991. The statistics of usage I came across were scary.

Still, I never imagined that performance-enhancing drugs would become as pervasive in sports as they have.

And though the lion’s share of the focus has been on baseball, only a fool would believe that performance enhancers aren’t also being used extensively in football, basketball, hockey and beyond.

Heck, if you think it’s rampant in baseball, check out track and field – which clearly was ahead of its time when it came to speed and strength and jumping ability from a test tube.

It’s interesting to note that tonight – a day after Manny will be banished for a third of the season – A-Fraud is scheduled to return to the Yankees lineup amid reports that his own roid usage wasn’t restricted to the three years he claims.

And rest assured that Manny won't be the last hero whose reputation is shattered by this scandal. The formidable fall-from-grace lineup will be “enhanced’’ before we’re through. We’re at a point now where we no longer know what’s real and what’s fake.

Of course, baseball has no one to blame but itself. Commissioner Bud Lite Selig and his partner in crime, players’ association head Donald Fehr, both turned into ostriches back in the mid-1990s, allowing the roid era and too many baseballs to take flight.

I want to vomit when I hear people championing Selig for the Baseball Hall of Fame.
I propose, instead, that Bud Lite be a charter member of Baseball’s Hall of Shame.

Find a dilapidated barn on the outskirts of Cooperstown. There, you can hang plaques for Bud and Fehr and Bonds and all the other miscreants and frauds who made their pacts with the devil.

Again, my advice to Mr. Burns is: Don’t bother with a 10th inning. I’ll watch the previous nine segments instead.

NO AMOUNT OF MONEY CAN REPLACE THE OLD YANKEE STADIUM

I vowed not to go. I really did. I told myself and others that, in homage to the real Yankee Stadium, I was going to boycott The House that George and the New York State Taxpayers Built.

Forever.

But, in a moment of temporary insanity, I broke down. I rationalized that I had closed the old place last September 21, so it was only right that I open the new one.

So, with my wonderful wife’s reluctant blessing (hey, what can I tell you; she’s a softie, and it was near my birthday, and she didn’t want to see a grown man cry), I went on eBay and spent an exorbitant amount of money to attend the opening of the $1.5 billion imposter stadium across the street from the most historic ballpark in the world.

(Although I’m a journalist by trade and believe in full disclosure, I value my marriage even more than my reportorial integrity. So out of respect to Beth, I cannot divulge the purchase price to her or you. Let’s just say it was one of the cheaper tickets available and it still cost me nearly nine times face value to witness this once-in-a-lifetime event.)

As I emerged from the brand, new underground parking garage across the street from the Steinbrenner family’s opulent, new playpen, the old Yankee Stadium was in full view, and I couldn’t help but feel conflicted – like I was betraying an old friend.

This, after all, was the magnificent, old ballpark my dad had taken me to for my first major-league game back in the summer of 1966, and the place where I had taken my daughter and son to their first game 32 years later.

This also was the place where the Babe, Joe D, Mickey and Jeter had helped the Bronx Bombers become World Champions 26 times; where the greatest game in NFL history was played; where Rockne implored Notre Dame to win one for the Gipper; where three Popes had celebrated Mass; where the greatest boxers of all-time had thrilled the masses; where U2 and Billy Joel had rocked the South Bronx.

For a brief moment, I considered scalping my ticket and heading back to my car, but I decided to give the new kid on the block a chance.

I must admit I was overwhelmed at first by the glistening edifice. It truly is spectacular.

The architect designed the exterior to look like the old Yankee Stadium before the renovations in the mid-1970s. The instant I twisted through the turnstiles I was amazed by the spaciousness of concourses. Unlike the old joint, there was room for droves to roam freely about. The restrooms were spacious, too, and, more importantly, clean and odor free.

The 12 story-tall “Great Hall" on the first-base side featured cathedral arches and enormous banners of the greatest players in team history. And as I made my way closer to the field I noticed scores of incredible black-and-white photos from every era of Yankees history.

I was very impressed.

The most striking feature was the façade, which had graced the roof of the old stadium before foolishly being taken down during the aforementioned renovations.

From my perch in the second deck in right field, I had a majestic, panoramic view of it wrapping elegantly around the ballpark. It looked somewhat like an ornately decorated, multi-tiered wedding cake. And when I allowed my mind to wander, I envisioned the pre-renovated stadium I had witnessed as a wide-eyed 11-year-old.

The gargantuan, high-def Jumbotron in center field was so clear I could see the stubble on Derek Jeter’s chin. And the sound system perfectly captured every guitar note of Bernie Williams’ jazzy, pre-game rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,’’ which the former Yankee centerfielder performed, appropriately, while standing before a microphone in center field.

Yet, for all its modern amenities, something was missing. (And I’m not just referring to the spectators’ view of Yankees rightfielder Nick Swisher, who wasn’t visible to me or the other customers seated just 13 rows from the second-deck railing – yes, folks, $1.5 billion apparently doesn’t preclude obstructed-view seats.)

The energy of the old place was missing. The fans seemed lethargic, they sat on their hands. Perhaps, all the price-gouging the Yankees had inflicted on its loyal customers had taken its toll; had sapped not only their wallets, but their supply of adrenaline.

After a few innings, I left my seat and began wandering around the stadium. I visited the museum – which features the locker of one my all-time favorite Yankees, the late Thurman Munson, but not much else. I walked past the Jim Beam and Mohegan Sun suites, where only the deep pockets were allowed entry.

In the sixth inning, I decided to hit the road. (When you pay what I did for a ticket, you can’t afford a hotel. You make the 12-hour round trip to and from Rochester in one day.)

Pulling out of the garage, I caught a glimpse of the real stadium in my rearview mirror.

And I thought to myself that this change of venues might make obscene dollars and cents, but it makes no sense. At least not to the true fan, who understands that places such as Fenway Park and Wrigley Field and the old Yankee Stadium are not merely buildings – but historical landmarks.

I believe the ghosts of the Babe, Joe D. and Mickey hadn’t crossed the street to take up residence in the new joint. And neither had the ghosts of my father and so many other parents and grandparents and great grandparents.

As I crawled north on the bumper-to-bumper Major Deegan Expressway, I was melancholic. I realized that $1.5 billion can buy an awful lot, but no amount of money can take you home again.