5.4.08

Pin Heads

My sister said it in her coy manner that told me, "you’re not going to like this", and then she waited for my reaction. She was dead on in her appraisal of how I would receive the envelope on the dining table. At first I thought it a cruel joke by the postman who may have been offended by our majestic snow people that welcomed the beginning of spring training.





But that was not the case. The envelope was clearly addressed to me down to the useless extra four digits of the zip code. Now, it is hard for me to imagine, back in the day when this world made sense through the slow erosion of our souls through a pointless clash between two systems, the Soviet Union sending tourist brochures to good, red-blooded Americans telling them how they could spend their summer lounging by the Volga and if interested join their system; not openly through the US mail at least. Could you see Emperor Zhou sending Wu such missives in the last throws of the Shang dynasty? Me neither. But there it was on the table, neatly addressed with the arrogance so typical of its sender as if I had actually asked for it.

The sleek, overly self-indulgent 61 page booklet inside was simply titled, "The Final Season". I thought I felt a lump in my throat, but it was just part of the sandwich I had for lunch in the prelude to vomiting. The main photo below the title was of Yankee Stadium today and above the title a small image of how it looked back before the renovations of the '70's ruined what little charm it had. At the top, "2008 Ticket Information & Fan Guide". At least I'm pretty sure that's how it was laid out since I'm working from memory and not willing to dig to the bottom of the cat litter to verify any of this.

The platitudes contained in the letter from COO Lon Trost were standard clichés though I did have to re-read the sentence, "we have made certain that the new Yankee Stadium will feature the finest and most state-of-the art amenities- but not at tradition's cost." The first go through I thought it said, "at traditional cost", and I was stunned they would be that honest. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw I had it wrong. And while I'm on that sentence, "most state-of-the-art"? As compared to sort of state-of-the-art? The Yankees' marketing materials have gone down steadily since Costanza left.

Before lining the cat's toilet, I flipped through this unsolicited piece of propaganda. After the ticket "license" plan options ("you got a license for that seat, buddy? No? Let's go, I'm taking you in.) I came upon the W. B. Mason ad. Like the recently apprehended international arms dealer Viktor Bout who was known for selling weapons to both sides in a conflict, Mason proclaims its endless devotion to the great tradition of the Yankees, while simultaneously flogging office supplies to the members of Red Sox Nation to which it is so "committed". These shameless confidence corporations, Dunkin's no better, think they can spread eagle for the Yankees while laying down with the Sox at the same time and that irrational fans like myself aren't going to notice? The boycott begins! I know, easy for me to say since I don't drink coffee or eat doughnuts (note the spelling Dunkin) and I have a Staples around the corner, but in these sorts of struggles everyone has to make different levels of sacrifice and I'm sure you'll do your part.

As I ripped the pages to fill the bottom of the box, I was wondering how they got me? What made them think I was open to such offensive literature? And there it was. New for 2008, the Yankees have teamed up with Stubhub. Last year when we went on that section retreat and I bought the Yankees-Blue Jays tickets and miscounted how many people were going and only got 10 tickets instead of 11? That's right. Stubhub! And now my personnel details are there for that grubby Hank, like a bi-pedal Baron Harkonnen, to peruse at his leisure.

So as we move into this new season with the Red Sox about to receive their second set of rings in four years and the Yankees at 26 and counting, "27? 27? Bueller?..." I'll probably go to the Stadium for a section retreat or a Sox-Yanks match up, and when I do I look forward to verbally doing to the Yankees what the cat has been doing to their publication.