By Josh Wilker
Driving Past
I.
A few months ago I saw Yankee Stadium for the last time. I was driving on the Major Deegan, headed north after a short trip back to the city where I’d lived throughout my twenties. My first impulse was to give Yankee Stadium the finger.
But then I remembered what happened the last time I gave Yankee Stadium the finger, years ago. My brother and I and another friend, call him Butch, were heading upstate for a court date. On another earlier trip of ours upstate Butch had gotten arrested for being the point man in our self-consciously absurd drunken heist scheme to steal a poster from a movie theater lobby. The poster featured an ape wearing glasses and playing chess. We were all pushing thirty by then. We had not figured anything out. Butch was apprehended by blond and tan teenagers in national movie theater chain golf shirts. They held him until the cops arrived, chewing their bubble gum.
Anyway, a few weeks later we headed back upstate on the Major Deegan and passed Yankee Stadium on the way. This was during the era when the Yankees won the World Series every single year. Every single lonely stupid meaningless drunken suffering New York year. My brother and I were Red Sox fans, and Butch was a Mets fan. We all felt conquered. We all felt like there was no place for misfits like us. We all held our middle fingers high.
My friend Javier knows a little something about lines.
“I’ve waited in lots of them for Yankees tickets,” Javier said. “I always wanted to be first in line, but I never was. I did have some pretty good spots though. They were like gold in the days before people could get baseball tickets with a computer.”
But everyone still has to get in line to vote.
“This election is important,” Javier said. “I got up early and will stand here all day if I have to.”
Javier left his apartment on Walton Avenue prepared for a long wait. He stuffed a day-old bagel in one jacket pocket and a banana in the other.
When he spotted his friend Jose waiting in line he pulled out the banana and snuck up from behind.
Javier jabbed the banana in Jose’s back and said:
“Stick ‘em up.”
Jose slowly raised his hands and then quickly spun and grabbed the banana.
“Thanks for breakfast,” Jose said. “But when are you gonna come up with a new line? You used that banana-stick-‘em-up deal on me when I was in line for tickets at Yankee Stadium last year.”
“‘Stick ‘em up’ is always a good line as long as you use a banana,” Javier insisted. “Old lines get to be old lines because they’re good.”
“Sometimes old lines are just old,” Jose fired back. “It’s time for a change.”
“Isn’t that why we’re in line?” Javier asked.
Jose smiled.
“Oh yeah.”
If you want to ruin a party, just bring up religion or politics. This isn’t a political blog, but I had to at least acknowledge the day.
Vote for your White House All-Star Team today … then read this: