At about 5pm yesterday afternoon I received an email from my manager at work informing us that he had in his posession 4 extra tickets to the Yankee's vs Red Sox game that evening. Tired and jet lagged as I was, I couldn't bear the thought of turning them down. My company has seats that are in the third row of Yankee Stadium, right behind the visiting team's dugout. The seats are so close to the field that you could spit and hit the backs of the opponents' necks. (And I'm sure someone has.) Rachel, a coworker of mine, also jumped on the opportunity, and we were given the responsibility of making sure that the other two tickets did not go to waste. Due to the last minute nature of the ticket offer, compounded with the fact that the American Idol finale was on that night, we couldn't find a single person to attend the event with us.

Strike One

When we arrived at the game we were still trying to figure out what to do with the extra tickets. Unfortunately my parents had ingrained in me those pesky "ethics" while I was growing up and I felt wrong about selling the extra tickets and making a profit. We instead decided that we would make some Yankee Fan's night and give the tickets away free of charge. We set off primed and ready to do a good deed. I was actually sort of excited about the proposition. Not only would we be giving someone some of the best tickets at the stadium, I also felt that we would be giving the lucky pair a great story to tell their friends. I know that if such a thing happened to me I would never be able to attend a game again without telling everyone in sight about "the time that those girls gave me these amazing seats," proving to everyone once and for all that there is good in humanity. Unfortunately the job of giving away tickets is much harder than one might think. People are skeptical when you approach them in public, and we were having a difficult time convincing jaded New Yorker's that we weren't pulling some sort of elaborate scam. As we heard the game start, we began to get desperate and decided to give the tickets to the next pair of people that we saw. My eyes searched the crowd and rested upon two tall young men standing in the line for bleacher seats, one incredibly handsome, the other quirky and fun looking. We immediately went over, explained to them what was going on, and they decided to accept. Just like that, they were saved from an evening sitting with the masses in the bleachers, and would instead spend the game sitting in cushy seats with waiter service just yards from the players themselves. As we walked closer and closer to the field, their eyes widended in amazement that we were actually telling the truth about how good the seats were. We sat down and chatted amiciably for a moment or two. I think that their names were Jason and Mike, but I honestly don't remember. They didn't speak to us all that much during the game. They thanked us a couple of times and were nice enough... they just weren't excessively verbose. We did find out that they were wealthy kids from Long Island, went to school at Columbia on volleyball scholarships, and worked in Manhattan, and that was about it as far as conversation goes. They DID eventually buy us a round of beers, but unfortunately that was the end of their generosity. Everytime we got up to get more drinks there was a whirlwind of ordering, and somehow they finagled us into purchasing the rest of the beers. It was quite a disappointment. My "good deed" fantasy not only included giving away the tickets, but also involved us making friends with our new buddies and having a crazy good time. Instead we sat next to them awkwardly, occasionally trading polite small talk.

Other than the slight awkwardness and mild disappointment, the evening was resplendent with all the traits typical of any normal Yankee's game. There was the obligitory rowdy and obnoxious fan that incessantly heckles the opposing team. Sitting behind us was the typical group of older gentlemen who flirt with you shamelessley but get away with it because they are over the age of 50. Finally there was the lone rogue fan who runs onto the field after the game and slides into home plate only to be arrested and led (smiling at his accomplishment) into the dugout to be escorted out off the premisis. It was a great game, a beautiful night, and a victory for the home team. As we walked out of the stadium singing along to "New York, New York," Rachal and I pondered how the two boys were going to say goodbye to us. In my head I had pictured us heading over to Stan's accross from the stadium, cementing our friendship over a few pints..telling everyone around us how we had been brought together by our good deed. I realized quickly that that was not to be. Based on their behavior at the game, I assumed there would be the obligitory "here's my card, give me a call sometime" conversation, followed by many thank you's and possibly a polite handshake. As I turned around to initiate this pointless and usually inevitable ritual, I realized that the boys were gone...Vanished into thin air without a trace. Gone without so much as a goodbye (or a thank you for that matter). Disappointed and shocked, we headed into Billy's for a quick beer to wait till the crowds in the subway dispersed to some degree.

Strike Two

Billy's was interesting to say the least. As Rachel braved the long line to the ladies room, I surveyed the bar and realized that the crowd consisted almost entirely of men and women clad in Yankee's garb of all kinds. Shirts, hats, pants, face paint, earrings, scarves. You name it, they were wearing it. I witnessed a young blond (with dark roots) point excitedly to the bar and exclaim, "Oh my GOD!! That guy in the Jeter shirt is soooooo hot." "Which one?" Her friend questioned. I turned around and saw that there were in fact 3 guys in Jeter shirts standing all in a row. It was truly astonishing. Rachel returned shortly thereafter and we decided to finish the beer and then head out. As we chugged our bottles of Bud Light we were approached by a short bearded man who began to tell us a sob story. He informed us that he was from Nevada and had somehow gotten stuck in NYC on a layover and was not leaving till 6am the next morning. He claimed that the airlines had given him Yankee's tickets and that he was at the game "making friends" and waiting out the night. He laid it on really thick, talking about his life in Nevada, his job as a bellhop at a hotel in lake Tahoe, and how he was so impressed by the kindness of New Yorkers, especially us. He was annoying but seemed harmless, however all I could think about was how I was going to get away from him without seeming too insensitive. Just as he was explaining about how sad and confused he was about being stuck in New York, someone came up behind him, tapped him on the shoulder, and told him he was leaving. Confused, I inquired about who this friendly gentleman was exactly, seeing that he was alone in the big scary city and all. Turns out he had been lying the entire time and had fabricated pretty much everything that he had told us. We called him a liar and after several minutes of ignoring him, he finally left. What was this guy thinking? If you really feel it necessary to pose as a lost out-of-towner in an effort to gain sympathy from the ladies, at least make sure your friends are in on the act as to not blow your cover. Dumb, Dumb, Dumb.

Strike Three...We're out.

Starving for contact with someone from the male species that was actually normal, I scanned the room and noticed a cute alterna-guy standing amidst a group of boys. He looked a bit out of place due the fact that he wasn't wearing an article of clothing emblazoned with the word "Yankees", which is probably why I noticed him in the first place. We immediately began the thrilling ritual of "making eye contact." This went on for so long that I began to feel absolutely ridiculous. Finally he walked over to the bar where I was standing, but rather than saying hello, he instead ordered a beer, all the while STILL trying to make eye contact with me, but not speaking. It was bizarre. At that, I had had it. We left. End of night.

All in all, it wasn't the most horrible of evenings. Sure, sure, the guys that surrounded us that night were quite a disappointment, but the game was fun, and the experience made for good copy. The likelihood that any of the men that we encountered that evening will read this is slim to none, but on the off chance that they do I hope this helps at least to teach them all a lesson. They certainly all need to be taught one, that is for certain.