Yesterday, Martha happened to mention that she’s never been to a baseball game at either New York stadium.
So I did a little research.
Turns out the Yankees are home the day we get back. That’s Thursday. Gametime is 7:05pm. Gates open at 5:05pm. Gotta be online outside the gates by 4:45pm. Gotta be on line at the ticket window by 4:30pm. Gotta be in the subway by 3:45pm…but Martha doesn’t like to run…better make that 3:30pm…but Martha REALLY doesn’t like to run…make it 3:15pm.
Our flight will land at around 2:00pm. We’ll get off the plane around 2:10pm. We’ll get our luggage around 2:20pm. We’ll get a taxi around 2:25pm. We’ll get back to Manhattan around 3:15pm.
I’ll get upstairs at 3:16pm. I’ll finish peeing at 3:17pm. I’ll gather my stuff for the game by 3:20pm. I’ll call Martha (she’s from Memphis and will be staying seven blocks away at my parents’ place) and tell her to meet me at the subway at 3:25pm. I’ll also tell her she might need to run a little bit. Or maybe jog. Or at least speed-walk.
Forget about being late. There are three other issues:
1. It might rain. (It always “might rain,” and if it rains, I’m not going. Yankee Stadium without batting practice is worthless.)
2. Martha has already asked me to catch her a ball. I thought she was joking. She wasn’t. I told her that I own every ball I’ve ever caught and that my collection would be incomplete if I gave one away. “ONE ball for your SISTER?” she asked. Some people just don’t get it. Actually, a lot of people don’t get it. It’s a shame when those people share my last name. I told her that I’d help her catch her own ball. She doubted she’d be able to. “Do I need a glove?” she asked. No. Just shaddap and do what I tell you. She still wasn’t sure. I told her that every person I’ve ever brought to a game got a ball if he or she wanted one and put in the effort. I didn’t tell her that she might need to run.
3. Jet lag. By the time the game starts, it’s going to feel like 2:05am for me. Normally, that’s dinner time, but I’ve been going to bed even earlier than that on this trip. By the time the game ends (if it’s of average length), it’ll feel like 4:53am. By the time I get home, it’ll feel like 5:51am. Poor Martha goes to bed even earlier than me. She’ll die. But damn, if a Yankees game is not exciting enough to force us to stay awake, then there’s really no hope.
I’m hoping the game will help me beat my jet lag all in one shot because the following night (Friday the 27th), I’m scheduled to work my usual shift from 9pm to 3am. If I don’t find a way to readjust my sleep pattern, it’ll feel like I’m working until 10am.
That’s not ideal.
Wish me luck.
(THE NON-BASEBALL TRAVEL UPDATE, DAY 10: It was Shabbas. The whole city shut down. That made it harder to overeat…except for that $33 buffet lunch at the hotel at which I felt it was my duty to get my parents’ money’s worth, and then some. Oy.)