I didn't want to leave.
I sat on the top row of Yankee Stadium last week as Frank Sinatra belted out "New York, New York" and I didn't want to leave. I sat there with my two sons, one on each side, and we looked out over the House that Ruth Built, the field that Mickey dominated, the most famous piece of real estate in sports history, and in my mind I could see black and white images of The Babe, Lou Gherig, Joe DiMaggio and Yogi Berra.
This history is suffocating. We took pictures, but there was something magnetic about those seats. I knew that when we left we would never be back.
The greatest football game ever played was there. Joe Louis, Sugar Ray Robinson and Muhammed Ali all fought there. Three Popes have been there. And the memories that have etched the history of baseball were etched there.
I just wanted to sit and hope they forgot about us so we could sneak down on the field and run the bases. But I left. And I'll never be back. And they'll tear down the old lady. And a huge piece of sports history will be gone forever. But at least I got one memory before she died.