How I Met A New York Yankee

Social media was involved, naturally.

Editor’s Note: This took place about a year and a half ago. I wrote the following down in a good old-fashioned notebook when this happened, but never published it. I just found the notebook and thought I’d share.

When I first woke up on Saturday, April 28, 2012, it felt like waking up on any other Saturday. I went through my daily routine, which consists of checking Twitter in the morning.

A private message sat in my Twitter inbox:

Hey, my boyfriend is playing a baseball game at 4 today (not the Mets). Have an extra ticket. Want to go?

I wrote back right away.

If you still have that ticket, absolutely. What do you mean not the Mets, btw — Yankees?

She responded.

Yes, Yankees. Will meet you at Will Call. See you there!

At this point, I was in a bit of shock at these developments. Apparently one of my Twitter friends, who knows I’m a big Yankees fan based on my tweets, has a boyfriend who is playing against the Yankees tonight. And she knew that by “not the Mets,” she’d get my attention.

Interestingly, this is someone I had actually never met in person before. This is the beauty of social media though. After you follow someone for a while, and get to know them, you feel comfortable enough to say “absolutely” as I did.

We had followed each other on Twitter for a few years. We had some mutual friends. Quite something that she was dating a Detroit Tiger though, wasn’t it? I had no idea about that.

I struggle over wearing Yankees gear or not, but ultimately decide I AM a New Yorker, and that’s my team. Even if the person who got me tickets had a boyfriend on the opposition. So I wore all blue Yankees gear and my “NY” cap.

So I get to Yankee Stadium around 3:30 p.m. I go to Will Call as she instructed. I see “VIP / Players’ Families” and decide to hang out in that area. I get a text around 3:40 that she’s running late due to traffic, but will meet me there. I get another text closer to 4 that she’s so sorry for being late, but she’ll drive around the corner and pick me up so we can park inside the stadium and go right in.

Wait — WHAT?

I make a split-second decision to trust her though — keep in mind, this is a person I’ve never met in person, but one I’ve been connected to for years on social media and one I had mutual friends with.

Sure enough, a large black vehicle pulls around the corner, honks, she waves, and I jump inside. Also inside are her two friends, including a cousin of the player she’s dating.

We go through some traffic then proceed past a “Road Closed” sign, onto a closed road. NYPD waves us along, we’re given the OK.

We pull up to the stadium and a garage opens up. We go inside.

She pulls up to the “55" parking space. It’s in a circle with pinstripes. This is the first time I actually realize — OK, wow, her boyfriend *plays for* the Yankees.

I Google “Yankees roster,” somewhat ashamed I didn’t know who 55 was, and scroll down to 55. “Russell Martin, catcher.” Sure enough, she had been referring to her boyfriend as Russ, and only Russ, to this point. Cool.

We walk inside, go up an elevator, and proceed to the “Family Room” (where players’ families can stay during the game, including little kids) and we sort out getting our tickets there — in Russell’s name. This whole experience is incredibly surreal. I did have to pinch myself. Most definitely.

A Japanese woman escorts us along a LONG path inside the stadium, outside the bullpen, players’ benches and umpires rooms. She tells us she’s been with the Yankees for 6 years. She started while Hideki Matsui was here, and tons of Japanese media and tourists would visit. She likes the new stadium, it’s very “new” but sometimes misses the old one. Now she escorts players’ families and VIP guests. All the while, she and other Yankee staff treat us like royalty, leading us through elevators, hallways, and to our seats in Section 214.

As we arrive at our seats, amazing seats along the 1st base / Yankees dugout side, the 2nd inning is underway and we trail 6-1.

My friend and I are alone and the other two who came with us are a section over. We’re sitting with other members of the Yankees players’ families (again, surreal), VIP seating. My friend and I talk baseball, sports in general, journalism, and much more as we watch the game. We each get a pepperoni pizza slice and water.

She tells me about how much of the game is so MENTAL and it’s amazing what these players go through in terms of stress, pressure, media and so on.

All the while, the game is going on. At one point, the Yankees are down 7-2. Bottom of the 9th, they have a valiant effort that falls just short, 7-5 (tying run at the plate). Sadly, Russ is subbed out for a pinch hitter who doesn’t get on base at the end.

When the game ends, I have no idea what’s next. Is it time for me to go? Say thanks and head out? What’s happening now? Of course I’m curious what her plan is.

She must have sensed my indecisiveness because she asks if I want to come down with her outside the Yankees clubhouse to wait for Russell to come out and go home.

One of the easiest questions I’ve ever answered, of course.

He emerges after about 15 minutes of waiting. He’s not very happy, predictably, given the loss, but manages somewhat of a smile as he greets me, shakes my hand, and says, “Nice to meet you.”

“You too, Russell,” I say. “Good game — you guys almost came back at the end there.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” he said. “Just gave up a bit too much at the beginning. Not the start we wanted.”

Russell is in casual jeans and a red shirt, and I accompany him, his cousin, her friend and my friend all the way back to his car in the players’ garage.

I think for a few seconds to ask for a picture with him but he’s in no mood for that. When I reach his car, no one’s given me a cue to take off, so I awkwardly climb in, then say, “I don’t have to go with you guys. Not sure where you’re going.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine,” my friend insists. “We’ll drop you off at a subway station.” Glad she said that. What a car ride back to Manhattan.

Russell is driving. He pulls up the garage, it opens, and we depart the stadium to hundreds of fans trying to get a glimpse at him — a New York Yankees player — snapping photographs, cell pictures and video. Russell is focused on the road ahead and seems unfazed by the attention, as NYPD waves him on.

After a while, my friend and I start talking a bit about journalism.

“You know who’s really good? Katz on Twitter,” she says. Andrew Katz, a friend of mine, I immediately agree. We talk about how he’s still looking for a job but how much he deserves a great gig.

I comment on how he probably wants to go somewhere big, but he might want to consider starting at a smaller place instead.

“Like the minor leagues — yeah, definitely,” Russell says.

I’m fascinated that he was listening at this point, or the fact his mind wasn’t wandering elsewhere.

“Sorry for the baseball analogy,” he says.

“No, definitely,” I say. “Exactly like the minors.”

I get dropped off at Central Park.

“Thanks so much! Thanks for inviting me. Had fun.” I say to my friend.

Then I look toward Russ. He has his hand extended. We shake hands again.

“Great meeting you,” he said.

“You too,” I say. “Good luck the rest of this season.”

“Thanks,” he responds. “I’ll need it.”

And with that, I leave. Awesome experience.