Sittin' in the sun at Yankee Stadium...pay no attention to the fact that my grandson is wearing a Cleveland Indians hat...he has not yet seen the light.

There was definitely a tinge of sadness last night as the New York Yankees closed out their "cathedral to baseball" as Joe Morgan called it. It is, however, just a venue for sports, but it was one of the last four "original" stadiums (stadia?) in this country. Now, only Fenway Park, Wrigley Field and Lambeau Field remain as icons of history.

I realize the Yankees haters are legion, and if you are one of them, I can accept that. I'm sure you have your favorites as well. My love affair with the Yankees began as far back as I can remember. In Kansas where I grew up, there were no professional sports of any kind...in fact, the Kansas City A's (yes, the A's) were still in Philadelphia when I was born, and there was NO pro basketball (still isn't) or football (the Chiefs are in Missouri, for God's sake), and hockey? Not so much. When we finally got television at our house (I was 8 or so), ABC's Wide World of Sports was about it. CBS eventually bought the Yankees, and we got their games every Saturday...and ONLY THEIR games. Naturally, I became familiar with all the players and came to feel I was part of what would eventually be called the Yankee Universe. Every Sunday when our family would go to Grandma's out in Piqua, Kansas, my brother and I would play baseball with our two uncles, Al and John. John and I were always the Yankees, and Al and Fred were always the Dodgers. It was World Series week every week, and that remains one of my most fond memories of childhood. I remember nothing about the wins and losses, but I never lost an undeniable hatred for the Dodgers...tempered somewhat this season when Joe Torre took over as manager...but just a little.

Fireman, policeman, doctor, lawyer? No, it was my destiny to play shortsop for the Yankees, in spite of the fact that Tony Kubek played there for years; I was certain that it was just a matter of time. And it was...just a mtter of time before pitchers began throwing curve balls and sliders too elusive for me to hit. Just like that, the boyhood dream, always far more than an impossible one anyway, was dead. If only I'd been born Dripton Threeds.

See, Threeds had the dream of playing fo rthe Yankees, too, but he made it happen. On April 19, 1976, Threeds got to play an entire exhibition game with the Yankees: not just a fantasy camp thing...he actually played WITH all the players on the team. I'm not about to make this up: he rented the New York Yankees that day and paid to have their Triple A farm team, the Syracuse Chiefs, come to Yankee stadium for a game...a game in which Threeds played one inning at each position (a la Bert Campaneris) alongside the regular Yankee lineup! Threeds was heard to comment, "Who says money can't buy happiness? I'm ecstatic right now!"

I would be, too. By the time I save enough money to go to a fantasy camp, I'll be too old to hit , throw and run...instead of being a five-tool player, I'll be holding an empty tool belt. I'll probably be the Mick and spend all my time in the training room, except instead of strolling out to hit mammoth home runs, I'll be limping out to take the golden sombrero.

But with my dreams and connection with baseball, as with the soon-to-be-no-more "real" Yankee Stadium, it's not just the memories...it's a part of who I am.

Play ball!