My first Yankees game was in 1978. I was almost 7. We loved that team. Thurman, Reggie, Nettles, Sweet Lou, Mick the Quick, Gator, Bucky, Goose. My dad took my brother & me. Just the guys. Mom stayed at home. We went through the turnstyle and Dad said “Wait here.” And he went off and bought a yearbook and a scorecard and a hat for us. (In retrospect, leaving two children alone in the Bronx in the 70s might not have been the best idea. ) Anyway, I remember the feeling of walking through the tunnel to the seats and seeing the giant ballpark. It was awe inspiring. Dad isn’t a sports fan, but he wanted to give us the full ballpark experience. He got us hot dogs, Cracker Jacks, soda. Everything. On the way home I threw up all over myself. My Dad jokingly said, “When we get home, run up to Mom, give her a big hug and tell her you missed her.” Justin and I thought that was really funny. My Dad said “I’m kidding. Don’t do it.” When we got home, my Mom came out and asked “How was the game?” I ran up to her and gave her the biggest hug and told her I missed her. She hugged me tight and thought it was sweet. Until she realized I was covered in vomit. My dad got in trouble.