The Peregrin Falcon

Communism

A system of social organization in which all economic and social activity is controlled by a totalitarian state dominated by a single and self-perpetuating political party.

Random House Unabridged 2006

Socialism

1. Any of various theories or systems of social organization in which the means of producing and distributing goods is owned collectively or by a centralized government that often plans and controls the economy.

2. The stage in Marxist-Leninist theory intermediate between capitalism and communism, in which collective ownership of the economy under the dictatorship of the proletariat has not yet been successfully achieved.

American Heritage Dictionary

The above definitions are for the people who throw around words without truly knowing their intended meaning. I read dictionaries often and can find a new word each day that I thought I knew, but didn’t.

America, a nation founded on a principle that human kind should be free to make its own choices, whether good or bad, as long as it didn’t interfere with another person’s right to do the same. What would it take to make America turn on its own heritage? What would make a land that grew prosperous on letting the marketplace dictate price of goods and services and letting people choose for themselves have to endure to turn 180 degrees and lock down the ideals that have worked for hundreds of years? What would make our nation of individual liberty and responsibility change to state rule and government micromanagement? The answer is a simple one syllable word; gas. Gas prices have driven America over the deep-end. Instead of putting their money where their mouth is and buying mo-peds or scooters or electric cars, ticked off consumers are following a witch-hunt for Big Oil. The news media and political opportunists are using the outrage to push the most socialistic ideals we have had since the New Deal. Grabbing at profits from free-enterprise, putting overburdening legislation on industry, and curtailing any efforts to find more oil are just some of the new madness. Instead of “When the going gets tough, the tough get going”; America is spawning a generation of “When the going gets tough, find a scapegoat, and sue, legislate, regulate, and demonize them into ruin.”

Big Oil didn’t get Big by asking the government to make us buy the gas, plastics, and other petroleum products that we take for granted every day. In fact, if you are reading this you are on a computer connected to the world’s other computer systems; ALL OF THEM ARE MADE WITH OIL! Try to get rid of all oil in your life, just try; even if you succeed you are still in the borders of a nation guarded by an army that runs on oil and keeps you safe. Even today, I heard passers-by saying “It’s not that there isn’t enough money; It’s that the wrong people have it all.” So, comrades; let’s just take it from “the wrong people” and give it to the “right people.” I’ll bet someone out there thinks you are part of the wrong people; so be careful on who you steal from today; tomorrow they might just steal from you.

I haven’t written an entry in a long time. Besides being extra-busy at work and home, I haven’t felt moved to write because I don’t see where my writing can make any difference in this world. However, today it doesn’t matter if I make a difference or not; I must get out what I have been feeling about Yankee Stadium.

First off, I am a Yankees fan, and if that irritates you, maybe you should stop reading now. Secondly, I acquired my love of “The House That Ruth Built” from my grandfather. Grandad would tell us of the times he had at the stadium. Each story transported him to that time and place and you could see the sights, smell the smells, hear the noises, and feel the excitement. Growing up on the streets of New York, mostly around the Bronx, Grandad was abandoned by his mother at sixteen after emigrating from Ireland by way of Canada. Constantly in trouble, Grandad found solace in few things. Yankee stadium was more than a place to see a ballgame, it was a home. After three tours of duty in Korea as a 6’5” tailgunner in a bomber (the bomber position was made for the average height of 5’10”) Grandad came home and settled down in New York. My mother, aunts, and uncles all got to see at least three World Series games from 1962 to 1964. Through the years, all of them talk about what it was to see the Yankees play with the stands so full that people would stand in the aisle for the entire game.

I was born in the Midwest by a twist of fate my Grandad had moved away from New York to look for work and sealed my destiny to be the first non-New Yorker generation in three. I have never been to New York. Throughout my life I have never had an opportunity to go see the city that always captivated my imagination through the gravely smoke-hewn voice of a tougher-than-hell Korean War vet. This year is the last year for the Diamond in the Bronx. I am still unable to go see my Yankees play in the home that has kept them through the Great Depression, WWII, Korea, Vietnam, and countless other hard times. I will never set foot on the same ground as “The Mick”; which was the affectionate term for Mickey Mantle that Grandad used. I will never know what it is to cheer for the Yankees wins and suffer with the losses as those who have been there.

Not having the opportunity to see the place where so many of baseball’s heroes became legends, used to not bother me, after all I just had to call up Grandad and start talking baseball and I was there. The reality finally set in when I heard about the plans to retire the Grand Old Lady. Grandad has been gone for three years now, and the stories have begun to lose clarity. I am most likely not alone in this struggle to keep hope alive to see a childhood dream come true. I have no cancer, I have no disability, I can pay my bills, and I work a good job; but I simply have no means to see Yankee Stadium before her retirement.

My plea is to not retire Yankee Stadium. Yes, it is probably too little too late; but I still feel the same way. Many, many, many people have grown up as I have; children of transplanted Yankee fans who learned baseball from those who have since passed away. For those generations of loving Yankee fans who have yet to see their hallowed Baseball Cathedral in person, please keep Yankee Stadium alive.
Thank you.