My tickets were delivered in a box. I always remember them being stuffed into a fat envelope, but this season required a bigger package.
It felt like my birthday as I ripped into the cardboard and quickly checked the spiral-bound book of tickets. Then I scanned the Fan Club brochure and read through the Ticket Information & Fan Guide.
There was some parking information that was passed over because I don’t know how to drive and an Amtrak schedule that went in the trash because I never leave New York City. There was also something about selling tickets on StubHub, but that’s useless since I haven’t missed a game in years.
I continued through pages about options and benefits and amenities before stumbling across my Identification card that includes a license number and seniority date.
That’s pretty heady stuff for someone who’s never been identified outside of a police lineup and has never been licensed to do anything.
I currently carry a MetroCard and a library card and a SABR card and an ACLU membership card. But being an officially-licensed, card-carrying Yankee with some seniority is quite an honor and a lot of responsibility.
“I’m proud to be part of this team,” I told the media gathered outside my building this evening. “I promise to do everything in my power to deliver a championship to the Bronx.”
Twelve days to go.