Talkin' With Tewks: A Trip to the Big Apple

Since this is the last year the House that Ruth Built will play host to Major League Baseball, Papa Tewks and I decided to venture to New York City to take in a game on baseball’s grandest stage. We scheduled a midweek trip since I don’t have a real job and pretty much every day for me is a weekend.

We left on Tuesday afternoon and I do have one thing good to say about the United States: the price of beer. We spent the night in an Econo Lodge in Poughkeepsie, New York getting drunk off a 12 cans of Bud purchased for $4.95.

We had to catch a 9am train Wednesday morning to NYC, but the trip was almost derailed before it began. Papa Tewks, while attempting to pay for parking, forgot his wallet on top of the automated machine. He didn’t realize it was missing until 5 minutes later when trying to buy train tickets (Me not paying for anything was a common theme on this trip).

Luckily I was there to save the day. I was Crossfitted my way through throngs of people, down three flights of stairs and a 200m straightaway in less than 20 seconds. The wallet was being held by a dopey looking maintenance worker who handed the wallet over without incident. No money was missing which was good news for him as I was thisclose to crane kicking his heart clean through his body.

Random Observations about the Big Apple

The city (well Manhattan anyway) is incredibly clean. I expected used syringes and condoms to litter the sidewalks but the streets were in pristine condition.

Approximately 90% of the Wall Street movers and shakers are all under 5’9”. You can tell by how these little twerps walk that they all have Napoleon complexes. Being rich and powerful is how they try to make up for a lifetime of inferiority (i.e. having a small penis and being unattractive to the opposite sex).

Yankee fans take baseball way too seriously. I’ve never seen so many grown men wear baseball jerseys. Come on fellas, it’s time to grow up. Good luck finding a girlfriend wearing a Double XL Yankees road jersey. Also, it’s one thing to wear a replica game jersey but some of these douchebags are wearing jerseys with Mantle and Gehrig on the back. Newsflash A-holes: Yankee jerseys don’t have names on the back.

The atmosphere around Yankee Stadium before a game is electric; there were people everywhere and this was a random Wednesday afternoon in July. The bars lining the outside of the stadium were packed tighter than Scarlett Johansson’s ta-tas in a barely there cocktail dress. Here is a picture of me and Papa Tewks taken by a couple of our many female admirers (looking at this pic, can you blame them?)

We started off in the upper tier section of the right field bleachers; close to where Josh Hamilton hit his cocaine-fuelled moonshots during the All Star Game Home Run Derby. From that position I was able to take this picture of Derek Jeter. Little known fact, his vagina is actually visible through his baseball pants.

We left the game after 7 innings to avoid the horrendous, cramped subway cars leading back uptown. From there, we traversed Central Park which is quite a sight to behold. The peace and tranquility of the natural setting would have brought tears to my eyes if I was capable of human emotion.

Once the fancy boy nature stuff was out of the way, it was time to get drunk. On our way to the third (or was it the fourth?) bar of the evening we had our one and only celebrity sighting: George Wendt from Cheers!! Normie looked terrible; like he was about to keel over any minute. Of course Papa Tewks yells out, “Hey, is that Norm?” Good one Dad, I don’t think he’s ever heard that one before.

The last speakeasy we frequented was the Town Tavern in Greenwich Village. This may have been the greatest bar in the history of mankind. For a seven dollar cover, you could purchase 25 cent pitchers till 11pm. Let me say that again. 25 CENT PITCHERS!!! My God. I think that’s what Heaven is like. I’d tell you more about the night but I’m fairly certain I blacked out around 9:30.

Pilgrimage to Cooperstown

No baseball roadtrip could be complete without a visit to the sport’s Mecca: the National Baseball Hall of Fame and Museum. Cooperstown is in an idyllic setting in upstate New York. In the event that I ever have a serious relationship, I would like to take that special young lady to Cooperstown and stay in a Bed and Breakfast.

The highlight of the visit was looking at the plaques of all the game’s biggest legends. The first one I wanted to see was Mickey Mantle. I explained my adoration for the Mick in my mancrush column and Mantle’s magic is still strong. His plaque smelled of testosterone and sawdust and just touching it gave me unparalleled sexual charisma. Walking the streets afterwards was like an Axe body spray commercial. Women began throwing their panties and bras like rose petals at my feet as I walked by.

The experience with Lou Gehrig’s plaque was quite different. I saw one guy touch the Iron Horse’s plaque and he lost all function in the right side of his body. He had to be carted out of there in a wheelchair. I bet that day, he didn’t consider himself the luckiest man on the face of the Earth.

All in all, the trip was a great experience. It’s mini vacations like this that make me question the point of full time employment.

Tewks is a frequent contributor to Gretzpo’s Sports Blog.