Tag: Stan’s

My Watch’s Funeral

May It Bring Us a World Championship from Its Final Resting Place

By Mitchell Slepian

I love watches. I haven’t given them up because of my iPhone and do not own an Apple Watch. I’d never stop looking at it. I like traditional timepieces. They are classy. I dream of a few—Breitling, Panerai, and Patek Philippe—probably more. 

Yankee Watch

At least a decade ago, my mom gave me a New York Yankees (NYY) watch as a holiday gift. She got my brother-in-law a New York Mets one. I guess a Boston Red Sox timepiece would have been worse. Sadly, my watch died.

Yankee Stadium

About three weeks ago, I took it to the jewelry store thinking it needed a new battery. The jeweler is a big-time Yankee fan. Whenever I go there, we chat about the boys from ‘Da Bronx. I asked him to change the battery. He popped it open and inserted a new battery. He couldn’t set the time. He examined the watch like the trainers look at the injured players and declared it dead. 

Watch Case – Casket

We were both upset. He said, time for a new watch. They always try to sell me watches. They have a nice collection. They did not have any NYY or novelty watches. Just nice brands, such as Hamilton, Longines, Seiko (not Grand Seiko, another dream), and Tissot.

I texted and called my mom about the death. She understood my despair. She told me I should bury it at Yankee Stadium.

I faithfully wore this watch during many seasons. Sometimes, I wore it to the Stadium. About a year ago, I got another NYY watch. I switched between the two. I want a World Series one. That’s another story.

As the Beatles sing, “Your Mother Should Know,” she knew. I had to plan a funeral. I knew it should be conducted the next time the Red Sox were in town. A few days ago, I carried my watch in its black case. Now it’s coffin, and took it to the Stadium. I was already going to the game. As usual, I got there four or five hours before they opened the gates. 

I walked around Macombs Dam Park. That’s where the original Stadium was. I miss it dearly and wish it still stood. I used to walk by it when it was boarded up. I used to say prayers for it. I wasn’t the only one.

The Iron Horse

I got the Lou Gehrig sign, which has his famous “Yet today I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of the earth.” quote. I took the watch out of its bag and went to the baseball fields that used to be the field. I gathered up as much dirt as I could put into the bag. 

Final look at watch at its resting place

I placed the watch in front of the sign. I took a final look and sealed the coffin. I began to pray. I told it to RIP and asked the former greats, who watch over us, to welcome it. I included (George) Steinbrenner. We really need him. 

Ready to Rest

I dumped the dirt out of the bag and placed it on top of the watch’s casket. My eyes teared. I said the mourners’ kaddish, took three steps back, and walked off to Stan’s. I sat shiva for it there. I did wash as one does when leaving a cemetery.

May it RIP and bring us #28. Then I can get my World Series watch.

RIP

Anat and Marc fight in the Bronx

 

Marc was on the 4-subway line heading up to his favorite place, the Stadium.  In his mind, nothing could be better, a hot dog, knish, Pepsi and victory over the Red Sox.  He went solo. He usually does.  His mom came once on his birthday. He used to go with his dad.

He exited the train and went through the same turnstile he has been exiting for years.  He looked at the new monstrosity of a stadium and had flashbacks of his precious old stadium. Not just his  — But New York’s, the Yankees’ and the worlds.  A rabbi once promised him it’d be rebuilt next to the temple and he could live in it.

He walked around the hallowed grounds of the old Stadium. It was now a kid’s park. Did these younglings know that their sliding ponds, swings and fields were once the grounds that the Babe, Iron Horse, the Yankee Clipper, Yogi, the Scooter, Reggie and many other hall of famers called home?  Oh well.  The sun was shining and it was a great day to take on Boston.

He purchased a bottle of water and walked by Stan’s and was ready to enter the Stadium. He downloaded his ticket and had a big smile on his face.  His phone played Joy Division’s “Isolation”.  He wasn’t in the mood for Alana. He’d get back to her after the game.

He probably should have read her text.  He stood on the corner by the McDonald’s across the street from the Stadium.  Tons of people were milling around.  The ticket scalpers were doing their thing, the people who sold merchandise that fell off a truck were making the money and the smells of hot dogs, sausages and everything else permeated the air.

He gazed aimlessly at the Stadium and was about to cross the street to go in.  His feet started to move him.  All of a sudden he heard someone shrieking his name. At times he ran into friends from his temple, scouting, etc. at the game.

He quickly turned around. He didn’t see anyone he knew.  He saw Anat and some other folks. At this point, he had no idea who or what she is. She was wearing tattered shorts, boots and a worn Big Papi t-shirt.  She had a red purse with a baseball rolling around in it.  She had cakes of dirt on her arms and well-toned legs.  People were moving away from her. Once again, Marc glanced at the crowd and figured whoever called his name out must have thought he didn’t hear them and carried on.

“Marc, Marc,” Anat belted out.

“Do I know you? I apologize but I don’t seem to recognize you.”

“You don’t know me. We’ve never met. But your ex-girlfriend tormented me as a kid.”

He breathed in deep and asked what did Alana do. Not that she was his girlfriend or ex-girlfriend.  The two have never determined their relationship. He had no idea why he picked her. But figured she might be the right choice. As a young girl people sometimes picked on her for her darkness. But she always held her ground and flew high.

“No. Not Alana.  I know you went to grade school with Jen.  I stalk her on Facebook.  I know you dated her.  I don’t like her current happiness. You don’t even know what she did to me. And yes, I know about your goth chic.  We’ve met. She’s of no worry to me. “

Marc wasn’t sure what to do. He wanted to go into the stadium. He had an overpriced hot dog to buy. And he likely had an expensive t-shirt to purchase. He waved goodbye to Anat.  She ran toward him and raised her left boot and connected to his abdomen. He was aghast for air.  He tensed up. He started chanting about the seven species of fruit and grains. The last of which is honey. He thought of when Samson killed the lion and how he found bees its tummy.  As he was speaking his eyes were shooting honey at Anat.  She was shooting prunes, dates and enlarged raisins out of her hands.  Some hit Marc.

He began smacking her with pomegranates that were flying like Rivera’s cutter.  She stomped her boots on 161 Street. He shot barley.  Raisins hit him the eye. He was temporarily blinded.  He took a deep breath, rubbed his eyes.  As his eyes opened honey with the speed of heavy rapids on the Delaware River shot out of them and knocked down Anat. She rose quickly.  They battled for a few more moments. She turned looked at him and said, I’ve only just begun.  Jen better watch herself. I know you’re silly enough to come to her rescue. But I am going to get her.  By the way, I know you taught her about canoe swamps. Ask her what she did to me in camp.  She walked off.  He raced into the Stadium, bought a hot dog, took his seat and read the text he should have read an hour ago, “Marc I think we have an enemy. I was attacked by a crazy boot-clad woman who fights with dried fruit.”