The House that Ruth Built historical indifference would tear down.
The Diamond that New York treasured when it was seen initially
In 1923 is just a place of fantasy and memory today, replaced
By the load of quartz that sits across the street and falsely
Claims the name that died with the passing of the real Yankee Stadium,
The home to Berra, Winfield, Mantle, Maris, Mize, Di Maggio,
Ruth (of course), Gehrig, the big four of the five World Championships In a row —
Lopat, Reynolds, Raschi, Ford —, Gomez, Gordon, Gossage, Mussina,
Ruffing, Hunter, Jackson, Jeeter, Lazzeri, Rivera, Rizzuto, Stengel – and you can name
So many more residing in your memory, Yankee fan or not. This was the spot
Of history, the birthplace of tradition, the crucible of excellence,
The home of gods who played with our emotions and showed us
How to play a simple game in a majestic way — a holy place only to be ripped apart
In the specious name of progress and done away with without ceremony
That it so deserved. Yes, it’s true that this field ever will remain in the
Memories of those who witnessed the performances worthy of its name,
But there is a sense that there should be a structure left behind,
Perhaps constructed as a temple to the sport, where fans and those
Who have a sense of history can make a pilgrimage and pay respects
To the magnificence that was the Yankee Stadium, beams and all,
Which gave a home to greats and to their fans in such a poignant way
That dwarfs the field that now does bear its name,
For to any true Yankee fan who knows what came before,
Although it’s gone, there remains an atmosphere that represents the Truth,
A place now left to recollection and to research, where once upon a time
X marked the sport!