Helpful Journalists to World Series Fans: Bronx Is Up, Battery’s Down


With the World Series starting tonight — if this rain ever stops, and if Jay-Z’s opening act finishes in time for the game to start before midnight — the media is scrambling to fill air time and column inches, especially since the Phillies tripped up that promising return of the prodigal Joe storyline. One tried-and-true angle: Tell people how to take the subway to the game. After all, while the 4 train has only run to 161st Street for 92 years, a large chunk of World Series tickets are distributed either via corporate sponsors and broadcast partners (expect plenty of grandstand shots of the likes of Eliza Dushku the next few nights), or to rich people who’ve coughed up StubHub prices to entertain clients — or to, you know, Phillies fans. All folks, in other words, who need to be shown the Bronx.

And even for those who can find their way to the game, it’s worth a reminder that at the World Series, any leniency the Yanks have shown toward fans bringing in contraband items like bags larger than purses is now withdrawn. Writes the helpful Shannon Shark at Mets Police:

Remember, if you’re heading to the new fake Stadium, don’t bring a bag. Bags are the number one weapon used by the enemy. Please remove your hat as you enter the gate. Hat-bombers are also a huge threat. Like they did at Shea, we want you safe because we want you back (because we want your money).

This brings to mind my most enduring memory from the 2001 World Series, the first to take place after the unpleasantness. Having received a surprise ticket to Game 4, and knowing that bags of any kind wouldn’t be allowed, I dutifully stuffed the pockets of my coat with snacks, binoculars, and anything else that seemed necessary for an evening of baseball. On entering, I stopped at security, fully prepared to disassemble any sandwiches to show that they were explosive-free.

“Take off your hat,” I was instructed.

I took off my hat, which had maybe an eighth-inch of clearance between it and my head.

“Open your coat,” I was then told. I did so, at which point a guard proceeded to pat down my body under my coat. Then I was waved through.

As I entered the stadium dumbfounded, my coat pockets still bulging, another fan who’d entered at the same time as me turned to his friend, and said loudly: “This security sucks! I just walked in with a whole pound of crack!”