Category: baseball

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Ode to the Hot Dog

Oh, savory delight, the humble hot dog,

A taste that transcends time, an American emblem.

In Times Square’s bustling scene, I savored you,

Nathan’s masterpiece, as I toiled on Broadway’s stage.

As a part-time employee in that bustling space,

Where documents flew and deadlines gave chase,

Amidst the chorus of keys and whirring machines,

I found solace in your presence, your flavors serene.

But it was on July 4th, in Dobbs Ferry, I recall,

My first encounter with you, a revelation, overall.

At my uncle’s house, laughter filled the air,

As I sank my teeth into a grilled Hebrew National, rare.

I listened to Mel Allen’s voice on a transistor radio,

His iconic commentary filled the air with a vibrant glow.

As the hot dog sizzled on the grill, a symphony of flavors,

His voice painted the scene, enhancing the savors.

Amidst family and friends, laughter filled the space,

The transistor radio playing, a joyful embrace.

Dobbs Ferry’s charm, the hot dog’s savory bliss,

A symphony of summer, a moment not to miss.

In the sweet voice of Mel Allen, the stadium would sway,

As he announced a Mantle home run, “going, going, gone,” he’d say.

Toasted buns, untoasted buns, a debate so grand,

A choice that divides, across this great land.

Yet, as I bit into your warmth, the bun held you close,

A perfect union, each flavor enhancing the other’s dose.

Oh, hot dog, your history we must embrace,

From street carts to ballparks, a cherished place.

A symbol of immigrants’ dreams and endeavors,

Your origins intertwined with American treasures.

From German immigrants’ humble sausages, they say,

You were born in the streets of New York, they portray.

From Coney Island’s Nathan’s to Times Square’s allure,

You’ve become a culinary icon, timeless and pure.

So, let us raise a bun, a condiment-laden cheer,

To the hot dog, beloved, let its legacy be clear.

In each bite we take, a taste of history is found,

A culinary masterpiece, forever renowned.

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The House that Ruth (Beer) Built

I was perched in the upper deck of venerable Yankee Stadium as the dulcet tones of “O Canada” serenaded the patrons. As the Yankees took the field for a day game against the Toronto Bluejays, my thoughts turned toward food and beverage. A hot dog and a beer, I mused, was the classic choice. I felt the kinship of brews from the past, imagining my Uncles’ Bill and Herman and Cousin Jack quaffing Ballentine, Rheingold and Knickerbocker Beer under the facade as the IRT Subway rumbled by and DiMaggio rounded the bases.

I was well aware of the importance of beer in life and in baseball. It established prehistoric man’s enthusiasm for agriculture, paid the wages of those who built the pyramids and motivated  thousands of undergraduates to learn beer pong. In the mid 19th century, immigrants from Europe migrated across the Atlantic, to the land of opportunity.  One in particular, the Bavarian Franz Ruppert, established a brewery in  New York to slake the thirst of 19th century New Yorkers. Franz’s grandson, Jacob Ruppert, Jr. inherited the brewery from his father and purchased the struggling New York Highlanders in 1915. With his “beer wealth” he rebranded the club the Yankees, bought Babe Ruth from the Red Sox, established the farm team system, put numbers on the player’s uniforms and moved the Yankees out of the Polo Grounds and into a new Yankee Stadium in the South Bronx.

 Ninety-nine years after the opening of the original Yankee Stadium and 27 championships later, the “beer magnate’s” acumen has proven successful.

The memories of Three Ring Ballentine and Knickerbocker Beer have faded but the smell of outfield turf, and the aroma of malt and hops in the upper deck and bleachers in the Bronx in springtime lives on. And as the 20th century philosopher and late Yankee announcer Mel Allen opined, “How about that!”