mimosa Illustration: Christopher Nielsen.

Without doubt the worst thing you can do for your sense of Aussie sporting pride while in America is attend a big game. Why? Because it’s so ... demoralisingly fantastic. From buying your ticket, to getting there and eating-drinking-watching, the much-celebrated US fan experience will actually leave you feeling valued as a sports consumer. Ever been to the Sydney Football Stadium? How about Yankee Stadium? A fair comparison, we think: both hosts of big-time sport and both situated in big cities, but worlds ‒ nay, galaxies ‒ apart in fan bang-for-your-buck.

So you’ve just landed in Zoo York and are looking for a ticket to the big match. Don’t buy your ticket from the Yankees direct, though. Visit the very legal secondary-market StubHub website. Zoom in on the exact seat you want and purchase away. You’ve just saved a motza. If you’re after tickets to the game at the SFS (aka Allianz), visit the Ticketek website. Select the socio-economic section of seating which best suits you (platinum, middle-class or battler), or click “best seat at any price”, and the computer will find you a couple of seats right on the half-way line ... in row YY in the nose bleeds. If you have any questions before purchasing, phone Ticketek (the number is listed at the back of the internet somewhere) and you’ll be told to visit ticketek.com to continue your search ...

Getting to Yankee Stadium on public transport is a dream. Just hop on the green line train and stay on it till you reach 161st Street-Yankee Stadium. The station is about a Derek Jeter hit away from the front gates. Making your way to Allianz? First, catch a train to Central Station. Now, walk up Foveaux St, through the inner-city suburb of Surry Hills. The steep, up-hill trek will prepare you for your stair climb as you’re finding your seat a bit later. Alternatively, upon jumping off the train, line up for half an hour for a seat on a specially chartered bus which will take you to the ground. They like to pack ‘em in tight on those bread boxes. Enjoy your journey.

At the Bronx, people in groovy versions of the home team’s uniforms like to approach you and ask questions like: “Can I help you with anything today?” This phenomenon is called “hospitality”. As a regular attendee of sporting events in Australia, you mightn’t be used to such behaviour at the big game. You won’t even have to look for the Yankees souvenir shop, because you’ll be told where it is. And it’s a monster. Meanwhile, the first voice you’ll likely hear at the SFS upon trying to get in is that of the turnstile staffer, telling you to scan your dodgy-inkjet-printed ticket QUICKLY, because “there are other people trying to get in behind you, you know?” The merchandise store here? Well, it’s more like a canteen stall. It’s over there, next to the ATM. If that’s out of cash, you can use the other one ... on the opposite side of the stadium.

Once a friendly staffer has shown you to your seat at Yankee Stadium, something very cool happens. Because you’ve decided to fork out a little bit more for your ticket than you usually would at home, you’ve ended up in a section where patrons are waited on: in-seat service! Check out the menu. Ha! Buy a cocktail if you feel like it – a mimosa for the missus, a giant beer for you, giant hot dog to go with it. Then sit there in the knowledge that the only thing that will be getting you out of your seat will be a home run, or the after-effects of that brewski.

At the Sydney Football Stadium, you’ve paid a little extra for your seat here, too. For your non-stinginess, you get ... a better view. That’s it. But don’t worry, you’ve read in one of the papers that stadium managements in Australia are getting all learned up about this in-seat service jazz, and are expecting to offer it to fans soon. For now, it’s your shout, so start making your way down to the bar, buddy. Careful with that carry tray which you’ve paid a buck extra for – it’s about as sturdy as brand-new Play-Doh, loaded up with four plastic cups of mid-strength and all. And be careful: one of your fellow patrons is in for a beer shower if you put a foot wrong and lose your balance on your way back.

If you’re ever in America, go and do something else. Spend a day gawking at that Canyon, or check out where the stars have brunch. Just don’t go to the big game; you’ll end up walking out of the stadium at full-time with a new set of game-day entertainment criteria which you’ll be hopelessly expecting our own dunderheads to match.