Andy Pettitte lets fly Andy Pettitte lets fly
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Their fans’ street-cool, gangster-style “Go Yankees” hoodies and pin-striped Derek Jeter replica jerseys house fierce attitudes and baseball-savvy hearts and minds. Each panel of the perspex walls covering the rat run f

rom the trains to the stadium’s surrounds tells you of an upcoming Yankees game, its date and start time. This afternoon, before you start wondering what happened to the old cauldron, opened in 1923 and closed in 2008, the skeleton of one of its main stands hits you in the face like a fouled fly ball. The ex-stadium’s been demolished, but lays there like a curled-up, squashed and forgotten dead spider which someone forgot to bin. “There it is. It’s a shame,” a Jeter fanatic consoles his pals.

“It’s a sin. It’s a fucken sin,” his rugged friend emphasises. “Babe Ruth’s in there.” We know what he’s trying to say. Place any baggage you’re carrying on the long, rectangular desk open for inspection, be full body-scanned by security and you’re in. Your first port of call should be one of the enthusiastic kids carrying a “Can I help anyone?” sign. It’s all too easy, like walking into a house party and being shown where the fridge is – and told to make yourself comfortable. At Yankees games, at least in the $175 padded seats our butts are parked in, a friendly staffer will be along soon with a menu and a list of merchandise for you to choose from.

Recognising that getting up out of your seat is for schmucks, you are still free to leave the comforts of the almost lounge-stand seats 16 rows back from third base and go exploring. The girl behind the hot dog stand will ask “what are ya havin?” She’s not there to muck around. Neither’s the merchandise staff – there are far too many Yankees cap-hunting tourists to process for any small talk. They will stand patiently, though, while you choose between 19 shades of dark blue until you find the cap your relos want you to take back to Oz. Take your Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio and Alex Rodriguez souvenirs back to your seat, mind your own business and keep a sharp and focussed trajectory – the Yankees’ fans aren’t here to muck around, either. “I’m walkin’ here,” is what you’ll get if you collide with one.

“Sorry mate,” you’ll reply in reflex action.

“Donworryaboudid. Where you from, anyway, England?” Close enough ...

The action’s been crisp, quick and as sharp as the mower marks in the outfield while you’ve been away. All that noise is from first baseman Mark Teixeira’s homer over right field. His crack sends Yankee Stadium into raptures. A celebratory air-raid horn booms over the bass-heavy giant speakers – you can’t see any of them, so just assume they’re everywhere. The illuminated advertising strip wrapping around the stadium’s waistline like a glittering belt holding a supermodel together stops advertising chocolate bars and is now dominated by two giant Mickey Mouse-ish hands which clap in between the simple, but powerful enforcement “GO YANKEES!!”