Objectively, its true, the place was kind of a dump, the washrooms beyond nasty, sure, sure, all that. There was, however, such a sense of history about Yankee Stadium, so many welcome, no, treasured ghosts, who, as the locals might say, gave a fat rat's crap?
To watch a game at Yankee Stadium, at least for a lifelong fan making the pilgrimage from the other coast, was like a religious experience, the moments for the ages crowding the memory ("right there is where Lou Gehrig declared himself 'the luckiest man on the face of the Earth' and there...") the game itself rather less of the whole experience than in just any old ballpark.
Although I haven't seen it yet, I'm told the new stadium is a beauty, but it'll be a long, long time before the experience could come close to that of The House That Ruth Built.
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