At Sunday night's game, Kirk, the team manager, announced the team would be going to New York the next day to watch the Yankees play the Orioles.  Four tickets were still available and the first people to sign up at the front desk could accompany them on the bus to watch the game, for just $25.00 each.

It was an offer we couldn't refuse.  The next morning we were the first at the bus, ready for the trip to New York.

Neither of us had ever seen Yankee stadium before, so the volume of the place was impressive.  There were over 50,000 spectators at this afternoon game.  From our seats in the top tier, near the rail, the players looked like toy soldiers.  The subway (elevated) passed by the edge of the stadium every few minutes, reminding us we were, indeed, in New York.

When we see the Twisters play at Fuessenich Park, the field seems small.  Really, it's 330 feet to the fence from home plate, and more than that at center field.  It's a substantial distance, difficult to guess from my paintings.

Kids stand around the outfield fence, waiting for the Torrington Twisters to hit a ball their way.  Between innings, there's the "Twisty bat" contest, and the 50/50 raffle.   It is Americana, at its best.

A Yankees' baseball game is what I think Europeans fear most about globalization.  A loud, overbearing population, wearing shapeless clothes and hideous accessories (the woman in front of me had a "NY Yankees" ring in rhinestones), buying beer for $7.50 a glass, and spilling lemon ice down the back of the seat in front of them.  They scream and yell whether the team is winning or losing and shoot menacing looks to those who dare route for the other team.  The disc jockey plays music the crowd bangs along to --  Paul Cartier riles the spectators on his Hammond Organ.  About seven innings into the game, a good ten percent of the crowd leaves, to beat the rest of the crowd home.  I loved it.

The Torrington Twisters wore hats and shirts from a dozen different major league teams to the Yankees/Orioles game.  One guy wore a Kansas City Royals hat, and a Red Sox jersey that covered a second jersey that ridiculed "AROD" of the Yankees.  He'd expose the anti-AROD jersey when Alex Rodriguez would come up to bat.  I felt the benefit of safety in numbers.

Before the game, a codger named Fred came by with a metal frying pan and a spoon one could bang "for the Yankees".  Fred produced a newsletter he handed out for free, stating he would accept donations.   The ice cream man shorted the lady behind us a dollar's worth of her change, passed hand-to-hand from him to the lady in the center seat of the row. 

The Twisters, hanging precariously over the 100 foot high rail, all had the look like "in ten years this could be me" as Randy Johnson pitched the 12-3 win for the Yanks.  Some of the Twisters will be big league players, others businessmen and teachers, husbands and dads.  Fuessenich Park will never be Yankee stadium.

Our bus driver knocked over a street light and ran a dozen red lights on our way home.  He chatted on his cell phone, planning tomorrow's trip, if he made it home early tonight.

Laurie (text) and Blair (painting) PESSEMIER
"The Twisters at Yankee stadium"  Oil on Canvas  18 x 18 inches