When I was a small boy we lived in the panhandle of Texas. We had a bran-new, 17", Emerson television set, black and white, of course, and a long antenna wire that connected to a really ugly piece of metal way up on the roof. We received three channels, all of which we had to actually get up and go to the set to change.
One of those channels was the CBS channel, and CBS owned the New York Yankees, and that's how I learned there was a thing called Major League Baseball. All the teams in those days were about as far away from the panhandle as the moon, or so I thought.
I watched the Yankees play every Saturday: I met Dizzy Dean, their colorful announcer; and Mickey Mantle, Elston Howard, Whitey Ford, Don Larson, Billy Martin, Yogi Berra, Casey Stengel, Norm Seiburn, Tom Morgan, Tom Sturdevant, and all the other wonderful players; and, I met Yankee Stadium.
I wanted to go there and see a game my entire life; but as of yesterday, when the last game forever was played there, my dream died. Maybe I can go visit the new one ... next year? Maybe on a day when my team, the Seattle Mariners, are in town. Wouldn't that just be a dream come true!