Before a rare weekday matinee in September against the rival, second-place Orioles, a veteran colleague approaches me and prepares me for a potential ambush. Me? I’m selling wienies.
It’s humid, the sun is scorching down, and it seems as if everyone is tanked. It’s been 18 years since the Yankees last won a World Series championship, and the Bleacher Creatures, Yankee Stadium’s rowdiest of rowdies, smell blood.
Courtesy Christine Amato on Instagram
“If you got a can opener, use it,” a fellow vendor advises as we stand in line waiting for the franks to be dumped into our sturdy, aluminum bins. “You might have to pull some eyes out.” I’m nervous. Right out of the tunnel, the sun hits me in the eyes, and I break into my routine, succinct pitch. “Hot dogs, heeeyah!” I bark, attempting to match the crowd’s intensity.
Courtesy Kay Caputo on Instagram
I want to walk up the stairs, but can’t. Up a few flights, conspicuously right in the middle of the aisle, a ragged, middle-aged man desperately wants my attention. Already, he has everyone else’s. He rocks his hips back and forth and grabs his crotch. “I’ve got a hot dog hereyah!” he slurs. “I’ve got a hot dog hereyah!” he repeats, even louder, just to make sure that I heard him.
He’s absolutely obliterated, and he clearly wants a showdown with Wienie Man.
OK, you want a showdown with Wienie Man? I’ll give you a showdown!
Welcome to the Major Leagues!
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Jon Hart is the author of Unfortunately, I was available, the undeserved sequel to Man versus Ball: One Ordinary Guy and His Extraordinary Sports Adventures.
