This reporter recently made his first trek to the new Yankee Stadium. I did a lot of growing up at the old Yankee Stadium before following the trail west that had been blazed by the Giants. I knew every crevice of Yankee Stadium, every chipped cinderblock. So I was very excited to see the new stadium.

For the sake of architectural accuracy, Yankee Stadium has had three incarnations: the original stadium (1923–1974) that was torn down to the ground; the rebuilt stadium (1976–2008), which had a modicum of more efficiency but less charm than the original and was constructed on the same hallowed ground; and now this new stadium (2009–), built across 161st Street from the original.

Walking into the new Yankee Stadium evokes both old versions. It also evokes Seattle’s stadium, Pittsburgh’s new field, and our own AT&T Park. By contrast, stepping into AT&T Park evokes nothing other than AT&T Park. On most entrances to AT&T, the eye is attracted to the field, then the Bay and the vista of the East Bay hills (then we worry if the fog is planning a visit). AT&T is a thoroughly unusual and charming setting.

Taking a seat in the new Yankee Stadium, the kaleidoscopic comparisons with the old Yankee stadiums continue. The top of the stadium is ringed with a frieze that matches the 1923–1974 structure. The dimensions of the field are intended to match the final size of the 1976–2008 stadium, though most observers claim that the right field power alley is shorter than marked, accounting for lots of home runs. So we are definitely in a Yankee Stadium – no doubt about it, with its partial view of Bronx apartment buildings and the No. 4 train zipping beyond the right field bleachers.

The moment the fan’s back is turned to the field, the differences are dramatic between the new Yankee Stadium and its earlier incarnations. The new stadium’s wide concourses, myriad souvenir shops, food stalls, and carts tempt the fans out of their seats, beckoning them to open their wallets and distracting them from the game. Behind the concourse between home and first, there is a large restaurant open only to season ticket holders and their guests. The restaurant offers a poor view of the field, which is supposedly compensated by the myriad TVs festooning its ceiling. But you might as well be watching the game in a New Jersey mall or on a Disney Cruise ship, rather than 175 feet from Yankee home plate; spectators are there and are not there, all at the same time.

This is the Las Vegas-ization of Yankee Stadium; the schemers having plotted, “Let’s make it a fun place to be, whether or not everyone in your group gets a thrill out of the main activity” (gambling in Las Vegas, watching baseball in the south Bronx). Yes, our San Francisco ballpark employs the same strategy to some extent, with its Club Level food courts, the Wiffle ball layout and kiddie slides beyond the left field bleachers.

However at AT&T, the casual fans – the Club Level and Executive Suite hobnobbers and fat cats – are quarantined from the serious fans. The best seats at AT&T, those cupping the infield, are filled with fans intently following the game, as are the fans in the bleachers, the arcade, and those in the good sections of the upper deck. At AT&T, the nonfan’s partial attention to the game doesn’t seriously degrade the baseball-watching experience for the rest of us.

The designers of the new Yankee Stadium padded and widened the seats closest to the action, reducing the number of seats at the best location. Is it to make each seat more like a little living room, a thousand little living rooms all isolated from each other? All along the lower bowl of the stadium, out-of-seat shopping and dining distractions suck away hordes, rendering the lower bowl, at times, rather lifeless. Again, spectators are there and not there at the same time.

In the old Yankee Stadium, the cheering reverberated off the steel and concrete, a canyon of grating, echoing sound that morphed countless opponents into uncoordinated, all-thumbs patsies. The intimidating atmosphere was christened Mystique and Aura by Yankee-nemesis Curt Schilling, raising the atmosphere to the realm of the mythological. At the new stadium the wide, open concourses soften and dull the sound and let it escape. Aura and mystique are not intimidating anyone now – they are in a restaurant, munching shrimp cocktails and watching the game on one of the 1,100 TVs.

Former manager Joe Torre often said, “Yankee fans don’t come to the stadium to watch the Yankees play, they come to watch the Yankees win.” That is not true anymore. The new Yankee Stadium is better than the old stadium in every way, except in the one way that matters most to baseball fans: as an intense baseball-watching experience.

By contrast, casual fans are accommodated and sequestered at AT&T, leaving the baseball-watching experience unmolested. No one says AT&T is worse than Candlestick in any way. And except for the fog that comes and goes, it’s a better place to watch a game than the new Yankee Stadium.

Steve Hermanos is the author of O, Gigantic Victory! Baseball Poems: The 2010 Championship Season. He is a realtor at 2200 Union Street. E-mail: [email protected]