From the 700 Level to Row One: A Story of Baseball, Gratitude, and Perspective

From the 700 Level to Row One: A Story of Baseball, Gratitude, and Perspective

By David Adam Kurz

There’s something magical about experiencing a major league baseball game. But what’s even more magical is watching someone you love experience it for the first time—especially from behind home plate, just a few rows up.

This past weekend, I had the chance to take my nephew and Godson, Liam, to his very first MLB game. Not just any game, either—the Yankees were in town playing in Miami. As we settled into our seats, I couldn’t help but reflect on where I came from, and how far I’ve come.

Flashback to My Childhood

Growing up, my stepfather—my Papi—used to take me to Mets games. (I know… the Mets, but hey, he was in charge!) We didn’t have much money, so we’d take the train to avoid tolls and parking fees. Once there, we’d find someone scalping tickets, and head to the 700 section of Shea Stadium—yes, the very top. So high up, the players looked like ants, and the stadium speakers weren’t strong enough to reach us. But that didn’t stop Papi. He’d bring a little radio and tune in to the Spanish station so we could follow along. And almost everyone up there had binoculars. It was a whole vibe.

At the time, I didn’t really understand why we went through all of that when we could have just watched it on TV. But now I do.

The Lesson in the Bleachers

What Papi was giving me was far more valuable than front-row seats—he was giving me an experience. The hot dogs, the popcorn, the Cracker Jacks, the cheering crowd, the seventh-inning stretch, and singing “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” with thousands of strangers. Those moments became etched in my heart forever. They were memories no one could ever take from me.

That experience taught me humility, gratitude, and the value of simply being there—even if “there” was way up in the clouds of section 700.

Full Circle Moment

As I sat in the “fancy” seats with Liam, I found myself looking up at those high-up bleachers. And I was overwhelmed with gratitude—not just for the view we had that day, but for the perspective I’d gained over the years. I was thankful for Papi and his effort to give me that same joy, even when money was tight and the seats weren’t premium.

This full circle came with purpose. Liam plays baseball. And I wanted to give him the kind of experience that might inspire him—like one that changed me forever.

When I was around 11, someone in my neighborhood gave me Yankees tickets. Papi, being a die-hard Mets fan, refused to go. So my mom told me to find a friend. We rode the train to Yankee Stadium, excited but unsure what to expect.

At the gate, the ticket lady asked us to wait. A man came out, checked our tickets, and walked us all the way down to row one—first base line. I had never been so close to the action in my life. And then it happened. Don Mattingly, my childhood hero, walked up to first base, looked at us, and said, “Hi guys. Enjoy the game.” That was it. I lost my mind. In that moment, I became a Yankee fan for life.

Inspiration Through Experience

That’s the energy I wanted to pass on to Liam. He might not have the 700-section story like I did—but he had his own magical day. I watched him sit through nine full innings, eyes locked on the game, soaking up every detail. We talked about foul poles, ball boys, doubles, and home runs. He got to see Aaron Judge in person and realized how massive he is.

It was, in every sense of the word, perfect.

Special thanks to my brother Jean Mones for being there and making the day even more memorable.

A Bigger Lesson

As I’ve grown older, I’ve learned to slow down and feel the moments. Not just rush through life chasing goals, but to actually stop and ask myself:

• What am I grateful for today?

• Why am I here, right now?

• What can I do with this opportunity?

• How can I be better?

• What lesson am I being given?

Because life isn’t just about achieving—it’s about appreciating. About recognizing the quiet miracles, the full-circle moments, and the memories that make it all worth it.

One Last Story (Because It’s Too Good Not to Share)

After that life-changing Yankees game as a kid, I went home and told Papi that I was officially a fan. I even proposed a deal: I’d keep going to Mets games with him if he’d take me to Yankees games too. He laughed and flat-out refused. Said there was no way he’d go to a Yankees game.

So here we are—nearly 40 years later—and we haven’t been to a baseball game together since. The rivalry is real, folks. But the memories? Even more real.

So I ask you—what are you grateful for today? What moments are shaping your story?

Take a minute. Slow down. And appreciate the seat you’re sitting in—no matter what level you’re on.