(image swiped from The Mets Police)

As late as Monday night, the crappiest upper tier seats at Yankee Stadium for Game One of the World Series were going for nearly $400. Despite being allowed inside the Steinbrenner family’s glittering palace for free as a member of the working media last night, the Inquirer’s Frank Fitzpatrick is far from grateful, complaining, “Several Yankees employees walk around the concourse holding signs that say “How may I help you?” It’s all for show. They were unable to get me a seat in the main press box.”

Four hours before Game 1, the main press box resembled the Tokyo subway. Bodies and computers made things impassable. The adjoining work rooms were overflowing too, the precious spots apparently having been claimed at dawn by savvy veteran journalists.

The poor Yankees. How were they know people would be interested in covering a World Series? Having hosted 39 others, there was no way they could possibly have anticipated a crowd.

Beat a hasty retreat for the auxiliary press box, a lofty, outfield perch where Philadelphia sportswriters were assigned seats and sherpas to get them there.

After rappelling up there, it was quickly apparent that more clothing, binoculars and oxygen would be required. The freezing wind howled like a New York cabbie. The puddles of water that two days of rain had left on our chairs and tables were icing over.

We all would have huddled near the TV monitors for warmth had there been any TV monitors. Apparently it was OK for the cream of the nation’s sportswriters to get wet but not for TVs.

Far below, set up atop the right-centerfield wall, we could see a pair of NYPD snipers. Had New Yorkers finally tired of the Yankees uber-obnoxious broadcast team of John Sterling and Susan Waldman?