After spending more than 20 years as a sportswriter, I often glance up at a game on the TV and think to myself, "I've been there."

It happened again tonight, when I flopped on the couch and flipped on Game 2 of the World Series to watch the Yankees and Phillies go at in the Bronx. Immediately, I thought "I've been there," but it seemed like it had been 25 years ago.

Actually, it was more like 25 hours.

Yep, I attended the opening game of the series Wednesday night in the Bronx. I know, I know -- I have rough life, right? (I hear that all the time). My membership in the Baseball Writers Association of America allows me to purchase tickets to the Series. I'd never seen a game in the new Yankee Stadium. I had frequent flier miles to burn and my college roommate, Smiles, happened to be in New York on business and said I could crash on the extra bed in his hotel room.

I thought about staying home, but then it dawned on me: It's the World Series, you moron. Who wouldn't want to go to the World Series?

As a reporter, I've been lucky enough to cover about a dozen Fall Classics from the press box, including a handful involving the Yankees at the "old" stadium.

I went to the Tigers-Cardinals in 2006 as a fan at Comerica Park, so I knew life would be different in the stands -- away from the press box announcements, replay screens and colleagues cursing deadline and swearing at their copy desks.

The atmosphere in the stands is much different. The atmosphere in New York, well, that's a different trip altogether. Everything in New York seems magnified. Even for jaded Manhattan residents, the World Series is a big deal. People who don't watch a baseball game all summer bust out their Yankees gear and rally around the event.

A few hours before the first pitch on Wednesday, we wandered around Times Square and I was surprised at what I perceived to be lower traffic volume on the streets and sidewalks. Restaurants that normally would be bustling by the dinner hour were relatively quiet.

Clearly, people were getting ready to watch the game.

After dining on some tasty ribs at Virgil's and having a few pints at an Irish bar, we hopped on the No. 4 subway train and headed uptown. We were surrounded by a few rowdy Yankees fans, but also a fair amount of people also seemed like they were heading home from work or school, seemingly oblivious to what was happening.

When the elevated train rumbled to a stop at 161st Street, we followed the crowd down the platform toward the gleaming, $1.5 billion ballpark. On the way, I looked at the old park and was shocked. The 86-year-old structure was obscured by a blue plywood wall and almost completely dark.

If you didn't know it was the ballpark, well, you wouldn't know it. There was scaffolding all around and construction signs and virtually no lights on it. It was eerie and a bit sad -- until I looked up and saw the behemoth that is the "new" stadium.

The old ballpark was a bit imposing from the outside. The new one seems frighteningly huge. The huge, arched windows -- which have roots in the Roman Colosseum -- were carried over to the new place. A small plaza, raised above the level of the sidewalk, leads to the main gates -- not to mention a Hard Rock Cafe and a steakhouse where they'll serve you a ribeye for $51.

Despite those wrinkles, you can tell that architects tried to retain elements of the old stadium's exterior. Inside, it's a new ballgame. The concourses in the old ballpark were cramped and claustrophobic, with concession lines choking traffic. At the new park, they are huge.

Inside the seating bowl, the park looks like its predecessor -- right down to the frieze on top of the upper deck. You can see the subway from the right field stands as you wash down a $8 hot dog and $7 bag of popcorn with a $10 beer.

Our seats for Game 1 were in the bleachers in left-center field, which meant that I had no shot of rubbing elbows with Kate Hudson, Spike Lee or Matthew McConaughey. We were a couple rows from the top and protected from a steady mist by the overhang of the giant scoreboard / billboards. Once we settled in, I quickly realized that the park -- though very nice -- isn't overwhelming.

There isn't that much to set it apart from Miller Park, Coors Field, Comerica Park, the new Busch Stadium or any of the other new ballparks. They're all nice. The old Yankee Stadium had history and tradition and character. The new park looks like the old park in some ways and it has nice features, but there is nothing that really jumps out and grabs you.

Then again, if I wanted to be grabbed I could have worn a Phillies jersey ...

Fans in New York and Philly are notorious for being passionate, knowledgeable and a bit ruthless. Remember the "Seinfeld" episode when New Jersey Devils fan David Puddy was revealed as a face-painter? It seemed to me that one out of every 20 or 30 Yankees fans adopted that mentality.

I know I'm a jaded sportswriter who is used to being spoiled by the relative quiet of the press box, but, I really don't have a problem with people cheering their team. Of course, there is a point where cheering gives way to mindless babbling. A heavyset, leather-lunged 40-something guy to my right tried to get our section motivated on a cold, damp night by starting "Let's Go Yankees!" cheers and hollering "Hip Hip!" every time New York catcher Jorge Posada came to the plate. (Fans were supposed to substitute "Jorge!" for "Hooray!"). Three innings in, the enthusiasm was more grating than infectious.

Much like at a Packers game, virtually every Yankees fan has a jersey, cap, jacket or sweatshirt. If you wear the color of "the enemy," you're going to hear about it. Much of the ribbing was good natured. Little of it seemed confrontational. I did, however, hear a hilarious exchange between two Yankees fans in their mid-20s (one in a Derek Jeter jersey and one in a Mariano Rivera jersey) and a 40-ish guy in a light blue, terry cloth-style Phillies throwback.

Jeter guy: Nice shirt.

Phillies guy: It's cool, isn't it?

Jeter guy: My girlfriend is from Philly and wears one just like it ... what were you thinking?

That exchange begat a five-minute back and forth that was X-rated and, at times, uncomfortably heated. The two Yankees fans questioned the sexual orientation and oral hygiene habits of the Phillies fan, who boasted that he had more money and could afford better tickets. They argued about everything except their teams, who were actually involved in a somewhat tense sequence at the time. I eavesdropped on the conversation for awhile, laughing out loud at a few of the "Yo Mamma"-type putdowns being exchanged, but it got old quickly.

Clearly, the Phillies fan didn't want to back down or walk away because he didn't want to show a sign of weakness. The fact that the visitors were winning should have allowed him to do so.

The fact that the mini-confrontation was memorable points out that the game, a pitcher's duel, didn't have a lot of zip. Phillies lefty Cliff Lee was spectacular, Chase Utley hit two homers and the visitors left with a 6-1 victory that quieted the crowd. Actually, the cool, damp weather -- a wall of mist fell for much of the game -- served to quiet the crowd, too.

Pre-game introductions were loud, but didn't reach spine-tingling levels. By the late innings, many of the expensive seats were empty and only the diehards were left to watch the last out.

Game 2, even witnessed from the comfort of my couch, seemed a bit more electric. The Yankees played better, winning behind A.J. Burnett to even the Series, and the weather seemed more conducive to baseball. Some may say that I was at the wrong game, but the experience -- even with the 4 a.m. wakeup call this morning -- was worth it.