Stub Story

E-tickets aren't the root of all evil. But it's close.

Readers of a certain age will recognize the items pictured above. They were known as tickets. Not e-tickets. Just tickets.

They were small, rectangular pieces of cardboard that you could hold in your hand or tack to a bulletin board or stick in your wallet or purse. You could show them to your friends, and you could even smell them if you felt so moved.

(I was so moved once. It was 1969. I was one of the lottery winners to get Rolling Stones tickets for their stop at Madison Square Garden. The day the tickets arrived in the mail, I opened the envelope and took a sniff. Don’t ask me why. They smelled good.)

For most of recorded time, if you wanted to go to a sports event, museum, concert or movie theatre, tickets would be your means of entry. You put down your money and were handed one of these pieces of cardboard. Your main job was to make sure you didn’t lose it, because if you did, you would not be admitted to anything.

Suppose you were the holder of the above ticket dated Aug. 17, 1979. It was the 63^rd home game of the year for the Yankees, a Friday night against the Minnesota Twins. (“My Sharona” by The Knack was about to begin a six-week run at the top of the pop charts, but I digress.)

Having invested your $7, you would’ve had the ticket ripped in half by the ticket-taker and then proceeded through the turnstile, making sure you held on to your half-ticket — commonly known as a stub. Stubs were important because, apart from being keepsakes, they were also your “Rain Check.” It said so right on the face of it. If a squall had descended on the Bronx that night, forcing the postponement of the game, you would’ve been entitled to attend the game at such time it was replayed. If you lost the rain check, sorry. You’d be out of luck.

The good news was that the weather was fine, and from your seat directly behind home plate in Section 20, Box 286G, you would’ve had a splendid view of Reggie Jackson’s home run off Twins starter and former New York Met, Jerry Koosman. Not so good, at least for the home team, was that they lost, 5-2, as Koosman pitched something called a complete game, meaning that he not only started the game, he finished it.

Tickets had numerous advantages: The biggest one is the reason I am writing this. They did not have to be uploaded, downloaded, frontloaded or backloaded. They did not require apps or digital wallets. The little piece of cardboard was all you needed. It was almost like magic. You presented the ticket, and in you went.

Alas, tactile tickets have gone the way of single-admission doubleheaders.

A couple of days ago, my wife’s cousin, Ted, a swell and generous guy, invited a group of family and friends to get a private tour of Yankee Stadium’s Monument Park and Museum, then attend that night’s game against the Toronto Blue Jays.

(In the museum, we were allowed to hold — but not swing — an actual bat used by Babe Ruth. It was 45 ounces and looked like a small telephone pole.)

Babe Ruth hit some of his 714 home runs with this bat. That’s 714 more than I hit in a long baseball/softball career, though I could run fast and stretched quite a few singles into doubles.

The tour and the game were separate tickets . . . e-tickets. This required me to download the MLB Ballpark app on my phone, as well as the Ticketmaster app. Ted emailed the tickets to me, at which point it was on me to hit the ‘Accept ticket’ button and then go find them in the MLB Ballpark app. Except I had no tickets — for the tour or the game — in that app. Then I checked Ticketmaster and couldn’t find them there, either.

I told Ted about the situation, and he texted me a YouTube video telling me how to get tickets through MLB Ballpark. I followed the directions, and still had no tickets. Finally, after multiple refreshes of the Ticketmaster app, the tickets landed. I’m still not sure how or why.

Now, I must tell you that in most respects I am a fully functioning human being. Past my prime, for sure, but still functioning. I dress and bathe myself. I mow the lawn and change overhead light bulbs. I take out garbage and recycling and even flatten my cardboard. I love to cook and have yet to poison anyone. Recipes, I can follow them quite well.

Instructions for e-tickets, not so much. I don’t know what my problem is. Maybe it’s anxiety. Actually, I am sure it’s anxiety. Every time someone transfers me a ticket, I am convinced I will hit the wrong button or send it to the wrong place and then never see it again after I accept it. In my experience, if you expect a poor outcome, very often you will get it.

“It’s easy,” my wife tells me. “Once you accept the tickets, you just put them in your Apple wallet and they will always be there when you need them.” She is very big on putting train tickets, airplane tickets, everything, in her Apple wallet. She always seems to find them.

I do not.

The last time we traveled to England to see our daughter, Samantha, my wife was mildly annoyed that I stopped at the airline kiosk to print out a boarding pass.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just put it in your Apple wallet,” she said.

“I like to have a hard copy,” I said. “What if my phone acts weird and I can’t access it? It just gives me peace of mind to have something I can hold onto.”

What I was thinking, but did not say, was, Why don’t you take care of your wallet, and I’ll take care of mine?

Of course, I could’ve also printed out the tickets from cousin Ted at home, but I believe self-improvement is important and that it was time to stop being such a Luddite and learn how to do this already. At some point, I’ll have an e-ticket waiting for me in my email and no access to a printer. Then what? The other night at the Stadium, I didn’t want to be the only one in our 12-person group standing there at Gate 2 holding a piece of paper with a QR code. (Did you know that QR stands for Quick Response? I didn’t until just now.)

As we prepared to enter, everyone held up their phones, had them scanned and breezed through. When it was my turn, I only saw the game ticket — not the pre-game tour ticket — in my wallet.

I was sure I had downloaded both. I saw them in my wallet, two of them, before I got to the Stadium.

I knew I should’ve printed them out at home, I thought helpfully.

The whole party was waiting on me now. I refreshed and refreshed. Nothing. My anxiety was ramping up. I closed the wallet, opened Ticketmaster, and somehow, the digital gods were with me and both tickets were there. I was in. Let the tour begin.

Later, I shared my e-ordeal with Ted and told him how much I miss real tickets. He said that at the University of Connecticut, where he is a season-ticket holder for men’s basketball, they give you an option to have your tickets printed out and mailed.

“I’d be all over that,” I said. “Did you go for it?”

“No,” he said. “They wanted $50 extra. It’s easier to just have them on my phone.”