Dear Mr. Mara;

The other day my parents received the letter inviting them to purchase two seat licenses for $20,000 apiece. This to get seats equivalent to the ones they occupied in Giants Stadium for 32 years. They also had seats in Shea and Yankee Stadiums, keeping the faith when the teams were dreadful and reveling in the victories.

Having read your recent letter, though, now they are disgusted. The entire family is.

Of course, change is necessary and good. Without it Giants Stadium wouldn’t exist and the exciting new stadium wouldn’t be possible. Eli would not have evolved into a Super Bowl MVP. The equipment would be outdated and dangerous, the food options in the stadium would be worse, and the fans wouldn’t have Jumbotrons.

But the way they’re priced, the seat licenses aren’t change. They’re a ransom. Great seats are insanely priced. All things being relative, the cheapest seats cost a commensurately ridiculous amount.

It’s easy to find arguments in favor of the licenses. Other teams are doing it. Other teams also have players with rap sheets 100 yards long, goofy cheerleaders, and revolving door ownership. Do you want those, too?

You want more opportunities for corporate support. Terrific. Carve out a part of the stadium for that. Make sure it’s not too close to the people who go to games because they know and like the team, its players, and its traditions. And get ready for boatloads of empty seats during the lean years. Or haven’t you noticed that other stadiums are full of fair weather fans?

Last, you need the money. Apparently you need lots of money. Such is the world of modern sports. But if the only way to pay for your business is to alienate your loyal customers, the business is ultimately doomed.

I grew up a fan. We had two seats on the 48 yard line, 12th row. Most of the time my parents went to the games without me. Their best friends had the neighboring seats and the Giants helped keep that friendship alive for almost half a century.

But every now and then, maybe once a year, I’d get a ticket. I remember walking down the steps to the seats and, everytime, watching in awe as we got closer and closer to the players. It felt like you could touch them. Experience proved you could yell to them and get their attention.

I sat there in the freezing cold, unable to fully feel my feet again until an hour after the final whistle. I sat there with my dad when I as a kid, a teen, a college student, and as an adult living on my own but still cherishing the time to be part of a family tradition.

I went with my best friend, siblings, and avid fans I happened to know who just wanted to see what great seats were like. Last February, I even got to see the team shock the Patriots, a victory made all-the-sweeter by the fact that I moved to Boston 10 years ago but have steadfastly remained a Giants fan.

One of the best parts of it all was that for all the years I’ve been going to the games, I’ve seen familiar faces throughout the section. They weren’t rich people who could afford $20,000 seat licenses. They are simply folks who made enough to save enough every year to indulge their love of the Giants. I never knew their names. The Giants connected us.

Oh well. So much for tradition. So much for hopes of someday letting my own children feel the magic of live Giants football.

From your standpoint, I suppose it makes no difference. You’ll get the money because somebody will buy the seats. Law firms, ad agencies, banks, and consultants will leap at the chance to have another perk with which to woo clients and reward employees.

But the next generation of Maras won’t be sharing the stadium with the next generation of fans. The old Giants family will now simply be the Giants corporation. It’s business. Nothing personal.

As for me, I’ll probably still watch games on TV when I can. But I’ll never feel truly connected to the team again. Is that really what you wanted?

Sincerely,
(name withheld)

cc: S. Tisch, M. Stevens, P. Hanlon