If ever there were a sport to indulge a sense of nostalgia, baseball is it. (Cricket fans: I, Evander, can hear you: What about us? It’s the same impulse of course.) I happen to have a seat bottom from the original Yankee Stadium. I walked off with it for the price of a $1.35 ticket in September 1973, the final game against the Detroit Tigers, played at the Stadium before it was redesigned. Ultimately, the redesign gave way in 2009 to a spanking new stadium. Which I could do without. But never mind: I do not go often enough to have a legitimate beef, and certain aspects are enlightened and first class, such as wheelchair accommodations. (I have not seen a Yankees game in person this season.) Last October, my neighbor, Marvin Kaufman the collector, informed me the wooden seat bottom has value and I ought to get some autographs of Yankees that played in 1973 or earlier. So far, I have obtained Yogi Berra, Bobby Shantz, Bobby Richardson, Jerry Coleman, Ron Blomberg, and “Bullet” Bob Turley. Next week, I try for Rollie Sheldon (from the 1961 Yankees). It pays to be a dedicated follower of fashion. I cannot help thinking of that great poet of nostalgia, Juan Ramon Jimenez. Or Joe Franklin for that matter.