Ariel Epstein
I’ve been around Major League Baseball for a long time—long enough to know that what makes a ballpark special isn’t just the scoreboard or the skyline. It’s the stories. And Ariel Epstein has some great ones.
In this conversation, she talks about her late grandfather, Joe DiMaggio, Opening Day traditions, and why Yankee Stadium—new or old—still feels like hallowed ground. She’s smart, sharp, and deeply connected to the game in a way that reminds us what baseball is all about.
First of all, how’d you come up with the name “Prop Queen”?
I didn’t. I was twenty-five and just getting into sports gambling on the media side. Everyone was in Vegas doing spreads and totals—I needed to stand out. The East Coast, especially New Jersey, had just exploded with props. So I started focusing on strikeout props. It was the only way I got on shows. People started calling me “Prop Queen.” I hated it at first. I thought it was cheesy. But my coach and my parents said, “It’s a brand. Just run with it.” So I did.
Obviously, you have a deep knowledge of baseball, but if I’m not mistaken, wasn’t your grandfather the person who gave you that love for the game?
Yeah. My grandpa, Martin Cohen, grew up in the Bronx—same building as my grandma, and they were married for sixty-seven years. When I was three, he took me to meet Joe DiMaggio. I have a photo of me and DiMaggio—who apparently was grumpy with everyone else—but he said, “Put her on the table. I’ll take a picture with her.” My grandpa told me, “As soon as he touched you, you were destined to be something in baseball.”
Tell me about your first game.
I was five. I wore a pink princess dress. Grandpa had season tickets—Section 1, behind home plate at old Yankee Stadium. You know that iconic panoramic photo from the upper deck? That was us. Best seats in the house.
He bought me a Derek Jeter jersey that day. Everyone else loved *NSYNC and the Backstreet Boys—I was obsessed with Derek Jeter. From 2004 through 2024, we never missed Opening Day. He took me to every Sunday home game. We were there for the old stadium’s last game. We were there for Jeter’s last home game. He could’ve taken anyone—but he always took me.
What makes stepping into a ballpark—any ballpark—so special?
The smell. That first breath—you’re like, “Wow. I’m here.” Some sports are better live, but baseball? It’s personal. It’s generational. It was my thing with my grandpa.
And here’s what makes baseball stadiums unique: no two are alike. Football, basketball arenas—they all look the same. But every MLB ballpark has a soul of its own. My grandparents and I visited a different stadium every summer for six years. Even my grandma, who came for the cities, ended up loving the ballparks. She’d walk the concourse while we watched the game.
Describe Yankee Stadium for someone who’s never been.
It feels like a palace. The new stadium isn’t the same as the old one—back then, the floor used to shake—but they did an amazing job keeping that history alive. Walk in through Gates 4 or 6, and you’ll hit the Great Hall. It’s massive. It screams, “This is the Yankees.”
It’s not perfect. Some say it feels like a rich person’s stadium now. But you still feel that buzz. That New York energy. Monument Park is incredible—seeing the plaques, the numbers, the legends. You’re literally on field level, and it’s the one piece of the old stadium they preserved exactly.
What’s it like sitting with the Bleacher Creatures?
Oh, it’s the best. That’s where the soul is. I watched Game 5 of the ALDS there—fans were spraying beer, heckling players, doing the roll call. That’s Yankees fandom. That’s electricity. I remember Nick Swisher playing along with them. The outfielders interact because they know: this is the heartbeat of the stadium.
When your grandfather passed, did you go back to the stadium?
I did. And I got there early. I work for MLB Network, so I have media credentials. But I told myself: the first time I see the field again, I want to do it from the field. I wanted to touch the dirt. To stand there and think, “He did this. He’s the reason I’m here.”
He told me at nine that I could talk about baseball for a living. And he never once doubted it—even though I’m a woman, even though I was young.
I haven’t been back yet with my family. But we’re all going on September 25—Yankees vs. Orioles. That was always our series. Me and Grandpa for the Yankees. My dad and brother for the Orioles. My mom and sister are coming this time, too. Only rule: they have to wear Yankees gear.
You once got your grandpa on the Jumbotron, right?
Yeah. I used to intern at Yankee Stadium, so I knew the production crew. I texted my guy Eric: “Can you get Grandpa on the screen?” And he did. I got a picture of Grandpa waving to the crowd—full screen, just him.
When Grandpa passed suddenly, we had to plan the funeral fast. My grandma was devastated. But in the middle of everything, she said, “That picture of your grandfather on the big screen at Yankee Stadium? That’s the one I want next to the casket.” That was his favorite picture.
Last question. What would you say to someone who’s never been to Yankee Stadium?
It’s one of those places you’d regret not seeing. It’s iconic. It feels like New York—big, lavish, electric. The experience is layered. As a kid, you remember the ice cream sundaes. As an adult, it’s River Ave and Billy’s and being part of something bigger.
When the Yankees won Game 5 of the ALDS, River Avenue was flooded. It was a party. A family.
And when you’ve lost someone, like I lost my grandpa, Yankee Stadium becomes more than just a stadium. It becomes the place you still feel them.
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More from Ariel Epstein
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NOTE: The above was edited for clarity and length.
You can read the full transcript here.
