End of the season

10/23

One last game

My baseball season began on a sunny March day in Tampa, Florida with my favorite two teams, the Pittsburgh Pirates playing the New York Yankees. The Pirates teased us for awhile with hope, hung tough through multiple disasters, then vanished as summer turned into fall,  gone by the end of September. My season ended when the Yankees, unexpectedly,  hung on until game seven of the American League Championship season. And then lost.

Up 3-2 on the Astros, ( and I’m still not sure why they’re in the American League, 1962 expansion sibling of the Met sand all), the World Series seemed near. But when you’re up 3-2, you have to finish it in game 6, because as the sage Yogi Berra observed, “No one ever wins game seven.” The Pirates taught me that in the ’90’s. And  sure enough, it’s still true.

I know there are many Yankee haters out there among my friends, especially Bucco buddies. So a word or two about how I came to be a Yankees fan. When we moved here from Pittsburgh 22 years ago, we had to pick a team. Given my affinity for underdogs and  certain family connections, the Mets seemed a logical choice. But as a National League team, there was an inherent conflict with the Pirates. Besides it took a good hour on the 7 train to get to Shea. And in my neighborhood, Mets fans were lawyers with cars, Yankee fans were Dominican doormen and bodega workers who rode the subway. A short 20 minute ride.

Well there was also this. The most magical ,moment of my life was Mazeroski’s miracle home run in the bottom of the 9th in the seventh game of  the 1960 World Series. The Yankees were the team on the other side of that miracle, the mighty dynasty the scrappy Buccos defeated..I knew their lineup as well as the Pirates. And had some affection for them. That was there when we moved here.

Shea Stadium was the prototype  for cookie cutter multi-purpose stadiums. Surrounded by parking lots and Korean auto shops. I loved the Bronxness of Yankee Stadium. That street under the train tracks filled with bars and souvenir shops, what the new retro stadiums try to create was already there.  Though its former grandeur had been changed to a 1970’s functionality, you could still look down and see where Babe Ruth or Mickey Mantle stood. And there was a rowdy democratic feel about the place, especially in the stand alone bleachers, their own wonderful world of the bleacher creatures and their roll call of players to begin every game. The connection was sealed one afternoon when at the end of warm ups, the great Bernie Williams, a Puerto Rican player in the tradition of my childhood hero, Roberto Clemente, turned and tossed a ball to my boys.

In 1996 I finally saw a World Series game. I had tickets twice before in the early '90's when the Pirates got within one game, even one out, from the Series only to have the accursed, tomahawk chopping, Braves snatch it away.  So it gave me great pleasure to see the Yankees, back after a decades long absence, take out the Braves. There’s been a lot of good moments since then. 

Though the new stadium struts and swaggers, this Yankee team was absent the arrogance of the Evil Empire days of Boss Steinbrenner who always tried to win with an open check book that teams  like the Pirates could never match. But this team was one you could feel good about. Young guys. Rookies. A home grown core of bright shiny hustling kids. ( So to speak) Led by Aaron Judge, that gentle giant with the Derek Jeter sincerity and dedication.  He spent half a season playing like a combination of a real life Joe Hardy and Roy Hobbs, playing at an otherworldly level with towering majestic home runs. Only to spend the better part of the second  half looking completely lost flailing helplessly at just out of the zone pitches only to rediscover himself in September. Judge alone made for an engaging roller coaster ride of a season. 

So I came back from South America in time for one last mid October game with my son Dan. And the Yankees won. And then they lost. Twice. But the pleasure of an unexpected deep post season run will remain until spring comes again.