In Loving Memory…

This weekend, the baseball universe gathered in the Bronx to celebrate the life of an American icon.

Up until Monday night, I had no idea what to expect from this year’s All-Star Game in Yankee Stadium. Earlier in the season, I wrote two columns; one explicitly about the loss of the House That Ruth Built and another detailing an early season game at the stadium . There are few things as sacrilegious as the demolition of an historic stadium to make room for a new park comprising more luxury boxes, wider concourses, and pricier concession stands. When MLB announced that the ballpark in the Bronx would host the All-Star Game in its final season, I found myself inexorably divided. I remember watching as Ted Williams threw out the first pitch in Fenway Park in 2002 (Correction: 1999). I distinctly recall the goose bumps traveling down my arm as players like Tony Gwynn surrounded him on the field. Major League Baseball would treat this occasion just as venerably, right?

This weekend was the equivalent of a living wake for Yankee Stadium. The idea of a living wake, as presented by the mediocre Nicholas Cage film, The Weather Man , is that it provides the loved ones of a terminally ill person the opportunity to gather to celebrate his or her life rather than mourn that person’s death. The Yankees have tentatively scheduled the funeral of the stadium for September 21 ^st . It is not time to worry about its death. Instead, this weekend we were to celebrate its life. However, I worried that guests would not act appropriately; that they would treat the living wake as an excuse to get dressed up, eat the free food, drink at the open bar, and be seen.

The possibility still existed that this weekend would turn into a money-driven event. Fox and ESPN would trot out old footage of Ruth and Gehrig, Joe Louis and Muhammad Ali, Popes holding mass; anchors would hollowly comment on the historic nature of the event while thinking about their upcoming vacation in Hawaii; and, worst of all, the Home Run Derby, the game, and all the surrounding festivities would transform into marketing opportunities designed give the old park one more chance to further line the Steinbrenner pockets.

Then Karl Ravech introduced Baseball Tonight. As the camera on the Good Year blimp panned over batting practice for the Home Run Derby, he simply stated, “Some stages don’t need to be set.” That was it. I knew we were in good hands. With five short words, Karl Ravech set aside all my fears. Throughout the evening, seasoned professionals found themselves affected by the gravity of the event. Players soaked up the atmosphere. Personalities paid homage to their surroundings. Tim Kurkjian, typically a bastion of calm and composure, sounded like one of my middle school students, introducing his segment with, “This is the coolest thing in the world.” Then, Josh Hamilton made history.

Hamilton—he of the feel good story of redemption—hit the second pitch thrown by his 71-year-old high school and American Legion coach over the upper deck into the deepest part of the right field bleachers. He stepped out, took a breath, and addressed the catcher, giving voice to what we all thought, “This is awesome, dude.” Hamilton then proceeded to put on a prolific display of power. He hit a record 28 home runs in the first round, three of them over 500 feet. As I watched, phone in hand, my dad on other line, we traded “oohs,” “aahs,” and “oh my Gods.” To put Hamilton’s performance in perspective, I have attended games and batting practices in Yankee Stadium pretty regularly for 25 years, no one hits a baseball where he did. In the midst of his streak, Hamilton routinely deposited baseballs into the back of the right field bleachers, the upper tier of the black, and the top story of the upper deck. I have only seen two players hit balls that far: Barry Bonds and Reggie Jackson in film.

Then it struck me. Here was Josh Hamilton, a player that epitomizes the joy and vigor that we expect and so rarely see from our modern athletes, standing at ground zero of the baseball universe, offering his own send off to a stadium Rick Reilly called “an American icon.” Instead of celebrating the life of Yankee Stadium with twenty-one guns, Hamilton gave us a salute of twenty-eight homers. It was the ultimate Viking funeral. Instead of lighting up the body of a Nordic warrior, Josh Hamilton ignited the atmosphere in the Bronx.

Ultimately, All-Star weekend was a tremendous send off. Everyone from Peter Gammons to Joe Buck paid their respects. Josh Hamilton’s tribute was eloquent in its simplicity. And how do you beat a guest list that includes baseball royalty the likes of Hank Aaron, Yogi Berra, Willie McCovey, Reggie Jackson, and Whitey Ford? It was a fitting memorial, and one we should never forget.

I know I won’t.