All Good Things…

The movie would have been different.  As the clock neared midnight for the life of Yankee Stadium, something within the Yankees would have clicked.  It would have started with something small—a Brett Gardner walk-off single, or the benching of Robinson Cano for lackadaisical play—and then would have snowballed into a miracle run.  Andy Pettitte would have woken up in a sweat late on a September night, swinging his arm excitedly, realizing he could throw hard again.  Alex Rodriguez would have shaken free from the ghosts of the past, connecting with big hit after big hit, kissing his Kabbalah bracelet after each one.  Chien-Ming Wang’s foot would have miraculously healed through the intervention of some new medical discovery.  Sydney Ponson would have slipped in a bar fight and landed on his right shoulder, causing the tendons to heal too tight, allowing him to throw near 100 mph.  Then he would have been mentored by a quirky Daniel Stern and a surprisingly lucid Gary Busey.

These coincidental happenstances would have driven the Yankees into October.  As the death of Yankee stadium loomed ever nearer, the Bronx Bomber would have extended her life a win at a time.  Then they would have won the World Series in a game seven that strayed well past the expected nine innings.  Mariano Rivera would have carried the team through three grueling innings, a la his performance in the Aaron Boone game of 2003’s ALCS against the Red Sox.  Derek Jeter would have recorded the winning hit.  Then he would have gone on a run both rivaling and surpassing Justin Timberlake’s procession through Cameron Diaz, Scarlett Johansson, and Jessica Biel. The old stadium would have gone out in style.

Unfortunately, baseball mirrors reality a little too closely.  In life, endings are rarely satisfying.  Too often, the closing of a chapter in one’s life comes abruptly and unexpectedly, leaving that person to cope with unplanned for loss.  In other instances, conclusions become so over-hyped and built up that their realistic execution simply cannot meet such impossible standards.

Take television for example.  Seinfeld and The Sopranos both induced tremendous excitement leading towards their series finales.  Seinfeld’s final episode was an hour-long self-aggrandizing pat on the back for everyone involved in the show, which left a sour taste in the mouths of many long time fans.  Though the Sopranos’ finale fits quite well into the arc of the show, making millions of people believe their cable broke while essentially answering zero questions caused many fans to react negatively to Tony’s newfound love of onion rings.  Really, so many expected so much from the two shows that the writers simply could not accommodate everything.  Remember how much everyone wanted to see the Star Wars prequels?  I rest my case.

In that vein, it’s fitting that the House That Ruth Built goes out not with a bang, but with a whimper.  The last time that the Yankees did not make the playoffs was 15 years ago.  It seems utterly appropriate that such a streak would meet its end at the same time as the stadium that housed it.  As a result, we focus on the stadium itself.  In playoff games, the players assume the roles of hero and goat, star and supporting cast.  On Sunday, Yankee Stadium was the one and only icon.  In Hollywood, the cast would have taken center stage, but in ESPN’s reality, the set stole the show.

ESPN spent more than five hours covering the history of the park.  While I watched, there must have been a window open, because goose bumps continuously crawled up and down my arms.  When the coverage focused on Thurman Munson’s death and Bobby Murcer’s performance in the game following his captain’s funeral, it got very dusty in the apartment.  Things got even dustier when Tommy John told the story of how his son, who had come out of a 14-day coma, threw out the first pitch of a game.  Finally, some particles must have gotten in my eyes as I watched Derek Jeter so eloquently thank the fans and bid farewell to his storied baseball home.

On Sunday, players and pennant races alike played second fiddle to a structure that embodied so much more than baseball.  In its 85 years, Yankee Stadium hosted the Babe and the Mick, the Boss (Steinbrenner not Springsteen) and the Chairman of the Board, the Iron Horse and the Yankee Clipper, Old Reliable and Captain Clutch, Yogi and Scooter, the Piano Man and Bono,  Joe Louis and Muhammad Ali, the Gipper and Frank Gifford, Cardinals and popes, even presidents and freedom fighters.  In October of 2001, it was a site of healing and strength renewed.  In 2004, a curse was lifted within its walls.  And in the early ‘80s, it hosted a young boy for whom baseball took precedence over sleeping and eating.  I, and so many like me, grew up within the walls of this storied cathedral.  On Sunday night, we all said goodbye to the building that houses our memories and captured our hearts.

It’s times like these that I consider myself so fortunate to have this forum.  Take care, old friend.  You may be replaced, but you will never be forgotten.