“Start
spreading the news…” Their season’s over today.
It
sure was fun watching the Orioles mathematically eliminate the Yankees from
post-season play right in the middle of Derek Jeter’s going away party
at Yankee Stadium. Now if only he would just go away. I was explaining the
phenomena of the season-long, prolonged farewell to some relative laypersons in
graphic detail, when the Yankees were here for Jeter’s last games in town a couple
of weeks ago. “They’re lining up from the statue of the Babe all the way to
Pickles to kiss his ass,” I said, and then I heard two women walking in the
opposite direction having the exact same conversation. I’m not sure if anyone
actually kissed Jeter’s ass while he was in town but Boog Powell did
give him the crabs and an oversized mallet made out of Louisville Slugger wood
in an on-field presentation before his last game here in town. While I do think the ongoing celebration has
been a bit over the top I couldn’t resist the temptation of going to New York
to see the Orioles play the Yankees in Jeter’s final home series at the Stadium
and to exorcise some two-year-old demons.
I
don’t like the Yankees and I don’t like Yankee Stadium, the last time I was
there I had such a bad time that I never wanted to go back. It was game three
of the American League Championship Series; the “Rauuuuuul” game. The upstart
2012 Os were on a roll enjoying the team’s first winning season in 15 years and
appeared poised to finally slay their rival beast of the American League East.
And so with a trepidatious swagger I sauntered into Yankee Stadium in full
Orioles regalia, accompanied by my girlfriend Shannon also wearing an Orioles
cap and orange scarf and my friend and upstairs neighbor Damien, a Yankees fan
who got us the tickets. On the subway ride from Manhattan and upon entering the
Yankees dungeonesque concrete fortress, I was well aware that I had broached
hostile territory. My sexuality was questioned because of the briefcase I
carried over my shoulder and three old guys sitting behind us at the game kept
hitting the top of my hat with the metal button on top of theirs anytime a
Yankee batter reached base or a fielder recorded an Orioles out. It was
a tense and close affair with the Orioles clinging to a 2-1 lead through
eight-and-half innings and when Raul Ibanez hit a moon shot off Jim
Johnson to tie the game in the bottom of the ninth (which was the beginning
of the end for Johnson) and another majestically arced, gut-wrenching, walk-off
blast off Brian Matusz to end the game in the bottom of the twelfth. It
fucking sucked. The walk of shame back to the subway was like being in an
eternal nightmare; heckled and ridiculed to the tune of Frank Sinatra singing
“New York, New York,” from the moment the game ended until we finally
disembarked the train in New Jersey. I took it all quite personally and felt
nothing but contempt and rage for Yankee Stadium and Yankee fans, (except for
my buddy Damien). I never wanted to hear that song again.
But
what a difference a couple of years make.
Arriving
at Yankee Stadium the Orioles were already champions of the American League
East, a fact which I proudly displayed on my t-shirt. I wore a bright orange
and white printed long-sleeve, button-down shirt over the top and fluorescent
orange Brooks sneakers stopping first for a beer at the Dugout bar across the
street from the ballpark. I was one of two or three Orioles fans in a crowd of
about 400 people in the room and was booed when I approached bar, but there was
no wind behind it and it lacked luster. This season has been a humbling
experience for the Yankees, more of a farewell tour for Jeter than a pennant
race for the team.
Jeter
received a standing ovation and everyone was snapping pictures of him on their
cell phones before he grounded out to short in the first inning and again
before he struck out in the third. The Yankees moved out to a 3-0 lead after
three innings, knocking two home runs off Orioles starter Bud Norris but as it
has gone for the team this year I knew it was just a matter of time before we
would catch up with their starter, Shane Greene, which happened when the
Orioles batted around the order scoring six runs in the top of the fourth, it
was very therapeutic and relaxing. During the lengthy rally I began to
acknowledge the comfort of the cushiony $90 seat I was sitting in just to the
fair side of the foul pole on the lower level in the right field corner and the
$15, 25-ounce of can of Becks was still icy cold in my souvenir New York
Yankees 3-D cup. The Orioles scored three more runs in the top of the eighth,
the last on a beautifully placed run-scoring bunt single by Adam Jones.
When the Yankees scored two runs in the bottom of the eighth and Jeter grounded
out weakly to first base in his final at-bat of the game going hitless in four
at-bats, it was all over but the gloating. This time when “New York, New York”
started pumping through the P.A. system I started singing along and a stayed
until the ushers started ushing me from my section and I pleaded with them to
let me take just one more picture. I really didn’t want to leave. I puffed out
my chest to reveal my AL East Champions t-shirt and sought out the few other
Orioles fans on the concourse for high fives. I proceeded to get drunk and shat
my pants on the train ride home (actually it was more of a shart). But overall
it was a great day and I’m looking forward to going back the next time the
Orioles open up a can of whoop ass on the Yankees at the Stadium.
Author Charlie Vascellaro has written three books, including a
biography of Hank Aaron, a young reader’s biography of Manny Ramirez, and a
limited edition historical volume commissioned by the U.S. Department of
Commerce called Baseball in America. His writing on spring baseball training has
appeared on MLB.com, in the Washington
Post, the Los Angeles Times, Chicago Tribune and Sun Times,
and annually in the U.S. Airways in-flight magazine since 2005. He is invited
regularly to speak in regional and national forums about the history and lore
of America’s pastime. His next book is At the Ballpark: A Fan’s Companion, an interactive and
engaging hardball handbook for young and new baseball fans.
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