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By mw2828, Section MLB
sub·lime- verb As the dogs days of August began to grudgingly give way to the promise of September, nary a thought of foreign politics or agendas swirled through my mind as I happily clutched the tickets to Cal Ripken's final home game at Camden Yards. In just a few weeks, I'd be sitting in the beautiful ballpark right off the Maryland Board Walk giving my appreciation to Baseball history. I counted down the days as they dropped off the calendar with routine ease. September 9... September 10...
There wasn't a cloud in the sky. It was one of those rare days when one could just look up above his head and be propelled into a good mood. Unfortunately, it was a school day, so I would have to wait six hours before breathing what was perhaps summer's last gasp of the year. After all, it was September 11, and leaves were already beginning to decay into a familiar autumn brown. What happened during the course of that day has been recounted by far more worthier voices than myself. On the eleventh day of September, in the year 2001, the world I lived in as a normal eighth grader who it all figured out was not shaken, it was destroyed. Someone who might have absently brushed past you in the street, someone who might have been going up on an escalator while you were going down, someone who was living and breathing just like you was now gone. I don't remember being scared about further attacks on New York the rest of that day, although I probably should have been. The state of shock that had come over me did not allow contemplation of even more carnage. By 4 in the afternoon, it seemed like the sun had been up forever. When darkness finally did permeate the sky and I afforded myself the chance to sleep, the last thing that was on my mind were the 2001 New York Yankees. As the Yankees rolled along on yet another victorious ride during the 2001 season, an ardent fan of the team was now more inclined to compare them with Yankee teams from the recent past rather than their current competition around the league. In this particular campaign, the pitching was as strong as ever. Mike Mussina, Roger Clemens, and Andy Pettite solidified a staff that was in the top tier of the American League. Clemens, in fact, turned in one of his finest seasons in winning yet another Cy Young Award. It was Clemens' first with the Yankees, and third since Red Sox management pronounced him to be in the twilight of his career. The team's reliable shortstop Derek Jeter turned in another year that would gleam on his baseball card, while Bernie Williams eased once again into the season's background for yet another dependable performance. There were invigorating stories around the rest of the Baseball world as well. Ichiro Suzuki and Albert Pujols each turned in marvelous rookie seasons for the Mariners and Cardinals respectively. Ichiro's team did just as well to compliment their new star right fielder, as the Mariners hauled in an incredible 116 wins. In the National League, Barry Bonds steamrolled Mark McGwire's relatively new single season home run record. In eclipsing 70 with 73, Bonds shattered the mere 3-year-old standard. The Mets made a valiant stretch drive run that fell just a bit short of the Braves when their closer Armando Benetiz couldn't slam the door in key September match-ups. As the season rushed toward its climatic finish in the dwindling days of fall, the massive tragedy incurred by the victims of the 9/11 terrorist attacks curtailed the proceedings for two weeks. While many could have made a reasonable argument that the rest of the schedule be cancelled, pride in our way of life and our traditions easily won out over uncertainty. A message was delivered by our President to go about our "normal" lives. While this was impossible, perhaps drifting off into a safe world of familiarity appeared to be reasonable. For me, and many others, Baseball was this world. And now viewed in a new perspective, just as a simple game in the waning moments of its arduous schedule, it was as relaxing to watch as it had ever been. If the world wasn't going to make sense anymore, our individual lives needed to. For me personally, baseball was not a healer. It served more as a modicum of stability, some sort of consistency during a confusing time. Sitting in class one day, smoke from Ground Zero filtered into the room, and made a cackling sound as it rose to the ceiling. The teachers and students sat in silence, perhaps unsure about how to react. Slumping in my desk, my mind flowed into thoughts about a Yankee game later that night. The New York Yankees had won 3 straight World Series Championships as they entered the year 2001, and after brushing aside the cross town rival Mets in five games for the 2000 season's crowning achievement, the team as a whole could no longer do wrong in the eyes of the fans. After all, there is nothing better than bringing up 2000 to some loud mouth Mets fan, even to this present day. As the sense of achievement hovered over the franchise, a bit of Mystique and Aura began to pour out from their Pinstripes. Instead of rolled eyes from their contemporaries around Baseball, the Yankees commanded respect and backed it up splendidly with their play on the diamond. It was amazing how many games could be won by just simply playing the game in a fundamentally sound fashion. There was no ego, no superstar, and best of all little heard from the owner's box. The team was a machine that churned out victories savored in New York, gloriously repetitive everywhere else. Derek Jeter may not have put up top 10 stats, but any Yankee supporter worth his salt will defend him down to the last breath. Whiny fans from all over the Baseball land enjoy knocking Jeter over the amount of money he makes, even though every other big market team during the salary boom in the late 90's might have offered Jeter close to the same amount had he hit free agency. They love to rip apart his power numbers, forgetting that the RBIs collected are earned at the top of the batting order and the Home Runs hit would be considered amazing for most shortstops before 1995. They rarely mention his superlative 1998 and 1999 seasons, fail to acknowledge he will easily have 3,000 hits before his time is over, and love to gloss over his October performance. The item of most tantamount importance to rip Jeter on for statheads everywhere is his defense, far from perfect, miles from terrible. Range factor was often bought into the discussion, despite the fact that it cripples fielders who play behind strike out pitchers, limiting their fielding chances. As Jeter's "range factor" improved when more contact oriented pitchers were bought aboard, the stat was disregarded. The reason why these people can't stand Jeter is due to what he represents. And what Jeter represents is Yankee Victory, over baseball's other assorted franchises, and over a casual fan's common knowledge. Nothing annoys a stathead more than hearing a casual fan mention Jeter as one of the game's great players. It is as if their very beliefs have been spit on. What they hate most hearing about however, is his intangibles. But how else to describe what happened during Game 3? As the city tried to live and breathe with it's grief, the Yankees headed into the Playoffs against a scary Oakland A's team. The A's were young and hungry, and on the prowl for revenge against the very team that knocked them out of the playoffs in 2000. Oakland was at its peak during 2001. Jason Giambi, Miguel Tejada, and Eric Chavez were all in their prime and all on the same infield. The big three, a triumvirate of aces on top of Oakland's pitching staff, were all at the top of their massively talented games. The 3 starters in question were the Tim Hudson, who had a bulldog's tenacity, Barry Zito, a classic odd ball lefty with unlimited potential, and Mark Mulder, another lefty who was the most polished pitcher of the three. Corey Lidle, an unheralded fourth starter, posted great numbers in the second half to buoy World Series hopes. The A's felt it was their time to shine. All the pieces were in place for the White and Gold. Sure enough, Oakland roared into the Stadium and took the first two games of the best of five A.L.D.S. in convincing fashion. As the Yankees marched toward a loss in Game 2, fans left the game early in the eighth inning. It was a sight unfamiliar to myself, but understandable to all. For in this year, it was difficult to get truly excited for post season baseball. No one wanted to embrace the stress. If the Yankees were to lose, a general feeling of malaise would greet their defeat. Discussing it with my friends, one of them wondered if it "just wasn't the time for all of this." At the time I brushed off, and made all the generic statements about moving on and continuing to live. I believed it, but not with all my heart. I expressed this through the Yankees: "Hey, maybe they just caught a hot team this year." Or maybe it wasn't that important. Zito was absolutely dealing that night. It was game 3, and night had faded in on the Oakland Alameda Coliseum. Zito's curve was dancing, and he had made only two mistakes the entire game. Jorge Posada homered, and Shane Spencer doubled in back to back fashion, but Spencer was eventually stranded at second base. As for the Yankee starter, Mike Mussina was simply brilliant. However, as the game rolled along and the Yankees afforded him no support, and a feeling of impending doom floated over the proceedings. The A's line up was way too effective to be shut out during the course of nine innings. Mussina was going to run into a rough spot eventually, and I wondered whether the Yankees had given enough support to with stand it Sure enough, the Moose, as he is called with affection by his hometown fans, allowed Terrance Long to pound a 2 out double down the right field line. The blazing grounder had evaded the dive of First baseman Tino Martinez, and was now rolling towards the corner. My shoulders slumped, and my mouth ran dry. "So this is it." Baseball was going to play by the rules after all. The Yankees had to eventually pay the price for their feeble offensive out put. The only saving grace was that Jeremy Giambi was rolling slowly around the bases with the potential tying run. Jeremy was Jason's brother, and despite putting up better minor league stats than his better-known relative, Jeremy had not delivered a splendid big league career. Jeremy shared two major facets of the game with Jason however, one being a great batting eye and the other being terrible speed. Giambi's steps were well meaning, but slow and choppy. He rounded third base with a head of steam, and those choppy steps were a mere ninety feet away from delivering a game tying run and a possible crippling blow to the Yankees. Shane Spencer, filled with adrenaline, over shot not one but two cut off men, and the ball bounced along pathetically towards home plate, kissing the first base line. At that moment in time, no baseball in the history of mankind bounced as slowly. He had no business being there. 29 other Short Stops in the Major Leagues surely would not have. But he was. Derek Jeter intercepted the errant throw, flipped it to a home plate while he was still on the dead run, and Posada incredibly held on the ball as Jeremy Giambi's massive legs collided with his catcher's mitt with full force. Indeed, Giambi made the unwise decision not to slide, making the call for the Umpire all the more easy. Out. Call it intangibles, call it instincts, or even call it luck and attempt to keep a straight face, the fact of the matter was that Derek Jeter was there to intercept Shane Spencer's errant throw heading towards oblivion. No stat could project what the play did for that team. For they would go on to win game 3. There would be tomorrow. The A's did have a better team than the Yankees in this particular year. They just couldn't prove it on the field. Corey Lidle was hammered in Game 4, although he wasn't particularly helped by a muffed double play blown by utility man F.P. Santangelo. The Yankees turned that botched play into a big inning, and rolled in game 4 behind Orlando Hernandez. The scene shifted to the Bronx in game number 5. The A's jumped off to a great start, scoring a pair before the fans had settled into their seats after the National Anthem. Their lead would not hold up. New York was helped by shoddy defensive play of the A's infield, and eventually won the contest 5-3. Derek Jeter would make another spectacular play, this time falling into the seats along the third base line to corral a foul pop up. By the time Yankee closer Mariano Rivera entered the game, the out come seemed predetermined by the Baseball Gods. There would be no A's come back. The Yankees, who just a week prior had been a team pronounced dead after two shocking opening losses in their home ballpark, were now heading to the A.L.C.S. In 2001, the Seattle Mariners amazed baseball forecasters and fans alike with a legendary performance, winning 116 games on their way to a dream season. Ichiro Suzuki, an imported player from the far East Coast, slashed his way to batting title, Rookie of the Year, and M.V.P. awards. He also played defense with such astonishing perfection that many wondered if he was some kind of machine. The Mariners also benefited from second baseman Bret Boone coming from nowhere to producing way over 100 RBI's and also playing splendid defense. Other contributors included John Olerud, Mike Cameron, and the entire pitching staff, which did not rely on one hurler but rather the whole to carry 162 games of burden. This was team in the truest sense of the word, which made their series against the Yankees so intriguing. They were facing a franchise that relied on precisely on 25 players instead of a handful. Which selfless group was going to hitch a ride to the World Series? When the Yankees returned to the Bronx carrying a 2-0 advantage in the series, they appeared invincible. Lou Pinella however, was far from convinced that his record setting Mariners were finished. His team backed up the fiery manager's pointed words with a blow out of the Bronx Bombers in game 3. Sweet Lou's bold proclamation that the A.L.C.S. would return back to Seattle was appearing now to be a shrewd move rather than an act of desperation. Game 4 saw a seesaw battle turn on Alfonso Soriano's clutch ninth inning home run Kazuhito Sasaki. Sasaki's lone weakness as a closer was a susceptibility to the long ball, and sure enough, he served up an opposite way blast to the Yankees' young second baseman. The Mariners wouldn't have admitted it at the time, but they were finished. As the Yankees trounced them in a decisive game 5, an outpouring of emotion from the Stadium served as a release to many in New York. A symphony of Yankee hits demolished Mariners pitching deep into the night, and a chant arose from the masses. " Over-Rated!" " Over-Rated!" " Over-Rated!" The chant continued, rising in volume and in utter joy. People misunderstood that it was a shot taken at the Mariners. Hardly. It was a nod of appreciation to the Yankees. The Seattle Mariners, a team that had won 116 games during the regular season, had been demolished. In a way, the chant reflected how deeply affections ran for the Yanks at this particular time. It was as if the fans, collectively, even myself were saying: 116 Wins and you can't even touch our team. Our team. Even the Mariners are no opposition for the Yankees. Who's next? " Over-Rated!" So heartfelt and meaningful was the measure of the chant that even the Mariners' proud manager had the thought cross his mind that this city "had been through a lot." We were having fun. No one could touch the Yankees. And they were our team. The New York Yankees. It appeared that the Yankees were enjoying it just as well. After the victory over the Mariners, a touching scene occurred in the clubhouse as the team solemnly rose their champagne glasses in tribute to the city of New York. Then there was a video snap shot of Bernie Williams walking off the field toward the dugout, his arms raised over his head in complete and utter victory. As the noise around him swelled, Bernie slowed down his walk and embraced the moment. Before that year, I would have wondered what the feeling was like to walk off a Baseball field into a cauldron of delirious noise and exultant praise. I no longer needed to. The city and this team, for this moment in time, were in complete unity. Awaiting the Yankees in the World Series were the Arizona Diamondbacks, who had dispatched Atlanta in the N.L.C.S. and survived a hard fought series against the St. Louis in the round before, winning on a single by Tony Womack. The Diamondbacks may have been young as a franchise, but their players were grizzly veterans. Curt Schilling and Randy Johnson formed the best one-two punch in all of Major League Baseball. Mark Grace provided leadership and a line drive bat at first, but the centerpiece of their offense was Louis Gonzalez. In a year when Barry Bonds pounded 73 homers, the astonishing season by Gonzalez will eventually be lost in time. Louis ripped 57 homers, and would have won the M.V.P. Award in any less remarkable season. If Arizona was looking to set a tone in Game 1, they accomplished it in spades. D-Back hitters jumped all over Division Series hero Mike Mussina, and several fielding miscues by the Yankees helped to fuel a game 1 wash out. Game 2 belonged to Randy Johnson, as the intimidating lefty who had haunted the Yankees in post seasons past reared his ugly head yet again, nullifying the Bomber offense to the tune of a shut out. Matt Williams ended any hope of late game heroics, swatting a key three run homer in the closing innings. The series shifted back to the Bronx, and the hopes of the Yankees and their fans rested on the broad shoulders of Roger Clemens. Clemens was often badgered as not being a true Yankee, despite winning a World Series crown with the club in 1999. However, after jumping ship by forcing a trade from the Blue Jays, the expectations heaped on the Red Sox legend were of overwhelming New York style proportion. When Clemens let the masses down with a disappointing individual year, the tabloids were readying their word processors for further scathing during Clemens' follow up year. And those New York Media Jackals got exactly what they desired when Roger once again fell short of expectations during the first half, which was only compounded by a stint on the D.L. with a groin problem. During the D.L. stay, George Steinbrenner shared a pep talk with the beleaguered future Hall of Famer, and shortly thereafter Clemens returned to his old self. Whether the Owner's little talk had any bearing on his performance is a question for another day, but the fact of the matter remains that the man they called "The Rocket" took off in the second half, and didn't slow down for the rest of the season. After closing out the Braves in the '99 Series and pitching a dominant game 2 during the 2000 Edition, Clemens had seemingly overcame the stigma that he couldn't pitch a big game. But if there were still questions remaining on that issue, they were all summarily answered in Game 3 of the 2001 Series. Game 3 is the most overlooked battle of this historic series, and in comparison with Games 4 and 5 it may look a bit pale. Roger Clemens' effort in the do or die endeavor for the Yanks however, should not be forgotten. With his team's back against the wall, Clemens went out and pitched an absolute masterpiece, handing the game to Mariano Rivera having held the D-Backs to an anemic 1 run. And Rivera, as he always did, closed the game out with an assassin's precision and poise. It was a Series again, and no one had the faintest idea of where it would go next. On three days rest, Curt Schilling took the ball in game 4 hoping to bury the Yankees in a 3-1 hole. Schilling, despite the short rest, was on the absolute top of his game, dealing strikes and working the corners with a veteran's savvy. The only blemish on his record was a solo homer surrendered to Shane Spencer, who shot one the opposite way into the short porch in right. Orlando Hernandez was at the top of his game as well, but tired in the eighth inning giving way to Mike Stanton with one man on. Stanton, bought in to neutralize the dangerous Erubial Durazo, failed to do his job as he hung a curve on the inside corner of the plate. Durazo walloped it just beyond the reach of Bernie Williams in center field, and the runner on first came all the way around to score. When the D-Backs padded their lead with an additional run, the game appeared to be all but over. Arizona manager Bob Brenly surprised many however with his decision to hook Curt Schilling and bring the enigmatic Byun Hyun Kim in from the bullpen in an attempt to record the final six outs. Kim, a mysterious right-hander from Korea, often slept most of the day before a game. It was often speculated that he slept at least 17 hours of the day, staying awake only for the scheduled game. The reliever's pitching motion did well in comparison with his personality, a submarine style delivery that confounded righties but benefited lefties with a longer look at the ball before it spiraled toward home plate. Kim almost effortlessly reached in the 90's with his fastball, and had a wide array of junk to keep hitters off balance. He had assumed the closer mantle from the oft-injured flamethrower Matt Mantei, and the stage was now set for him to be a hero. Or perhaps a goat. Kim made Brenly look like a brilliant tactician in the eighth inning, striking out the side on his way to an easy 1-2-3 frame. As the scoreboard flashed forward to the bottom of the ninth inning under a glowing full moon, Kim recorded an easy first out before giving up a pathetic broken bat bleeder into left field by Paul O'Neill. Many argued that the leftfielder Gonzalez could have laid out for the ball, but the way Kim was throwing, it didn't appear to be an issue. He struck out Bernie Williams on a nasty slider in the dirt for the ninth's second out, and Arizona was just about ready to take a strangle hold on the series. The only person left standing in their way was the Yankee first baseman, Tino Martinez. Over the course of Tino's career, he had gotten in the habit of replacing legends at first base. In Seattle, Tino took over for the beloved Alvin Davis, who to that point had been Seattle's only superstar. After many productive years in a Mariner uniform, Tino was shipped off to the Bronx prior to the 1996 season. Yankee legend Don Mattingly had just taken out a leave of absence, and would be missing for all of '96. While fans wondered if they had seen the last of Mattingly, they didn't know what to make of Martinez. He had a reputation as a decent fielding first sacker, though he certainly was no Mattingly. A slow start at the plate did nothing to dissipate the fans' incredulous reaction to their newest Yankee. However, things changed on one rainy night in Baltimore. For Martinez would sock a grand slam in extra innings to give the Yankees a valuable win, and from that point forward Tino would be beloved in the Bronx. A 1997 season when he hammered 44 homers, and solid production from than gave everyone a sense of reliability from the reserved first basemen. When Tino's production fell off drastically in 2000, many called for Nick Johnson, then a phenom at Triple A. But in 2001, it was Tino who would carry the offense. Swatting 34 home runs and collecting over 100 RBI's, the erstwhile consummate team player appeared to have regained the support of the front office and had earned the undying loyalty that players seldom get from fickle fans. Now, it was up to Martinez to keep the Yankees afloat in the Series. He had never faced Kim before, and only had a few sneak peeks at him through video. Choosing to do the most logical ideal, Tino simply looked for a fastball he could put his best swing on. Kim, perhaps feeling invincible, was only too willing to oblige. Joe Buck, the Fox play-by-play man, had barely finished praising Kim for his poise under pressure before the next pitch was thrown. What came next was the most shocked call of a home run in recent Baseball history: " Belted... right center field... and this game is tied." As the disbelieving words poured out of Buck's mouth, Tino Martinez floated around the bases with the game's tying run. After the reliable Rivera slammed the door on the D-Backs in the tenth, the Yankees came up in the bottom half and were greeted by... Kim. Brenly had left his closer in the game due to the fact that he had no confidence in the rest of the bullpen. It was a questionable move by Brenly, who earlier in the post season had called for Tony Womack to suicide squeeze in the bottom of the ninth against St. Louis. It was game 5, and with everything on the line, the move backfired horribly. The pitch was too far outside to bunt, and the winning run was tagged out in a rundown. Luckily for Brenly, Womack would deliver a hit to win the series on the next pitch. It wouldn't be Tony's last big hit in the playoffs. Whatever weariness Kim felt was not evident as he mowed down the Yankees' first two hitters. With two outs in the tenth, the stadium clock struck 12. It was officially November 1 st, the first time a baseball game had been played this late in the calendar. It was a cruel reminder of what had took place a little over a month prior. If anything, Jeter now had a chance to be Mr. November. Early in the at-bat however, Kim seemed to be ceasing his moment for redemption. He quickly jumped ahead of the count 0-2, and Jeter had to foul some tough pitches off to even stay alive. As Kim readied yet another one of his pitches, I noticed that the D-Backs' catcher was setting up outside. It was horrendous strategy, especially at Yankee stadium, where Jeter could poke one out of right field using the short porch. Kim's last fastball of the night exploded off of Jeter's bat and landed just over the right field fence. The Yankees had resurrected once again. As Tim McCarver succinctly stated over the chorus of celebration: " A night to remember forever... bedlam in the Bronx." Game 5 was scheduled for the next night. It appeared the Yankees had a date with destiny. What was next? As many followers of the game observed, a game such as number 4 only occurred once in a lifetime. However, the rules of common knowledge were about to be turned on their head from game 5, as well the rest of the series. Mike Mussina redeemed himself for a putrid game 1 outing with a sterling game 5, leaving the game having given up only 2 runs. Unfortunately for Mussina and the Yanks, Miguel Batista had answered the call for Bob Brenly and pitched shut out baseball. A fact somewhat lost in the series was that Batista and Brian Anderson, the game 3 and game 5 starters, both pitched their guts out with nary a win to show for it. Many were surprised that the duo pitched solid games, due to the fact Anderson sometimes let pressure rattle him and Batista often appeared strange, once telling reporters he would only answer questions regarding his pet bird. Batista, an aspiring author, once said he had so many ideas for literature that he felt "pregnant" with them, and that he was simply waiting to give "birth" to all his master plans. Regardless of all his idiosyncratic trappings, Miguel delivered in game 5, giving the performance of his career. Call it trust, or call it idiocy, or maybe a mixture of both, but Bob Brenly gave B.K. Kim a chance to close out game 5. Kim, now a national symbol for choking, appeared to be as vulnerable as a teenager on the mound. B.K. was in his early twenties, and still had traces of acne trailing down his young face. He was greeted with a double down the left field line by Jorge Posada, but then quickly retired the next two hitters. Once again, Kim only had one more out to get. And once again, a corner infielder for the New York Yankees stepped up to the plate. This time, it was Scott Brosius, third baseman. Brosius was regarded as the booby prize awarded to the Yankees for unloading Kenny Rogers on the A's, but he was penciled in to be third baseman in 1998. Scott had just come off an absolutely awful season for the A's in '97, barely keeping his average above the Mendoza line. The Yankees' plan was to use Scott as a stopgap for prospect Mike Lowell, who was actually later traded for prized pitching prospect Eddie Yarnell. Brosius however, would prove to be much more than a stopgap. He surprised everyone by hitting .300 in 1998, this after a dismal Spring Training that had some questioning his ability to hit Major League pitching. The best was yet to come, as Brosius won the 1998 World Series M.V.P. trophy, on the strength of his clutch homer off Trevor Hoffman during game 3. Solid years with great defense followed, Brosius became a familiar staple of the Yankee Dynasty. Kim had almost served up a homer run to Brosius the previous night, as he just missed clipping the left field foul pole. Perhaps this was on Kim's mind when he served up a slider that hung so badly that it was almost right down the middle. Brosius crushed it into the left field seats, and Posada, who appeared to be left for dead at second after his double, joyously rounded the bases. As for Brosius, right after he made contact he raised his hands in the air in exultation, knowing the ball was destined for the left field seats. It was deja vu all over again, and as John Sterling proclaimed "probably the greatest feat in World Series history." Byun Hyun Kim slumped to his knees on the mound, in absolute defeat. His teammates attempted to console him, and Rod Barajas went as far to shake his fist in the air and yell, "this isn't going to beat us!" It was must have been hard to take for Rod, since he had homered earlier in the night and was probably going to go down as the hero of the game. Kim was removed from the game, and received a massive sarcastic ovation from the New York fans. It didn't take a lot of thought to figure out who was eventually going to win the game. When Chuck Knoblauch touched home plate after Alfonso Soriano's winning single in the 12 Th inning, the final chapter in the two most memorable games in World Series history had been written. It may have been trite to say a baseball game had lifted the spirits of New York, but only a Scrooge would deny that it helped. The fact was that the only thing that could move New York forward was time. No baseball team could undo the damage of 9/11. No one player could console the broken families or dreams. However, two victories in the month of November, two games that will go down in the City's history, and two teams that delivered virtuoso performances, would perhaps allow a small thought to sneak into our minds: We can make it through this. If nothing else, there was the possibility for hope. Andy Pettite had come up big for the Yankees before, pitching unbelievable post-season games that will be the hallmark of his career long after it's over. On the night of game 6 however, Andy picked the wrong night to have his worst stuff. Pettite and the Yankee bullpen was flogged for over 10 runs, as the Diamondbacks feasted on terrible New York pitching. On a sour note for the Yanks, it wasn't until after the Series was over that they realized Pettite might have been tipping his pitches. Whether or not the element of surprise would have helped his hanging breaking balls is a matter still open to discussion. It was inspiring win for the D-Backs in their own right, as they refused to back down against a team that had just thoroughly broken their hearts. Randy Johnson pitched superbly yet again, and no revenge would be afforded for the Yankees against their long time post-season nemesis. In retrospect, the Series needed to go 7 games. It would be Roger Clemens against Curt Schilling. As Curt Schilling experienced trouble earlier in his career, the kind of trouble that young pitchers with blazing fastballs but no control often encounter, he met the most unlikely person in the gym one day. On Schilling's best days he could look like the person who sat down and gave advice on working the corners, staying in shape and keeping focused. That person was Roger Clemens. Schilling often credits that conversation as the singular reason that his career turned around to the point where he became an elite pitcher. After pitching wonderfully for languishing Phillies teams through the 1990's, Schilling finally received his long overdue wish for a trade. The team that netted him was the Arizona Diamondbacks, whose eyes lit up at the proposition of pairing him with Randy Johnson. The two fully gelled during 2001, and as they carried Arizona to the Playoffs, the two names became linked with each other: Schilling and Johnson. Johnson and Schilling. Schilling was the more talkative of the two, Johnson was feared the greatest. There may have been a bit of a rivalry between the two aces, although any traces of that story are for the most part unsubstantiated. Curt backed up his talkative label by launching into a tirade during a press conference before Game 4 of the Series. The issue regarded whether Yankee Stadium had any aura or mystique. "To me, aura and mystique are dancers at night club." The comments appeared foolhardy after the game 4 and 5 results, but it was just Schilling being Schilling. That personality made him the perfect pitcher for game 7. Bernie Williams often sinks to the background of Yankee lore, despite the fact he deserves every right to be mentioned as one of the franchise's all time best players. He has recorded the most home runs in post-season history. He has won multiple gold gloves. Much of the reason why Bernie is so overlooked can be blamed on his largely aloof personality. It's not as if Bernie does not care, it's just the way he views and plays the game. Perhaps that is one of the reasons that he underestimated the security concerns around Bank One Ball Park, causing him to be late to Game 7 of the World Series. Expectations were heightened around the clubhouse as it were, but no one was more furious than Derek Jeter. He berated Bernie for being late, screaming at the top of his lungs that there was no more important place for Williams to be at that moment. Derek Jeter did not want anything to threaten the Yankees attempt to win the 2001 World Series. He leads the way. Other emotions swirled before Game 7. It would be Paul O'Neill's final game wearing a Yankee uniform. There is no measure to determine how much O'Neill had meant for the franchise, or how much he affected individual members of the Yankees. His mentality of continued grinding, to not waste any at-bat, and to simply play the game right, were all staples of the Yankee Dynasty. How much did the fans love Paul O'Neill? During his last turn in right field in his final game in Yankee Stadium, in a game the Yankee were trailing 2-0, 57,000 people begin to chant the name of the beloved right fielder: "Paul O'Neill!" The chant rang for the entire inning, and nearly bough Paul to tears as he headed back toward the dug out. It was a measure of appreciation for a man who had left it all out on the field. In the end, it's all the fans really ask for. Game 7 lived up to its billing as a classic pitchers duel. Clemens and Schilling traded zeroes up until Danny Bautista's clutch double into the left center gap. The blow gave the Diamondback a 1-0 advantage. Ironically, Bautista was thrown out attempting to advance to third due to a rare perfect throw to the cut off man Jeter by Bernie Williams, followed by a bullet to third by Derek himself. Any sore feeling between the two Yankee stalwarts was surely gone by than. After all, it was all in the name of victory. The Yankees would tie the game up on a Tino Martinez single to right field. Schilling would outlast Johnson, pitching into the eighth inning. For the Yankees, with the game tied at 1, a debate was surely brewing as to whether to bring in Rivera during a tie game for the eighth. The argument raged as Alfonso Soriano stepped up to the plate. As Yankee Manager, Joe Torre had made a living out of these types of decisions. With dependable bench coach Don Zimmer at his side, Joe had navigated the Yankee ship to 4 world championships in five years. The fact that he was butchered upon his arrival to New York by the media must have made it all the more sweeter for Joe, as he carved his name into the Mount Olympus of Yankee managers, along with Casey Stengel and Joe McCarthy. Dubbed "Clueless Joe" before even managing his first game, Torre's even handed style was the perfect fit for both the Yankee club house and its owner, who was better seen and not heard. This perfect formula led to the New York tabloids wearing a considerable amount of egg on their face, certainly not the first or last time that such an occurrence would take place. The most compounding component of being a manager however, lies in the duty to make the tough call day after day, and to make the right call more than 90 percent of the time. And as decision time loomed in game 7, Mariano Rivera awaited the call to the bullpen. The free swinging Soriano could have put a lot of the concerns to bed if he blasted one, but the Yankee brain trust wasn't relying on the kid to make their lives any easier. After all, Schilling often had aggressive hitters like Alfonso for lunch, tantalizing them with pitches just off the plate. Soriano was often mistaken as a pure Yankee farm hand, when the fact was that the free swinger had been paid a handsome ransom to join the organization after a controversial exit from his team in Japan. Frustrated with his manager for attempting to change his hitting style, Soriano faked his retirement in order to escape out of his ironclad Japan League Contract. Word had spread around the Majors about Soriano's amazing ability, and he would not stay in the bushes for long. Probably a better fit for the outfield, the Yankees stuck Soriano at second base for his rookie season due to Chuck Knoblauch's case of Steve Sax disease. [Sax often had trouble throwing the ball from second to first. Purely a mental issue.] Alfonso often struggled or looked awkward in his new position, but his bat more than made up for it. He would have solid rookie season at the dish despite some defensive woes. Soriano's confident personality made him the perfect fit for post season play, and he had already proven his clutch ability with the A.L.C.S. homer off of Kaz Sasakai. Now Soriano faced off against Schilling, but looked overmatched in falling behind 0-2. Schilling than threw a splitter in the dirt, a waste pitch really, that had no right to be hit. The ball nearly scrapped the ground as it arrived to home plate. Soriano blasted it out of left field for a tie breaking home run. As he rounded the bases, rain fell down from the sky. It was an odd occurrence, being that Bank One BallPark had a retractable dome. The dome seemed to be on the fritz, and the rain would only last for a few minutes. But as Soriano rounded the bases with the precipitation falling around him in a steady rhythm, fate seemed to be at hand. Maybe this team was blessed. Rivera would be pitching the eighth. He only has one pitch, really. It's a devastating cutter running inside to both lefties and righties, rendering bats mostly useless. Rivera was a heralded young arm coming through the Yankee system before he had arm surgery. After that, his velocity went down and he became trade bait. During the winter of 1995 he was mentioned in trade rumors ranging from David Wells to Felix Fermine. The Yankees would hold on to Rivera, in one of the wisest decisions in franchise history. For Mo would become first an invincible set up man, second an indomitable closer. After blowing game 4 of the 1997 A.L.D.S. against Cleveland, sportswriters and fans wondered had Rivera would handle the loss in the following year. The answer lies in his lifetime stats, and further trips to the post season raised his status to that of a legend. Rivera became automatic. He was the key to the pinstriped machine. There was no one on the mound that you would rather have than Mariano Rivera in a big game. He blew it. The Diamondbacks rallied for two runs in the ninth, capitalizing on a Rivera throwing error and clutch hits in the ultimate pressurized situation. The biggest blow was Tony Womack's double down the line to tie things up. Louis Gonzalez's single over a drawn in Yankee infield was the death knell for a great team that came up two outs short. As Rivera walked off the field that night, he walked off it with dignity and pride. There was no goat. A team won and a team lost. It was Arizona's time to celebrate. In the end, it was just a baseball series. It couldn't be called healing, because a game couldn't cleanse wounds. It could be called uplifting. It could be called the most beautiful distraction over the course of 7 games on this earth. After all, that's what the game is all about. Just to pass the time. And if it could be enjoyed, if it could be a savored, or if it could be a safe and familiar place, it would have served the purpose for the people who may need an excuse to find some small sense of happiness during a dark time. The Series itself may have been the greatest played, but its meaning goes far past that. It still crosses my mind often, and as I finally attempted to transfer my thoughts into words, I could not find the proper beginning. How to explain the heroes, the hope, and the game? In the end, the only thing that was certain in my mind was that New York City would never forget the Yankees' attempt for their fourth straight World Series Championship.
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