Baseball was dead to me for exactly one day.
Thanks, greatest sport on Earth, for bringing me back in with one of the most thrilling elimination games–won by the home team no less–in a decade. Thanks, too, for keeping the damn midterm elections out of the headlines for a few hours.
Coming Friday: a hundred million reasons why following sports is better than following politics.
And now the curtain has officially closed on the career of Derek Jeter, the pride of what we will one day no doubt refer to as the “turn of the century” Yankees, or perhaps turn of the millennium. Derek Jeter truly bridged the gap from the God-awful Yankees of the late Mattingly era, to the adequate years of today. Twenty years from now will I say such and such player started in the Jeter era and came to dominate the sport? Or even stick around in the Bronx for more than a few seasons? In the age of scandal-happy social media and hyper free agency, I doubt it. Of course I hope I’m wrong.
Without question it is a cliche to lament there will never be another Derek Jeter. I’m pretty sure it was said about Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Mantle. People have written books about it. But more than will there ever be another Derek Jeter? (I’m sure there will be), I wonder whether there will ever be another Derek Jeter for me. Perhaps not. If nothing else, two things are certain. One, I’m never again going to be younger than any player coming up through the big leagues. Hard to look up to somebody 10 years younger than you are. And two, well, I’ll never be young again. Never be a kid again. I started following Derek Jeter when I was 13. That won’t happen again. Something about Thursday night’s game had me thinking, my youth just ended. That was it. The player I watched with my dad and Grandpa Gallagher and Joe. My last childhood hero just walked off (pun intended) into the sunset.
The beautiful thing about sports is that they do keep us young. Watching Derek Jeter the other night or any night did make me feel 13 again. Some day I’ll watch some other player, perhaps yet unborn, and feel the same way. I’ll watch the game with my son or grandkids, and be transported back in time. I’m hardly the first person to note this, but perhaps this is the first time it’s really sunk in for me on a personal level.
The Keith Olbermanns of the world can knock hero worship all they want; the rest of us are still going to partake. And really, Olbermann, what difference does it make? Who cares that we want to shower affection on someone or something that has brought us so much joy? Are we harming you or anyone else in some way? Yes, in a way sports are completely meaningless; they have no bearing on the actual struggles of mankind and the universe. But in another way sports are completely filled with meaning, about life and friendship, and the passage of time and generations. There are a lot of people in the world who make me happy. Derek Jeter’s one of them, and we’ve never even met. But he reminds me of my youth and the good times I had growing up. I used to feel the same way about Keith Olbermann (waking up early to watch Sportscenter six times in a row!). Some day Keith is going to be on his “farewell” tour and I’m going to resist the urge to say something like, “He was a pretty good broadcaster… but he wasn’t that good!”
Rather than letting the retirement of Derek Jeter be the end of my enjoyment with sports I’m letting it be a new beginning. I’ve got a new generation now with whom to enjoy those meaningless moments: thrills of victory and agonies of defeat. I hope that our new generation of stars brings as much class to the operation as Derek Jeter. Or at least comes around. Remember when Jeter was a partyboy in the ’90s? Well, I guess we all grow up eventually.
Unbelievable.
That’s the word I’ve heard most often in description of Derek Jeter’s heroic game-winning hit in last night’s contest, the Captain’s final game in pinstripes after a 20-year career.
Unbelievable?
You obviously haven’t been paying attention at all the past two decades. This was exactly how it was supposed to happen, right to the final details. The script has been in the works since about 2002. (Thanks, by the way, David Robertson, for taking the whole get-rocked-in-the-ninth-inning thing so well.)
For 20 years I’ve enjoyed watching Derek Jeter play baseball. You might say we grew up together. But whereas Derek now leaves the game I have the benefit of still watching, still remembering, and one day sharing those memories with my son…
who’s wearing a Derek Jeter jersey.
After years of seeing clips and snips and still frames, I finally got around to seeing the famous 1964 “T.A.M.I. Show” in its entirety. Filmed in October 1964, the concert come video features nearly every major pop/rock act of the day, from Chuck Berry to The Rolling Stones. (Interesting that while black and white performers appeared on the same bill, they never really play together, but that’s beside the point.)
Do yourself a favor and watch the show some time, if for no other reason than to hear some great music done slightly differently than the thousand times you’ve heard the studio recordings. It really goes to show the musicianship in live performances of the day that doesn’t comes across necessarily on A.M. radio in 2014. And while you could probably get a better picture just filming with your phone these days, the quality for 1964 is surprisingly high res.
So with all the junk passing for pop music these days, do I wish it were still 1964? Yeah, probably.
But I really like my cellphone.
Dear New York Yankees,
Thanks for playing a great game yesterday. I’m afraid it’s a little, well, see title.
On this day 35 years ago Frank Sinatra recorded this song. Listen. Enjoy. Repeat.
Lost in the shuffle of crushed baseball playoff dreams and NFL scandals is the small fact that my beloved Fighting Irish of Notre Dame football team is 3-0.
And here they are getting my hopes up again. I’ve fallen for it. Thanks, guys.
Dear New York Yankees,
You understand, of course, that along with playing amazing games on Sunday nights there is a certain expectation that you win.
I had a feeling as last night’s game progressed that Yanks-O’s was the new Yanks-Sox.
And we were the Red Sox!
You’ve got to hand it to Netflix. The company that already produced the genius idea to mail you your DVDs, then stream then instantly, has struck again with its original programming. As if House of Cards and Orange is the New Black weren’t enough, Netflix now brings you the delightfully ridiculous BoJack Horseman. It’s kind of Netflix’s foray into Adult Swim, and I’m a fan. Good work, Netflix. Keep ’em comin’.
I spend most of my life listening to talk radio. I go back and forth between sports and politics. Today’s going to be one of those days I listen to the same story on both stations.
What intrigues me most about the Ray Rice saga is the great number of people with their heads in the sand about so many things. One, that no one could have imagined Part One of the security video before we all saw it Monday. Two, that no one from the NFL had. Please. Three, assuming someone from the NFL front office had seen the video, that it could somehow be kept under wraps.
The most honest testimony I’ve heard in the past 48 hours has been that of Mrs. Rice. More than anyone, I’m sure, she’d prefer the whole thing would just go away. Remember, she married the guy after the incident, apparently without incident. To those with their heads in the sand: wives of NFL stars are prone to give their husbands leeway in such matters. Honestly, this kind of thing probably happens every weekend. Sorry to blow the lid off that one for you.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have some talk radio to listen to.