Showing off my colors at the Angels of the Waters
I was working in a marketing company in West 36 corner 8th Avenue in mid-town Manhattan. Penn Station and Madison Square Garden were around the corner. Times Square was just six streets away. Hell’s Kitchen was close by.
For lunch, sometimes I cooked and packed my own food and sometimes I ate out. There’s a Korean deli just across the street and I’d have lunch there with my boss Dmitri once in awhile. Or I’d go to Manhattan Mall and have some chicken teriyaki at Sakura. If all else fails then there’s Burger King & McDonald’s down the block.
I worked half-day approximately five times. One because I had to go to the Great Lawn in Central Park to find a spot for the Dave Matthews Band concert (that was eventually recorded on CD and DVD – hey, my yelling and clapping was heard on disc! Super babaw!). Two, coz I lined up on my birthday, November 11 (I share the same b-day with my buddy Jobe Nkemakolam), to meet painter extraordinaire Alex Ross (had my first ever comic book autographed) at Midtown Comics. Dudes, the line snaked all the way down to the adult shops next to the Port Authority. Yup, it was that long. Three, to catch the Misfits perform (the great Marky Ramone played drums – complete with the Ramones NYC logo on the bass drum’s skin -- for this seminal punk rock outfit). Numbers four and five were to catch early afternoon games by the New York Yankees versus the Boston Red Sox and the New York Mets.
You’re all probably wondering why my boss allowed me to go on leave. Well, the answer is simple… I did my job extremely well and put in extra time on weekends so he didn’t complain at all. In fact, one of my officemates would disappear every winter to play pro basketball in places like Turkey and South America. His name is Cliff Strong but everyone calls him “Dallas.” But this isn’t about my officemates or what I did. Forgive me. I'm rambling. This is about my beloved New York Yankees.
My cousin who works at Simon & Schuster once accompanied me to the Modell’s store in 42nd Street right beside Applebee’s and the AMC Theaters, I held a Derek Jeter pinstripes jersey in my hands and debated whether to buy it or not. “That’s $80 without tax,” my cousin said trying to dissuade me. My coz is a Yankee fan too, but he’d rather wear blue (yes, he went to Ateneo, too) and spend his dough on his girlfriend and shoot staged street fights then place them on the internet.
I didn’t listen and I bought the jersey.
My first time to the Stadium, I took the 4 train alone without my usual gaggle of multi-racial friends. We all loved sports but I was the only one with a deep passion for it. Funny coz Sam is from Egypt and he loves hockey. But we argued all the time because he rooted for the Rangers while I was an Islanders fan. The Isles weren’t that good in the early years of the new millennium so I heard it all the time from Sam.
I took the tour of the House That Ruth Built and was immediately transported to my younger years when I accompanied my grandfather to the Air Base PX store where he’d score tabacaleras while I’d pick out Fantastic Four and Spider-Man comic books. Right behind the counter, right behind the Lucky Strike sign, was a black and white poster of the legendary Mickey Mantle. Next to the Mick was another blown up photo of Ingrid Bergman from a movie still from Casablanca. There were times when I wasn’t sure whether to look at the Yankee great or the mesmerizing beauty of Bergman. I’d pause and go all quiet and the Air Force Staff Sergeant would gruffly say, “Move along, kid. Dis ain’t a museum. Now if yer done, then let’s bag them funnies of yours.” I asked my grandfather why he spoke funny and he said that was a Brooklyn accent. So I wondered if he was grouchy because he rooted for the Dodgers (who almost never beat the Yanks) back when they had Jackie Robinson. I never found out.
So there I was face to face with the monument to the Mick – the Yankee who perplexed me and turned me into a fan -- dedicated on August 25, 1996 with the inscription, “A magnificent Yankee who left a legacy of unequaled courage.”
And I was in baseball heaven.
I booed along with the crowd when some bum wore a Red Sox jersey in the Stadium. I yelled, “Charge,” when they’d play the bugle that called for a rally to get going. I joined the singing of “YMCA” to the dance number of the groundsweepers after the fifth and sang “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” during the seventh inning stretch. I bought hotdogs and cracker jacks. I joined the chorus line when Sinatra's "New York New York" was struck up after every win. And I cheered the Yankees on.
One chilly October night, I saw Aaron Boone forever etch himself into Yankee lore when he sent Tim Wakefield’s knuckleball into the Bronx night. We were drunk with joyous abandon and tossed popcorn in the air as we sent home the hated Sox in 2003. For a moment there, Sam, Jorge (who’s from Mexico), Cruiser (a fellow Filipino who works in a bank in Jersey), Andy (who works in a used CD shop in St. Mark’s), and I thought about walking all the way back to Manhattan, but abandoned the idea after we realized that we had a long way to go.
Little did I know that was the last hurrah of Joe Torre’s Yankees. They were beaten by the Florida Marlins in the World Series and I was crestfallen. I have every one of my tickets to the Stadium. Even the tickets to Fenway where I had to hide my cap lest I earn the ire of those drunken college kids masquerading as fans.
It was tough finding my way in New York in the post-9/11 years and no matter how tough it got, the Stadium (and Central Park where I’d go to the Angels of the Waters to write my short stories and lonely poetry) was my refuge.
In the Stadium I got to see Alex Rodriguez, Derek Jeter, Bernie Williams, Mariano Rivera, Andy Pettitte, and Joe Torre as well as villains like Pedro Martinez, Mike Piazza, and Curt Schilling.
Even dynasties have to come to an end.
And they went down to their final three outs...
DJ vs. Joe Borowski who had 45 saves for the season.
Only Jeter popped up. His last at bat of a humiliating post-season slide.
Bobby Abreu homered and the score was 6-4.
I guess it’s fitting that the Yankees went down with the heart of their order at bat.
Is it Alex Rodriguez’ last season in pinstripes?
I led the chants of “Let’s go, Yankees!” during the summer of 2004 when a small group of Red Sox fans made the trip to New York where they were chanted and cheered “Let’s go, Boston” and “Let’s go, A-Rod” right in front of agent Scott Boras’ office in East 49th and 5th Avenue beside the American Girl Place and Saks. Of course, NY won the rights to sign Rodriguez and it was like a magical summer until they ran into the Anaheim Angels.
Alex Rodriguez’ 0-2 foul and a miss.
Borowski’s best pitches are a slider and a change-up, but a high fastball zipped over the plate. 1-2.
Harry Belafonte’s “Day-O” chant got the faithful up on their seats. If A-Rod gets a hit, then the improbable might happen – another comeback. Can you say, deja vu all over again -- a repeat of their 6-run deficit against the Tribe early in the year.
Instead A-Rod was done for the year on a flyout right field.
Down to final out and the end of an era in New York and perhaps Joe Torre’s stay in the Bronx. Only Joe McCarthy lasted longer in pinstripes.
And it was up to Jorge Posada to save the season. The Yankee catcher sent the second pitch he saw into the right field seats only it veered away inches from the foul pole.
But Borowski isn’t unnerved. He sent the heat right through Posada who struck out swinging. And Ole Blue Eyes, normally a victory song, nevertheless blared from the speakers.
Ten years ago, the Cleveland Indians stunned the defending champion Yankees. And this year they did it again. But this time it’s a win that will shake up the NY franchise forever. Joe's tenure in the Bronx ended by another journeyman named Joe who found his home at the Jake. The cosmic coincidence! Even in this stinging loss the Yankees still make for fascinating theater.
Although I’m not in the Bronx right now I'm still feeling somewhat bad. The magic of '96-'01 had run out.
Thanks for the memories, Joe. It has been a fantastic ride.
Now here's to next spring that will hopefully cure me of the cobwebs of seasons past.
No comments:
Post a Comment