Bronx, N.Y., September 25, 2002 — The Monday, Tuesday and Thursday games were part of the B Plan that we purchased in 1999 (and have held ever since) to ensure that we could get playoff tickets, and I told myself all day that I was tired, that I could use the break, that it just didn’t make sense to go to this game. I wanted to be there should Alfonso come up with no. 40, it’s true, but if he was going to hit it in the only one of four games I didn’t attend, so be it, I told myself.
That thought was thudding in my brain at the end of as ugly a first inning as I can recall. (I changed my mind and went to the game of course.) I got to thinking about how Thursday closes the home regular season and how Isidore seems to be threatening most of the western world with precipitation, if not more, and how they wouldn’t bend over backwards to squeeze in a Tampa Bay Devil Rays game. I owed it to myself to go, as it could be the regular season closer. The fact that I could purchase a $33 ticket for $5 didn’t hurt a bit either.
And even though I was tired, I decided we were going to have a great night. Alfonso, of course, was one shy of 40 homers. Bernie needed an rbi for 100, and Jorge was two short in the same category. Robin could even reach it if he could squeeze another grand slam or two before the week is out (and wouldn’t you know it, he came pretty close too). But mostly, still on a high from Mussina’s great outing Tuesday, I was looking forward to a clean crisp statement from Roger, an outing that said, “The preliminaries are over. Let’s bring on the main course!”
There’s a strange little signal device in the 125th Street Station of the 4 (subway) train that I’ve noticed for a couple of years now. (We don’t make eye contact down there, folks, so finding a peripheral item of interest or two is a good thing.) There is a little traffic light with the usual three colored lights — green, yellow and red — and suspended below the red is another small light covered by frosted glass. The whole piece hangs against the wall and when a train that I have missed (or a 5 train, which I eschew taking because it doesn’t go to the stadium) passes, the red light lights and stays lit, until the train has reached a point where they consider it safe to allow another train to enter the station, I assume. Eventually the yellow light takes the red one’s place (I have never seen the green light lit), and should there be a train waiting, it pulls in. But while the red light is still lit there is an intermediate step, where a light shines in the bottom-most receptacle and the number 22 shines through the frosted glass. Perhaps it is an indication of a certain distance achieved, I don’t know, but tonight I decided it was a good omen for no. 22’s start that I was about to witness.
The sillines of that assumption only magnified how grim I felt as I contemplated the 67 pitches and better part of an hour that passed before both the Rays and the Yanks had made three outs apiece. And I call the inning ultimate ugly not because the Rays plated three and the Yanks only one, but because of the way it happened. In recent memory I have seen some pretty bad games, and some bad first innings. In June 2000, for instance, I saw the about-to-be-disabled el duque notch an infield first out against the White Sox, followed by a walk, single, walk, single, double, single, strike out, single, walk, grand slam home run. But tonight just hurt. First pitch single up the middle, then the same on the third pitch, that I can deal with. But Roger had to — and did — move to not have Winn’s roller be a comebacker (I guess he thought it was hit harder), and even Alfonso’s hard charge and throw couldn’t keep Winn off first. Of course, Roger had uncorked a wild pitch the throw before Randy topped his ball, so the runner scored from third, and then another Ray raced home as Roger threw another wild pitch to Grieve after striking out Huff. Then Toby Hall fouled off strike two three times before lining a hard single to bring in another. They would score no more but my psyche took another hit as Roger went 0-2 on Cox and then hit him with a pitch to load the bases.
Tanyon Sturtze must have been taken aback by the lead he was handed, because he tried to give it back. Poor (loudly cheered) Alfonso struck out swinging, but Derek busted out of the box after lining into left center, and didn’t stop until he had stretched it into a double. Jason went down swinging, but Bernie bounced Sturtze’s first pitch hard to short and it ate Gomez alive long enough not only for Bernie to reach, but Derek to score too. Initially ruled a hit and error with no rbi, the hit was rescinded some time during the game. We would score no more too but Sturtze did make it interesting by walking Jorge and allowing a long drive to Robin on a 3-2 pitch (with the bases loaded).
The assembled carnage of both halves of the first inning: Fifty minutes. Sixty-seven pitches. Two walks. Two wild pitches. An error. An unearned run. A player hit by a pitch. Six three-ball counts. But it was time to shake off the lethargy and disgust. We were down by two with virtually the whole game to go. The struggling Jeter had hit the ball hard, Roger had escaped the bases-loaded, one-out crisis with a punch out and a liner to Juan Rivera, and he quickly settled in, albeit with a pitch count that would limit his day. In fact, I started feeling pretty good about my decision, as Roger went on to retire the next 13 batters. Jeter got a second hit, and Alfonso hit the ball hard his second time up.
Nick Johnson walked leading off the fifth, and after Rivera skied to center, the crowd went wild for Alfonso again. And he reached the number! What? Oh. Well, not that number, but he did double (No. 50!) hard into the corner, and on the first pitch Derek smacked his third straight hit, for two rbi and a tie game. Jason followed with a hard single, but the rally fizzled. Joe took the opportunity the tie game afforded to get Roger out with his pitch count in the 90’s, and Jeff Weaver came on. The next inning hero Alfie doubled again to score Robin, who had led off with a single, and we had a lead we would not relinquish. Jeff was great, particularly after Winn’s lead off liner in the eighth fooled Bernie, taking off and landing over his head for a double. Undaunted, Jeff went to work and three fly balls later, he was ready to hand the ball off to Mo, and we all know what that means.
Mariano continues to look great, and to bring even more delight and adulation in the Bronx than he ever did as he comes in to pitch. Opponents beware! And ironically, Roger made the play of the night in the field, with his bare hand no less, on Crawford’s fifth inning bouncer. Sori made a good running play on Grieve in the sixth, and Bernie made several nice running catches. A wierd thing happened while Weaver was facing Grieve in the eight, as his first pitch was called, and then listed on the board, as a ball. Ben then took a strike, then swung and missed. But by the time he lined the next pitch to center, the listed count was 0 and 2. Had time been called to eliminate the validity of the first-pitch ball? A couple of weeks ago I was beside myself when scoring when el duque was assessed a ball for going to his mouth with his hand. My question then was, does it go on his pitch count even though he never threw a pitch? In Wednesday night’s case, I saw Jeff throw a pitch; even though it appears it did not count. What say the official counters on this one? Pitch, or no pitch? (He threw 46 pitches if you count the pitch they took away.)
It was a mixed day in Yankee history, as we balance off The Scooter Phil Rizzutto’s 85th birthday with former Yankee manager Miller Huggins’ death (from blood poisoning — he was only 50) in 1929. Lou Gehrig played in his 1500th consecutive game on September 25 in 1934, and in 1990 the Yanks tied a record against the Baltimore Orioles when their first eight men up in a game hit safely.
Alfonso went to the ballpark tonight, I’m sure, hoping yet again to hit no. 40. He fell short, but he stroked double number 50 and didn’t stop there (he’s two behind Mattingly’s Yankee record). He already had 100 rbi, and notched another this night — the game winner. He achieved another multihit game. His team inched further ahead in the standings and in the race for home field adavantage throughout the playoffs (rival Oakland lost again). And now the team has 100 wins in the season to go with their 100 years in major league baseball. And if anything, he is more beloved of the crowd after his selfless offense tonight. And the fans in the stands are not alone in that respect.
He still has one home game — and three games in Baltimore to go. But Soriano — he of the big smile and the enthusiastic style, he has one more victory to his credit. When I arrived and had bought a ticket tonite, I emerged from the Tier tunnel to witness another promotion. Many Latino business, political and community leaders (accompanied by former Yankee outfielder Rusty Torrez) ringed the area behind home plate as they prepared to present the award for Latino Player of the Year.
And without further ado, Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you the 2002 Latino Player of the Year, Alfonso Soriano.
BTW,TYW
YANKEE BASEBALL!!!