Bronx, N.Y., June 28, 2002 — The line has a double meaning for me. First, I couldn’t let the day pass without paying homage to the Who’s John Entwistle, who passed away earlier today (or perhaps last night) at the age of 57. I was even pleased when showing up at the Stadium to see that not only was the newest Yankee, outfielder Karim Garcia, wearing the number 57, but that he would be playing tonight.
There was plenty of buzz in the Bronx tonight, and it started early. Sitting in Box 622, we always need to prepare when managers decide to attack two righty starters by loading their lineups with lefty batting (12 of 18 batters to start the game tonight!), because we know that most of the foul balls struck will head in our direction. As you will read shortly, we would not be disappointed. And looking around for what was new, I noticed a sign hanging from the Tier facade section 9 (just to the home plate side of the French’s Mustard board):
- The Secret To
Our Success:
Robbing Ventura
From The Mets
How prophetic.
Further adding to the obvious importance of the night was the fact that we had guest musicians to play the pregame National Anthem, in this case roughly 10 players from the brass section of The Sherrie Marielle & Divas Jazz Orchestra. The all-horn treatment was different, exciting and well received. Looking at the Diamond Vision screen as they played, I became aware that the Bud sign immediately to the right-field side of that huge screen has been changed; it now carries that “Born On Date” message.
When first pitch was finally thrown at 7:08, it was under a beautifully clear sky, in a cool evening setting. New York traffic being what it is, we who had arrived spread out into the empty seats to our right and left, adding to the coolness of the event. Both hurlers started well, and the first theme that would repeat itself all night came when Mets left fielder Roger Cedeno inexplicably let John Vander Wal’s two-out single get past him in the second for an error. Mets catcher Wilson then chipped in by letting Nick Johnson’s reachable foul pop fall into the Yankee dugout, setting up Nick’s run-scoring single two pitches later. Later Mets rallies may have been effective, even courageous, but they played horrible “D” all night.
Home plate ump Hohn’s strike zone drove me (and I’m assuming Moose too) crazy all night, and Mike’s third throw, on a 2-0 count, to Cedeno leading off the third, set up the second (thankfully short-lived) theme of the evening, the Mets comeback, as Roger tied it by homering to straightaway center. Moose quickly recorded the next three outs.
The evening became impressionistic starting in the bottom of the third. We would strike for five, and think Moose would hold that lead easily. Wrong. At times we were celebratory and hilariously ecstatic. “How prophetic the section 9 Robin sign was: He just broke the tie with a two-run bases-loaded double!” (he would add two sac flies). I felt smug and superior as Jorge added a three-run bomb to right, while Valentine the genius had his infielders back, then charging in, then all back, then all but Alomar charging. It was all to pathetic effect as Posada’s lofty shot cleared the right field fence. And then suddenly, it seemed, traffic had finally been overcome, as all the seats to the right and left of virtually all in the stands were filled, the Yanks were up by five, all air movement in the stands ceased, and the ominous-looking clouds beyond the right-field fence were slowly creeping into position above, in front of, behind and all around each and every one of us.
Not to belittle the three-run rally that got the Mets back into it in the fourth (under that ominous sky), as Piazza gamely fought some pitches off before singling, and Mo went deep impressively (2-0 pitch again — Hohn?), but the air was out of the Yanks, their fans and the building as the Mets notched another. Alfonso inexplicably dropped the ball (or did some demon swat it away?) as he ran Burnitz back to first on an attempted inning-ending double play. 6-4. Grrr!
In the top of the fifth, Moose retired Ordonez meekly but Timo Perez’s line drive to right field was suddenly, inexplicably lifted by a gust of wind and deposited beyond the right-field wall. The score had closed to 6-5, but Moose K’d Piazza and got Mo on a grounder to end his night at 92 pitches in five innings, ironically the same number surrendered by D’Amico, who was routinely lifted after Jason led off our fifth with a double. Bobby Jones looked heroic as he relieved and struck both Bernie and Robin out. But Jorge (who has been stuggling at the plate for some time) came to bat again, and my friends two rows back with the booming voices and the young lungs to back them up started a soccer-like “Jor-ge, Jor-ge Jor-ge Jor-ge, Jor-ge, Jor-ge” chant. (Think “Oh Hey, Oh Hey Oh Hey Oh Hey, Oh Hey, Oh Hey” with the following syllabic pattern–short, long, short, short, short, short, short, short, medium, long, medium, long). On the 1-0 pitch, Jorge lined a homer to left amid the din, and except for an exceptional relief stint by new bullpen guy el duque, it was over. Though I give the fan silver medal to ex-New York Mayor Rudy Giuliani, who arrived late and was seated just in time for Moose to strike Piazza out for the second out in the fifth, the gold is unhesitatingly granted to the guys in Box 622, Row E.
As already hinted, el duque was masterly. He retired the first seven he faced, and Nick’s error allowing Piazza to reach first to end the streak could hardly have been hit more softly. Of the two hits Orlando surrendered in the ninth, the second was only successful because it, too, was hit so softly. A save well earned, el duque!
So what’s left? The Mets defense could hardly have been worse. Aside from Cedeno’s error allowing the first run to score, Mo got one for a bad throw in the sixth, but most of their throws were off-line , or high, or both. Starting infield practice after Perez popped out to end the top of the seventh, Edgardo Alfonso’s first throw to first (and Mo Vaughn) jogging to first went over his head and bounced into the stands, and the four infielders had to stand around idly until a ball boy noticed that they had no ball to practice with. Perhaps even more embarrassing, because it took place while the game was in play, Wilson’s return throw to Komiyama after the reliever had fallen behind Jeter 3-0 in the eighth sailed over his head and had to be retrieved in short center field.
As mentioned earlier, the foul balls were fast and furious. Memorable in my direction were third-inning fouls by Posada and Vander Wal that bounced off many a hand in Boxes 624 and 626 respectively, and a hard liner Robin struck right over Box 622 into the Section 12 Tier in the fifth. Fan reactions to two shots by the Mets at the Tier facade right behind home plate (right at the “26 Time World Champions” sign) represented the agony and ecstasy of fan participation. One hit by Ordonez in the fifth right at the “T” in “Time” deflected off a fan’s hands and fell below. But the fourth-inning shot by Alfonso directly between “Time” and “World” was grabbed on a marvelous catch by a glove-clad fan who had to hang on as he stretched his arm out and down to make the “fan”tastic catch.
And to the Mets, their management, their players and their fans (whom I think were treated more or less politely), I point to lyrics of the Who song quoted in todays’ title, “The Punk and the Godfather.” You were within the center of baseball attention today, you staged a game comeback, but your play in the field was sloppy. Unfortunately, you are a fourth-place team closer to last than first and perilously close to another meaningless year. Do not forget that the hype you had tonight came from the fact that you were playing the best, the New York Yankees, in the Home Office for Baseball. As for the Mets, you
- Thought you were chasing a destiny calling.
You only earned what we gave you.
BTW,TYW
YANKEE BASEBALL!!!