Bronx, N.Y., Nov. 1, 2001 — It’s an apt description of my jumbled and twisted train of thought as I tried, in the car on my way home, to put into words what I’ve seen the last two nights after what I’m calling Bronx Bonanza Two. Hearing Joe refer to the Bill Murray flick “Groundhog Day” in trying to describe what’s been happening the last two nights, I was a bit disappointed, and sure I’d be able to find a much more profound view of things.
So I thought about my impressions during my second (delightful) year traveling to the Cathedral from up here in Westchester, and in particular some intriguing street names that cross the Grand Concourse, my main artery through the Bronx. A huge eight-laned route, it is crossed by heavy-traffic roads regularly, but many one-way routes have their terminus as they meet this huge thoroughfare on either side. You cross Mount Hope Ave. on the way to the Stadium, and hope is what I’m feeling on the way to games. And you encounter Mt. Eden on the way home, and yes, I might refer to the Stadium as Paradise if I hadn’t grown so used to calling it The Cathedral.
And then I thought of a corollary to the old Kiss of “Death”, the doctrine that Tino disproved earlier this year, and Bernie banished for good (sort of) in the postseason in Game 4 vs. Seattle. To recap, the theory held that, if what you needed in a game was a home run, and the man for whom you were rooting to provide it hits one foul, you have no chance. Perhaps not only is this line of reasoning banished, now we actually have the Brosius corollary. If you recall Bronx Bonanza One, once we tied, they failed to score and we came to bat in the tenth, and Scott Brosius hit the first pitch of the inning over the fence in left, but just foul. The Brosius corollary: A player who homers foul in that end-of-game, kiss-of-death scenario, and then fails, will hit one when most needed in their very next game.
To sum up miracle evening two, I hated eight innings of stagnant offense, as I always do. Coming from behind was again the sweetest taste on the planet. I was thrilled, as I always am, that Donnie Baseball joined Reggie in throwing out the first pitch. I concur with Paul on all the O’Neill tributes: I loved them, but we had a ball game to play. And I would be remiss if I didn’t give credit here to good friend and profound Yankee compadre Matt Villano. A season ticket holder and attender of upwards of 50-60 games, he donated his two tickets he could not be here to use tonight to a local firehouse in Downtown Manhattan. I screamed in their ears all night with a great deal of pride.
Kudos to Batista, to Moose, to Mo, to Sterling, to Scotty B, to Alfonso (with glove and bat), and to Chuck. And to Joe Torre for besting me. What’s another name for a groundhog?
Wood chuck, of course!
And this just in. November 2, 1948, Truman shocks the country and beats Dewey for President. Fifty-three years later, something truly astounding happens. Yanks 3, D’backs 2, in 12!
BTW,TYW
YANKEE BASEBALL!!!