Bronx, N.Y., September 7, 2002 — You Don’t Succeed, Try, Try Again. A Stitch in Time Saves Nine. Neither a Borrower Nor a Lender Be. None of these sayings is specifically attributed to the Pilgrims who helped colonize these United States. But each of these aphorisms could be applied to the philosophy and the Way of Life of these brave and hearty souls, who celebrated our first Thanksgiving.

Ironically they share September 6 as one of their greatest days with the Puritans, with whom they are often confused. It is true that each fled England in the 17th Century to escape religious intolerance and persecution. The Pilgrims set sail on September 6, 1620, from Plymouth, England. The Puritans landed in Salem, Massachusetts (from the Massachusetts Bay Colony) on that same day, only eight years later. The difference, of course, is that the Puritans were as intolerant of religious freedom for others as the persecutors they left behind had been. The Pilgrims, on the other hand, were as eager to flee the frivolous and undisciplined Dutch with whom they first tried to settle. They wanted freedom both to worship as they saw fit, and from the idle minds they feared would corrupt their youth.

I was aware of these dates and facts as I finally made it to the Stadium last night in the third inning. I read about them during my long and trying trip to the South Bronx. Leaving Connecticut shortly before five, I sat in miles of horrendous traffic until I finally made it to the local train station at 6:25, only to find that the 6:26 to the Bronx and Manhattan was pulling out a minute early. Adding insult to injury, no sooner did I take my place on the ramp awaiting the 6:49 when I discovered via loudspeaker that that train would be picking me up 12 to 15 minutes late. I heard first pitch, and the Tigers take the lead, on my headset radio before I lost reception on the train. Once I arrived in Manhattan, the stairs I usually take down to the subway at 125th Street were closed off. And when I finally arrived at the Stadium, presented my ticket and climbed onto the five-part escalator trip to the Tier and my seats in Box 622, I discovered that the escalator in sections two through five was no longer operating. Happy happy. Joy joy.

Finally on the Tier level, I made it to my seat in time to cheer loudly and lustily during our two-out fourth-inning rally that knotted the score at one. But the travails of the trip still hung on me heavily, and though Boomer held the line, a one-out single and two-out stolen base contributed to the 17 pitches he needed to throw to keep us tied entering the pivotal bottom of the fifth. So you get the idea that I wasn’t exactly at my best when Rondell White came to bat following super sub Ron Coomer’s lead-off base hit. Though I usually try to accentuate the positive while I cheer the boys on, I couldn’t help but muse about Rondell’s appalling .234 batting average (and his even worse obp). He’s been struggling for what seems to be forever, and I was actually surprised that his ba hadn’t dipped further.

Considering the mathematical implications behind my theory (that his average was declining at a slower rate), I came up with a little slogan for what White — and his fans — have endured over the last six weeks or so: “The lower it falls, the slower it falls.” It’s true. As he continues to struggle and go 0 for a game, a series, a week, each time he comes to the plate and fails his ba falls a little less.

I was jerked away from these musings by a loud crack of the bat. Rondell had hit another hard ground ball down the third baseline, and as Tiger third baseman Truby grabbed it I felt myself becoming resigned to the double play the Detroit club was about to turn. But an older refrain replaced the “The lower it falls…” mantra that was filling my head, as Rondell turned on the jets and managed to beat Damian Easley’s relay to first. “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try…” it said. Realizing that we had simply replaced the lumbering Coomer at first with the much more fleet of foot Rondell, I felt both a gratitude to White for keeping the faith and busting his hump down the line, and an overwhelming conviction that the presence of a faster Yankee as our lead runner would play a part in the outcome of this tie ballgame.

Juan Rivera lined out semi-softly to right for the second out, but Alfonso followed with a hard single on a rarity for him — a 3-1 pitch. We’ve all seen Derek work a count, so it came as no surprise that he eventually faced a 3-2 pitch, and that he then bounced a single into short left. “Try, try again…” thudded loudly in my brain as Rondell rounded third and scored on a single hard enough that I’m sure the the trudging Ron Coomer would have been nailed at the plate, and then some. The inning would have been over; the 1-1 tied would have remained.

Of course, as it turned out we would go on to single them to death. The only time I can recall having seen a team single six times in the same inning was last November 3 when the D’backs combined them with three doubles for an eight-run third in Game 6 of the Series. But if singles ruled the world the D’backs didn’t touch our fifth inning tonight (even though they scored eight to our six), because we notched seven singles (they didn’t) and we managed six singles in a row (they recorded four consecutive singles, and only six uninterrupted hits).

Boomer was awesome tonight, though I can’t give you the litany of numbers to prove it. Having watched Moose shut down Nomar and Manny in Fenway, and Andy do the same in the Bronx; having seen Roger pile-drive fastballs past all comers and whiff another 10, and el duque fool players with a dandy slider, a well-spotted curve and an occasional floating “eephus,” if forced to weigh in on the rotation, I really think David is the best starting pitcher we have. Roger throws better (harder). Andy has all the weapons (including a pickoff like nobody else). Moose throws pitches no one else has, and thus, a batter never gets used to; el duque has the great postseason record and, as Ventura put it when he first joined the team, “he’s the only guy I know who escaped from a country.” David has a bad back, a wide girth, and a bald crown. But he pitches the best.

The nice weather is turning slowly, as the flags across the outfield facade that rippled in the breeze for two nights running largely hung limp tonight. We had a Van Heusen/Izod blimp above (perhaps in town for the tennis Open or the NFL festivities Thursday night?), and the Scoreboard made us aware that Paul Simon was in atttendance. Some hearty fans in Row A of the Tier section 11 hung a beautiful Let’s GO Yanks sign on their railing, and we had a “K” counter using section 11’s tier facade as well. As for this day for Yankees past, I imagine it wasn’t a good thing that we set a record for using pinch hitters on September 6, 1954 (10 of them!), but the Babe ceratinly liked the day, as he stroked homers #45, 46 and 47 of 60 in a double header on this day in 1927.

Rondell would come to bat twice more on this warming Friday evening, and only make out once (he was hit by a pitch in the sixth), but I cannot tell you that I think he found anything tonight. I can’t testify that I saw signs that he is turning the corner on his hitting struggles. Many a ballplayer has emerged from even longer droughts to start stinging the ball regularly, and with authority. Many have not. But amid the boos that descend upon him from the Stadium crowd, the negativity of the press, the delight some take in the Yanks having made an off-season acquisition that has not panned out, and the frustration that grows among the true believer sector of the fan base, I think it’s refreshing that Rondell continues to work, to bust, to keep swinging in search of the Ghost of Rondell past. Next time I become frustrated that he seems to start every at bat at 0-2, and only breaks up his ground-ball outs with strike outs, I’ll remember the way he busted down the line tonight. You’re an easy guy to root for, Rondell.

BTW,TYW

YANKEE BASEBALL!!!