Bronx, N.Y., June 5, 2002 — It’s critical if you’re going to score games, count pitches, record first-pitch strikes, differentiate between called, struck (foul) and swinging strikes, and try to notice little numerical anomalies that pop up during the games, that you learn not to be obsessed about it. They’re just numbers.

Thus, the Don Mattingly who first came up to the Yanks wearing No. 46 played the game with the same heart, grace and skill as the vet we came to know and love as No. 23. And despite what Roger believes, he probably would have rounded into form and assumed the role of ace on the Yankees whether he stayed with No. 12 or changed to No. 22, as he did. Numerologists suggest to people that a name change that results in changing your number (which is gleaned from the letters in your name) can turn your life around. (But now we’re really obsessing, aren’t we?)

Dire weather warnings almost kept me away from another beautiful Bronx evening, but I couldn’t resist. I was entering the Stadium with a free ticket I got for sitting through a rain delay, and my seat would be in my beloved tier, but slightly down the first-base line (opposite my usual berth in Box 622 down third base way). Of course, the one night I have a perfect view of the left field line there wasn’t a close call there the whole night, but I had that left field line scoped all night and could have helped Brian O’Nora and Gary Cederstrom clear up any confusion at a moment’s notice.

Before the game there was a ceremony honoring the New York High School Blood Donor Champions, and then Roger Clemens was named the Modell’s Yankee Pitcher of the month of May. Diverging from usual Stadium practice, Brett Russo (the name fooled me too, but she was female, young and attractive) of Pottersville, New Jersey, gave a stirring rendition of “America the Beautiful” (they don’t have guests sing to open games much), and those of us in the know settled in to watch Juan Rivera’s first 2002 game. Boomer looked good to start and I mistakenly took Alfonso’s lead-off, 10-pitch first-inning at bat as a good sign. Early Mr. Driskill reminded me of a reliever who pitched for Texas and Boston named Brandenberg in that he made little marches down from the mound and around in between pitches, but all that ended early and he settled in and the Birds gave him a third-inning 2-0 lead. Bernie may have been trying to unsettle him in the first when he requested that the rosin bag be moved to the back of the mound and out of sight, but it proved as effective as all our other best efforts.

As a baseball fan, it’s not really a bad thing when an unheralded rookie faces a daunting lineup and excels, but I was having a tough time seeing it that way, particularly with the Red Sox firing off all manner of fireworks in Detroit, and the Mets taking an early lead on the Braves. (I glance often at the out-of-town Scoreboard from Section 12, but in Section 7, it can hardly be avoided everytime you look up.)

Juan was doing everything he could to put a smile on my face with hard line drive outs sandwiched around a booming double off the right center field wall, and he also did a good job on the carom of Mora’s shot off the wall in the third, holding a speedy runner to a single. (I was excited and honored to see a Caribbean nation’s flag hanging from [usually my own] box 622’s tier facade, and thought that it might be supporters and/or family of Juan’s, but a little research has determined that he is Venezuelan and the flag was from the Dominican Republic.) I wish Juan continued success, as do we all I’m sure, though I did have one sobering thought about his great at bats vs. Mr Driskill, who was playing AAA ball shortly ago himself: Perhaps Juan’s success was due to the fact that he was the only batter in the lineup who had faced Driskill before.

And I’m proud of the team, and happy for Jorge that he hit a bomb after his rest day, but I do have to tell you that that score is getting to me. 4-3. We lost last year’s World Series four games to three. We lost 4-3 on Monday. The grounds crew started watering the infield at 6:43. And this from Psalm 43: “Why are you so full of heaviness, O my soul? and why are you so disquieted within me?” (Did you know that the famous Browning love poem that goes “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways,” by the way, is Sonnet 43?)

But the 4-3 that annoyed me most is the one that bothered me first on this disappointing evening in the Cathedral: It was the 4-3 I was writing on my scorecard all night. Giambi singles hard in the first. Bernie, 4-3. Driskill’s first pitch in the second hits Jorge. The next pitch to Robin, 4-6-3. Rondell singles. Johnson 4-3. The sixth and seventh innings, when I and 26,506 others rose to our feet to bring all the momentum we could muster to our beleagured boys, both got off to 4-3 starts. And the eighth, when Jorge finally put the fear of Yankees into Orioles hearts, was bracketed by bookends 4-3’s as the first and last outs of the inning. Fully nine of our 27 outs were 4-3’s, and another five were also on ground balls; there was hardly a decently struck one in the bunch. Even William Shakespeare was not a happy man when writing his Sonnet 43: “All days are nights to see till I see thee, And nights bright days when dreams do show thee me.”

I think it means he liked day games better.

YANKEE BASEBALL!!!