Rumble in the Bronx

Deep in the heart of the war-zone that is the South Bronx rose a thunderous ovation, the likes of which had not been heard for 16 years. It is a resonating rumbling fit for the most beloved borough of the city that never sleeps. These sounds, which soared above the beautiful, bright lights of the House that Ruth Built, and the ambiance, which we shared with 57,203 of our closest friends, brightened with hope as Stadium P.A. announcer Bob Sheppard resonated the name of the last player, the indisputable 1996 Rookie of the Year, "Number two, shortstop, Derek Jeter, number two."

Yankee Stadium

While every other Yalie was cramming for their midterms, deciding which course to drop, we were preparing for the biggest test of all--the Yankees' first post-season battle on the road to the Fall Classic. We left CCL 60 miles in our wake as we breezed to the Major Deegan and sideroads to the Bronx. The two of us got geeked along the way and set the stage by jamming to a little "Centerfield" by John Fogerty. We had exchanged weenie bins for box seats; our peers in the library who continuously ask us to hush-up were replaced with vendors yelling, "Beer here!"

Without doubt, it is not just the nine players on the field that make up a winning ballclub; it is the fans in the stands--the smartest fans in the world--and, without us, it just wouldn't have been the same meleé. We sacrificed our Constitutional Law reading for the good of the team; then again, Gerald Gunther probably could not hit a curveball. And, what's the point of reading period if you don't have anything to read?

We've taken our seats--the seats that we have been waiting for our entire lives. Mel Allen and The Mick deserved a moment of our silent thoughts and prayers, and the Scooter Phil Rizzuto, a Yankee Broadcaster since Maris hit 61 in '61, had earned the right to throw out the ceremonial first pitch to "Cotton Eye" Joe Girardi. The Coneheads were out in full-force, the K's were drawn and ready to be hung from the upper deck, alongside the playoff bunting that had to be unraveled from the depths of the stadium. The umpires, back from their five-minute protest, walked onto the field to the throngs of the crowd yelling, "Alomar sucks" to the six "Supreme" justices of the game...anything for an edge.

Our fate lay in the arm of the man who holds the title "hired gun" for the past three years. Like Reggie, this is the time of year that he earns his keep, and for three innings he was everything that we could have dreamed of. But three innings does not a ballgame make.

Boo-yah--Juan Gonzáles hooks one around the pole for a three-run dong. Jumanji--Dean Palmer pops one beyond the grasp of Rock Raines and into the hands of the left-field faithful. And our boys in the batter's box were "full of sound and fury, signifying nothing."

But New York fans do not go down that easy, like the "Little Engine that Could" and the Energizer Bunny wrapped up in one. The "Top-hat tease" proved to be no match for our Ivy League intellects. Sure, we guessed before the game began; we learned that when we took the SATs, where there is a good chance that C is the right answer--the answer that will get Dean of Admissions Richard Shaw to send you a congratulatory letter.

And, in case the Yankees can extend their playoff run, the "Great Subway Race" told us fans that the C-train will get us there first. At other times, the scoreboard shined with images of the plays that put the Yankees in first...the whirling and twirling catch by Ruben Rivera with one out in the ninth inning of a Sept. 10 game versus Detroit, the grand salami by Tino in the 15th inning on May 1 that ensured a two-game sweep of the Birds on Eutaw Street, and Coney's seven-inning no-no, as he returned from injury and the Bombers beat the A's on Sept. 2.

The excitement from the scoreboard also trickled down to the field level, although the players didn't seem to want to take part. As the sixth inning began, five groundskeepers ran onto the field, all decked-out in their ceremonial Yankee garb to do a little "Y.M.C.A," a song that topped the charts the last time the Yanks won their division and drowned out the gunshots around the courthouse. The crowd did their best Houn 466 impression, complete with tunes, beer, and an upper deck. We were looking around for Master Sledge in the crowd, but, instead, we found Mayor Giuliani and his son, Andrew (a.k.a. Pugsley). Well, that's almost as good.

Although we had fun, the final result,was rather disappointing. Our beloved Yankees were not defeated however, they merely ran out of time. But, in the game of baseball, which boasts a season of 162 games, there is always tomorrow.

Maybe a change of venue from the Bronx to the basement (of Pierson) would change our luck. Andy Pettitte, the clear-cut Cy Young winner, was primed to go in the second game. He had started the season in a beating snowstorm at the Stadium by mowing down Kansas City, and it would be only fitting that he would start the post-season in the right direction on Wednesday.

Things did not look good, as Juan "Going, Going" Gonzáles, put the hurt to the pinstripes with a little somethin; somethin' over the left field fencein the direction of monument park. But the memory of the Mick, the Babe, and the Iron Horse took that ball and threw it back into the playing field, reminding the Yanks that it ain't over till the Scatman sings, or at least 'til the fat guy along the first-base line starts shaving his back.

Big Daddy Cecil Fielder reminded Darryl what a swing looks like when he catashed one to the retired numbers. Charlie Hayes followed Jeter's double with a sacrifice fly to Darryl Hamilton in center. Clearly, it's not the most exciting play in baseball, but it puts a run on the board, whether you're a 16 year-old playing for the Taiwan Little League team or a 16 year-old playing against Jeter in Kalamazoo, Michigan, and champion teams do the little things to get to the Biggest Show in the World .

In the eighth, Cecil slapped one into rightfield to bring plate-ward the fleet-of-foot Bernie Williams. Heading to extra-innings, the smallest miscue could have put the series out of reach for the hometown boys. Joe Torre had his bullpen in order at first, as he ran Mariano Rivera and John Wetteland out there and sat down to relax. However, when his team continued to look laggard at the plate, he made the gargantuan error of bringing Graeme Lloyd out to pitch. Lloyd, jinxed since birth with the spelling of his name, couldn't pitch to Eddie Gadele, and he showed it by getting zero outs before he was given the big hook. After Jeff Nelson did his job for seemingly the first time all season, Kenny Rogers, our game four starter, trotted out from left field for a chance to silence the Rangers.

Always the nibbler, Torre instructed him to nibble on some fromage in the clubhouse after he walked his one and only batter. When you can't go to Mo, you gotta go to Bo. And Boehringer told Dean Palmer that he's seen better cuts underneath a band-aid. Put him in the book, grab some pine, no soup for you.

And, in the bottom of the 12th, the kid who's been surprising cynical New Yorkers all season, stepped to the batter's box with the fate of his team on his shoulders and thunder in his bat. An opposite-field, tough-with-two, punch to right field started the rally and rattled Mike Stanton enough to walk Raines.

Charlie Hayes placed a beautiful bunt to Palmer, who remembered that he had seen better arms on a baking soda box, and threw the ball to Mayor Guiliani, as Jeter flew around the bases and touched the plate to even the series; he was without us physically, but clearly feeding off of our emotional presence.

Five hours later, we're wondering if we can get a Dean's excuse for our baseball fever. We had a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity and decided to seize the day. Dean Lassonde, Dean Parisier, we'll take you next time.

Yankee Baseball, 1996.

" What a Game."