New York unites again in spirit of the game

The biggest hero in New York on Sun., Oct. 14, was not an American, and he requires a translator to speak with his teammates and the press. I'm talking, of course, about the New York Yankees' second baseman Alfonso Soriano, whose walk-off two-run homerun against the Seattle Mariners in the bottom in the ninth of Game 4 of the American League Championship Series (ALCS) capped one of the grittiest and most exciting baseball games ever played. America's team won this contest in the country's signature sport because a player from the Dominican Republic hit a homerun off a pitcher from Japan, Kazuhiro Sasaki. The game's winning pitcher was the Yankees' Panamanian closer, Mariano Rivera, who retired the side in the ninth on only three pitches.

The game became an instant classic, as Soriano—surely the second best rookie in the league, behind only the Mariners' Ichiro Suzuki—earned his Yankee pinstripes. And, thanks to a friend's tickets, I was there.

But this is not a sports column, because Soriano was not the only person to receive a standing ovation in Yankee Stadium that night. Frankly, some of the public response to the Sept. 11 attacks has bothered me. I cringe when I see commercials for car dealers who are "doing their part in the wake of the tragedy" by offering zero percent APR financing on new Toyotas, or for companies hawking American flag sets (car window decals included) for the low price of $19.95. Profiteering, especially when couched in patriotism, proves distasteful.

But then came the game. I'll admit there were some doubts in the back of my mind when my friend offered me the ticket. Being part of a gathering of 60,000 in New York right now might seem a little scary to anyone, but it was, after all, the Yanks in the playoffs, so I went.

The game started normally enough—normally, that is, for the ALCS at Yankee Stadium. The crowd stood in anticipation of every strikeout; people screamed about which Mariners were stiffs; the guy next to me, silent until the fourth inning, suddenly bellowed out to the pickoff-happy Seattle pitcher, "Your wife has better moves with a man on." But then, in the fifth inning, my entire section stood up and applauded. Then all the sections around us did the same. This was the night's first standing ovation, and it wasn't for a hit or a sparkling play. It was for three men in Air Force uniforms, walking past in the aisle.

The crowd rose to its feet several times after that when baseball was not being played. They stood and cheered in the sixth when Mayor Rudolph Giuliani, who has led New York so admirably in the past month and a half, entered the stadium and made his way down to the owner's box.

They stood and sang "God Bless America" along with tenor Ronan Tynan during the seventh-inning stretch, as the Stars and Stripes (none of which, I assume, came with car decals) flew from dozens of flagpoles around the stadium.

After Soriano's blast, strangers hugged each other, screaming with joy. The stadium remained packed through two full renditions of Sinatra's "New York, New York." Fans high-fived ticket scalpers out on the concourse. The fact that the Yankees pulled out the win made the game extraordinary, but if they had lost, it still would have been great.

The game was great because it proved that New York (and the United States) is indeed "open for business," as Giuliani is wont to say, and because 60,000 New Yorkers—some of whom undoubtably lost loved ones on Sept. 11—were able to display respect for the dead and their zest for American life at a game played only 12 miles from a still-smoldering Ground Zero. It was great because it proved that patriotism is still a bonding force in this nation, and that it exists in a sphere apart from TV commercials. It was great because in Afghanistan, spectators at Buzkashi matches are allowed to cheer only the words "God is good."

The game was great because it represented the best of America. The crowd cheered its heroes—the mayor, police officers, soldiers, the American, Dominican, Panamanian, Japanese ballplayers who love America's pastime—as they celebrated the fact that what we have here is something worth fighting for.

What a game. What a heck of a game.

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