Slammin' Samy: Yanks For the Memories

When you grow up in a city that has two baseball franchises that have both failed to win a World Series in the last 80-something years, it’s easy to understand how you might not be a big fan of the sport. But despite the complete hopelessness of the Cubs and White Sox, and the strange feeling of déjà vu I had when I started to root for the Red Sox, it’s hard not to appreciate baseball greatness when you see it.

With the Yankees losing to the Diamondbacks in the World Series last Sunday, it’s quite possible we have witnessed the end of a dynasty—one rivaled over the past 30 years only by the LA Lakers and Edmonton Oilers of the 1980s and the Chicago Bull of the ’90s. If this happens to be the case, I can’t help but feel a little bit sad, despite my general apathy toward baseball and usual dislike of New York sports teams.

During what has been as an extraordinarily tough time for the city of New York, the Yankees were able to provide the Big Apple with a much-needed distraction from the suddenly harsh realities of the post-Sept. 11th world. And in making their improbable run through the 2001 playoffs, the Yankees not only exemplified the best of what sports has to offer in this difficult time, they also represented the resiliency of the people of New York.

It’s a common phrase in sports that in order “to be the best, you have to beat the best.” The Diamondbacks knew before the World Series started that in order to beat the three-time defending champs, they’d have to do two things—outlast a New York offense that always seems to come up with clutch hits, and, in all likelihood, beat Mr. Automatic himself, Mariano Rivera, in the late innings of a close game.

Rivera is as sure a bet as there is in professional sports. Coming into the World Seriesm he had successfully converted his last 22 postseason save chances. His nasty 95-mph cutter almost always results in either a broken bat or a foolish-looking hitter.

In addition to Rivera, the Diamondbacks also faced the obstacle of competing against the Yankee legacy. Arizona had to reckon with the ghosts of Ruth, Gehrig, Mantle and DiMaggio.

Apparently, though, this didn’t phase the D-Backs entering the series. As Arizona pitcher Curt Schilling said of the Yankees’ mystique and aura, “those are the names of dancers at a night club, [not something we should be concerned about].” The D-Backs went on to decisively win the first two games of the series behind the arms of Schilling and Randy Johnson.

But a funny thing happened during Games 3, 4 and 5 at Yankee Stadium—Mystique and Aura managed to find their way back inside the New York clubhouse.

On the strength of timely defense and the arm of five-time Cy Young winner Roger Clemens, the Yankees were able to squeak by the D-Backs in Game 3.

And then, in what amounted to winning the lottery twice, the Yankees managed to overcome two-run, two-out ninth inning deficits twice, as Tino Martinez and Scott Brosius both hit game-tying homers off D-Backs closer Byung-Hyun Kim. Although both games went into extra innings, there was little doubt that the Yankees would come out on top of both matches, and they did.

Here were the Yankees—in what is probably the last go-around for the team’s core players—claiming two come-from-behind World Series victories on crisp autumn nights at historic Yankee Stadium. All the while, there was the flag from the World Trade Center remains hanging next to the center-field scoreboard, standing as a stark reminder of the enduring pain and hope present in New York. I must admit it gave me the chills.

Despite a lopsided loss in Game 6 to the D-Backs, one couldn’t help but think the Yankees would find some way to win the decisive Game 7, given their pair of miraculous finishes just days earlier. This feeling was reinforced in the eighth inning of the game, when Rivera came in to preserve a 2-1 lead after Alfonso Soriano homered off Schilling to break a 1-1 deadlock.

But Arizona somehow found a way to get three hits off Rivera in the bottom of the ninth—all of which resulted in broken bats—and then became the fastest expansion team to ever win a World Series when Luis Gonzalez blooped a single over Derek Jeter to drive in the game-winning run.

What especially struck me during the post-game interviews was the absolute class shown by the Yankees in defeat. Manager Joe Torre didn’t make any excuses, instead saying that Arizona deserved to win after getting to “the best” (i.e. Rivera) when it counted.

This type of grace, shown both in victory and defeat, makes me sad to see the Yankee dynasty end. In contrast to many of today’s dysfunctional clubhouses where millionaire athletes often set bad examples, the Yankees are the blueprint for a classy champion.

Great teams don’t come around too often, and to have witnessed one such dynasty dismantled prematurely in Chicago (no, not the ’98 wild-card Cubs), it’s easy not to want the moment to be as fleeting as it usually seems.

What the Yankees have accomplished these past six seasons—four championships (three consecutive), five World Series appearances (four consecutive), and six division titles—will not be duplicated anytime soon in baseball. And given the expected departure of Brosius, Martinez, Knoblauch, and even El Duque, and the retirement of Paul O’Neill, the core of the dynasty will largely be eroded when spring training rolls around. That makes this 2001 playoff run even more memorable.

It could be the end of an era. Than again, it could also be just the impetus George Steinbrenner needs to shell out even more cash to sign Jason Giambi and Johnny Damon away from the A’s and Moises Alou from the Astros, thereby extending the Yankees’ reign for another five years. But if I had to bet, I’d pick the first scenario, especially given the unpredictability of the MLB regular season, not to mention the three rounds of postseason play that exist with the wild-card.

The Yankees will remain a team to watch in upcoming seasons with their deep pitching staff. But this version’s glory days now seem to be behind them. And I can’t help but feel a little twinge of sadness to see a great champion not go out on top.