Heavy Hearts

I am a spoiled, lucky Yankee fans. I walked into them at the beginning of 1998, the greatest team of all time that also happened to be very likeable for a dynasty team. I got to watch every game, every night. I was there for three straight World Series wins, including a Subway Series, and then two more World Series both of which we lost but one of those was probably the best World Series I’ve ever seen. I saw Aaron Boone’s dinger. Then came some years of early playoff exits and unlikeable players (Brown, Sheffield etc), but the threat of returning to the World Series was always there, and the players were still larger than life. And then we won it all again in 2009 with what my have been my favorite team (and had the most exciting stretch I’ve ever seen.) Players came and went, but the lineup was always electric. And the one constant? Derek Jeter. Of course.

Today, it’s hard to imagine myself as a Yankees fan next year. I don’t mean I still won’t identify as one, and I’ll still keep up. But I probably won’t rush to get home at 7:05 every day. I probably won’t put off weekend days until the game’s over.

And it’s not just because we’ll probably wander in the wilderness of mediocrity/losing for a long while. I can live with that. It’s the nameless, faceless players on the team now. Or just old. Players come, players go. But Jeter was always there, that one last connection to the Joe Torre years, to Paul O’Neil and Bernie and the Core Four and Tino and on and on. The connection to those magic moments, some of them his own. New York has infinitely changed since he first took over short. The world has. I have, we all have. But we always knew #2 would be there every day. And now he won’t be. “The end of an era” is so clichéd, but it’s true. He was this thread that drew us back, back, back together over the years, years so unfathomably long ago now that always seemed like just yesterday; cold opening day games, seemingly meaningless Sunday games in June, and of course thrilling nighttime moments in October. Even the way he had that final hit at The Stadium was one so familiar to us: a single punched into right field. Just like we'd seen all those times before - heck, a home run wouldn't have felt as perfect as that. Those days were so long ago now, but he was there, and so were we. And now he’s gone. And a part of us is too.

I'll always watch the Yankees. But it will never be the same. As sad as I am, I also feel lucky I had a front-row (well, tv) seat to it all, over all those years.