| 11.05.01
• YES, VIRGINIA, THERE IS A BASEBALL GOD
In response to a letter we received here at the home office:
Yes, Virginia, there is a baseball god. And apparently he likes
his pinstripes in purple.
“Mystique and Aura are dancers in a nightclub”
--Curt Schilling
You may have heard that throwaway line one too many times during
the 2001 World Series, but c’mon, you gotta admit that
it’s a great quip; and an even better one when you realize
it comes from a ballplayer and not a sportswriter.
And that is just one reason why I love these Diamondbacks and
believe that the baseball god does too. The baseball god who
stands on the pitcher’s mound and spits out a few hundred
sunflower seed shells while constantly readjusting himself.
The baseball god who takes too long in the batter’s box
and likes to imitate Ichiro’s tai-chi before every pitch.
The baseball god who deemed that it was time those seemingly
invincible Yankees got smushed like the annoying little athletic
cockroaches that they are.
And I say to you now Virginia, yes there IS a baseball god,
and it is time to praise his name. To render unto him adulation
in the name of Koufax and Drysdale, Gibson and Paige, and the
holy trinity of Glavine, Maddux and Smoltz. Hallelujah! Praise
the Lord and pass the Big League Chew!
To those who saw the Yankees as the heroic embodiment of the
spirit of a battered but not bowed New York City, I say, “PHOOEY!”
These are the NEW YORK YANKEES. In the world of baseball, the
Yankees represent anything but triumph over adversity. No one
was surprised to see the Yankees playing ball in October (or
November, as this season was forced to enter). No one was amazed
by their ability to make the big game. These are the freakin’
NEW YORK YANKEES! In the treacherous world of major league baseball,
a post season without the Yankees is about as rare as a Detroit
Red Wings fan with a college degree. You want a NY team to rally
around? How about the NY Islanders, who are currently on a worst-to-first
tear?
Americans are supposed to root for the underdog. Americans are
supposed to root for the team outta nowhere. Americans are supposed
to root for the scrappy band of slobs who just won’t give
in. Americans were supposed to root for the Cubs! But they didn’t
make it, so the national admiration/adulation society elected
the Diamondbacks. And nuts to you if you didn’t jump on
the bandwagon.
Did we really want to see Derek Jeter feel, just once, the agony
of losing the big game? Did we really want to see Paul O’Neill
continue his batter’s box whining all the way into retirement?
Did we really want to see all of those ever-sincere celebrities
with their freshly purchased Yankees hats eat a little nationally-broadcast
crow? And did we really want to see the incomparable Mariano
Rivera collapse just ONCE and prove his baseball mortality?
YES! YES! A THOUSAND TIMES YES!!!
This was a victory for the rest of America. You know, all of
us living outside of the five boroughs. All of us who are subjected
daily to the whims of the NYC dictated world. A victory for
those who think that playing in Yankee Stadium does not entitle
you to the title.
Bikinis vs. Bleacher Creatures? That’s a no-brainer, if
you ask this overjoyed scribe. Besides, with all of the madness
in the Middle East, it was a fine time for another miracle in
the desert…
It was a remarkable World Series. It was a World Series that
will definitively go down as one the best and most exciting
ever played. It had miracle comebacks that created national
and international heroes and goats. It had drama and weight.
And best of all, little Virginia, it proved that every so often,
even in the screwy world of baseball, the right team CAN and
DOES win it all…
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