A pretty nice read.....it will take a few minutes but worth it. Dear Derek, Thanks. Twenty seasons, five championships, a lifetime .309 average, a full career in Yankee pinstripes, more clutch moments than “Diehard’s” John McClane, and still, with all that Hall of Fame cred earned in the Bronx, you helped Red Sox fans enjoy the best Opening Day Fenway’s ever had. That would be 2005, of course. You and your Yankees teammates played along and allowed Boston to celebrate its first baseball championship since World War I. What made 2004 so unbelievably soul-saving was the fact that the Red Sox were able to beat you and your Yankees in your prime. When you were at your best. After a 3-0 lead. But you were there. No reason to rehash all of that. If you want to borrow that Red Sox 2004 championship DVD or a copy of “Fever Pitch – The Director’s Cut,” just let us know. If there ever were any real “non-sports” hate toward you in Boston, it disappeared on that April day nine years ago. Fenway Park enjoyed your presence one final time on Sunday. You called it a career at just the right time. Twenty seasons of going all-out during nearly every inning of every game can wear on even the best athletes. While others of your era pushed and shattered the rules to remain in the game, you remained clean. As age began to catch up, as it does for us mortals, you knew it was time to go. The illicit performance enhancing substances that will keep so many others of your era from entering the Hall of Fame are nowhere to be found on your resume. This past weekend, you gave this beleaguered baseball city a reason to cheer in 2014. Even after that Roy Hobbs finale in New York, you showed up and played. Your career ended with a two-out, RBI single. Why was no one surprised in either case? Before the game, you gave us an excuse to celebrate your success and remind ourselves that winning is never too far away in these parts. Standing on the same field with some of Boston’s greatest captains – Yaz, Bobby Orr, Troy Brown, Celtic-for-a-day Paul Pierce – you allowed us all to enjoy a confluence of greatness rarely witnessed anywhere. The moment you hugged David Ortiz, there were a total of 14 championships in the frame, 16 if your wide-screen got Tim Wakefield. Take that, rest of the world. Boston was humbled and graced by your presence, again. The Greeks have four words for “love.” To say Boston has grown to “love” Derek Jeter in the conventional English sense of the word would not be accurate. The “love” expressed toward you in these parts came from the head. (At least it did until Sunday afternoon.) What else would you expect from the “Athens of America?” After Sunday’s rush of emotion subsides, we will continue to honor your career accomplishments, applaud you whenever we get the chance, marvel at your off-field conquests, admit that you were “better than Nomar,” and castigate the idiot who doesn’t put you on his Hall of Fame ballot in your first year of eligibility. But we won’t be naming our kids “Derek” like we did with “Ted,” “Larry,” “Bobby” or “Brady.” That just wouldn’t be right for either of us. The word “philo” – as in philosophy (love of wisdom) – best describes the baseball emotions projected toward you north and east of Waterbury, Conn. You are “loved” in the sense that we love a great performer, musician, singer, teacher, doctor, lawyer, pilot, craftsman, builder, writer or athlete. You played baseball the way we wished we could. You played the way we wanted our kids to play. Hate turned to fear turned to envy turned to respect turned to admiration to, finally, appreciation. No manufactured bro-mantic feelings. This is strictly business. If the Yankees are an “Evil Empire,” you’re Anakin Skywalker in his pre-Lord Vader days. You mastered both sides of the “Force,” even if it wasn’t always for the good guys. You were indeed the “Chosen One,” at least until Dave Roberts stole second base. The “Captain Clutch” persona is our favorite incarnation of your baseball legacy, not so much the “Captain” but the “Clutch.” The “Mr. November” moniker should be safe. Too many who found success in lesser markets entered the caldron of Fenway Park or Yankee Stadium, complete with nine-figure contracts, and wilted against the weight of expectation. They could not take the heat in Hell’s Kitchen, never mind radioactivity of the Bronx, Kenmore Square or the baseball crucible that extends from Bangor, Maine to Bayonne, N.J. You dominated through all of it. You gave Boston another legacy to follow, although you had no idea at the time. Following the attacks on 9-11, you and your Yankees, with help from others, played a pivotal role in helping New York and the nation begin its civic healing process. When the games resumed, Yankee Stadium became a place of mourning, healing and, for a few hours each night throughout the rest of that September and into the early moments of Nov. 1, a place of celebration. “Aura” and “Destiny” were indeed appearing nightly. Sadly [wink, wink], they didn’t make the trip to Phoenix for Games 6 and 7 of that World Series. Without a playbook or script, you visited those injured on 9-11, honored the fallen, gave tribute to the first responders and connected with your city on a level sports cannot create on its own. Even when President Bush paid a visit to Yankee Stadium to throw out the first pitch before Game 3, you reminded him that he would be booed if he didn’t throw it off the mound. Bush threw a perfect strike, from the mound. The Stadium and nation cheered. It was, putting aside partisan and political differences for one sentence, one of the most important first pitches in baseball history, especially considering the context and concerns at the time. Fast forward to April 2013. After terror struck at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, it was the Red Sox and Bruins who both hosted and guided Boston’s civic healing process. While the scale of 9-11 was monstrously larger, the sense of loss, and fear for some, was just as intense. The role the Red Sox played in offering many much-needed break from reality, and helping Boston return to “normalcy” while making a World Series run, followed a path and standard you and your Yankees set a dozen years earlier. All of this success both on and off the field was achieved with professionalism, just the right touch of modesty, confidence, and loads of talent and hard work. And always with a smile. None of that was missed in Boston. Enjoy life and be well. See you in Cooperstown. Love, The City of Boston
Posted on: Tue, 30 Sep 2014 21:26:48 +0000
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