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Welcome to the Famous Yankees Poems, Songs, and Sayings Page

(by fans, players, managers, etc.)

E-mail me your submittals to be added....Thanks.


"What if..."  Submitted by: Lisa Wheeler-Cooney - Center Moriches, New York

What if…….

WHAT IF the world stood still and YOU were the only one who could move?  Could anyone hear you?  Could anyone see you?  What IF the world stood still and you could do anything you WANTED…..What would you do?  Where would you go? 

 

WHAT IF the world stood still in the middle of a baseball game?

HEY!

WHAT IF it was the WORLD SERIES’, LAST GAME OF THE SEASON?

OK, so…

WHAT IF it was the WORLD SERIES’, LAST game of the season, BOTTOM of the 9th inning, TWO outs, BASES FULL and EVERY SEAT in the stadium was TAKEN?

What would you do if all of a sudden, everyone

F-R-O-Z-E       I-N       M-O-T-I-O-N?

But NOT YOU!

PICTURE IT, it’s a beautiful day and the batter is about to make, possibly, the last hit of the season.  The ball has been pitched and is HALFWAY to home plate, dugouts are still with anxious players and baseball fans are staring down on the field.  Imagine the loud cheers!  Half the fans are making a wave, kids have their hands filled with popcorn and hotdogs, the umpire and catcher have their eyes set on possibly, the LAST pitch….. ABSOLUTE tunnel vision.  Sweat is about to pour down the pitcher’s forehead, runners are deciding whether or not to steal base and THIS batter is known for his HOME RUNS…

Who will make the catch?  Anxious fans with mitts on their hand are wondering if they could BE so lucky!

OK

YOU HAVE 9 MINUTES!

NINE MINUTES to do or go anywhere in the stadium before the World Series’, POSSIBLE, last play takes action…

What’s your next move?

Can you succeed before the baseball reaches home base and the batter swings?

You have 9 MINUTES before the umpire calls the play.  NINE MINUTES until the players run from their dugout in celebration. 

WHAT WILL YOU DO?



Joe Pickering Jr.
King of the Road Music BMI
 

YANKEE STADIUM

 CHORUS

 

GENERATIONS OF LAUGHTER AND SOME TEARS

MANY MEMORIES TUMBLING DOWN THE YEARS

YANKEE STADIUM HOME OF THE BEST TEAMS

YANKEE STADIUM OUR FIELD OF DREAMS

 

SPRING THROUGH SUMMER, DEEP INTO FALL

MEMORIES SPRING ALIVE FOR US TO RECALL

THE CHANT DEE-FENSE; THE OLD BRONX CHEER

WIN ONE FOR THE GIPPER FIRST SPOKEN HERE

 

BEST FOOTBALL GAME PLAYED THE COLTS WON

BEDNARIK HIT GIFFORD LIKE A BABE HOME RUN

JOE LOUIS STRUCK A MIGHTY BLOW FOR ALL

A DYING LOU GEHRIG STOOD AND SPOKE TALL

 

REPEAT CHORUS

 

CASEY’S IN THE PARK HOMER IN TWENTY THREE

HE WON THE MOST SERIES IN HISTORY

JOLTIN’ JOE FLAWLESSLY CAUGHT THE BALL

MICK HIT A HOMER ATOP THE FACADE WALL

 

REGGIE JACKSON BECAME MISTER OCTOBER

NEW LEGEND BORN, YANKEE GREATS MOVE OVER

MUNSON’S JERSEY HANGS IN HIS LOCKER TODAY

PLANES TOOK THURMAN AND LIDLE AWAY

 

REPEAT CHORUS

 

ALI, ROCKY, BILLY JOEL, AND PINK FLOYD

JOHANNSON, PATTERSON HIS FIRST NAME FLOYD

BILLY GRAHAM, THE WITNESS AND THE POPE

BRINGING TO PEOPLE ETERNAL HOPE

 

WITHOUT THE AID OF ONE CAN OF BEER

BLEACHER CREATURES SCREAM THE LOUDEST CHEER

AS THE NINE ELEVEN SERVICES ARE DONE

AMERICANS EVERYWHERE BECOME ONE

 

REPEAT CHORUS

 

GENERATIONS HAVE COME, GENERATIONS HAVE GONE

WE ALL BELIEVED BABE’S HOUSE WOULD GO ON

TWO THOUSANDEIGHT THE ALL STAR GAME IS PLAYED

IN THE BABE’S HOUSE FINAL SPORTS PARADE

 

NEW STADIUM, NEW MEMORIES IN TWO THOUSANDNINE

NO MORE BABE TO HIT HOMERS DIVINE!

ONCE THE LAST’S GAME’S OVER IN TWO THOUSANDEIGHT

WATCH THE BABE’S GHOST FLOAT OUT THE GATE!!

 

NOT TO BE FORGOTTEN, THE COSMOS AND PELE

MAGICAL MOMENTS OF YESTERDAY

WITH THE ONLY PERFECT WORLD SERIES GAME

YANKEE STADIUM BELONGS IN THE HALL OF FAME! 

 

REPEAT CHORUS TWICE

 

FADE

 Joe Pickering Jr. Songwriter   King of the Road Music BMI Copyright owner C 2007


I think whatever mortals crave

With impotent endeavor –

A wreath, a rank, a throne, a grave –

The Yanks go on forever.

by: Del Lucas

dlucas@ctwnj.com

 

A Bronx Tale
 
In the Bronx where they play
practically every night and day
Yankee stadium is were they dwell
I like to say they play real swell
Derek jester is the captain
something good is bound to happen
no matter in the day or dark
A-Rod will hit them out the park
Giambi hits the ball real hard
it usually goes out the yard
Gary Sheffield goes up hacking
he sends the other team packing
you know posada has a gun
when people steal they know there done
when Randy Johnson throws the heat
other teams know there beat
they haven't won it in a while
next year they’ll go the extra mile
next season the yanks will be fantastic
hopefully make it to the fall classic
 
 
Eric Gomez - 16 years old  Belleville, NJ   -  Belleville High School - a REAL TRUE Yankee fan

Behind Enemy Lines: A Yankee Fan’s Story

The Story of a Yankee Fan in Red Sox Nation

 By FP

Intro of Behind Enemy Lines: A Yankee Fan’s Story

Go Yankees. Yes, I am a New York Yankees fan, and proud to admit it. The Bronx Bombers are the team. Our team. My team. Pride, Power, and Pinstripes. In the thirteen years of my life, those three words became synonymous with the words "New York Yankees." From the time I was born, I was raised a Yankees fan. Baseball is a second religion to me, and the Bronx Bombers have been my chapel. It is hard to capture the essence of the Yankees in such a short story as the one you are about to hear. Ruth, Gehrig, DiMaggio, Berra, Mantle, Munson, Mattingly and Jeter. Just a small list of the greatness contained in New York. For 100 years and more, the New York Yankees have been the personification of victory. Twenty-six World Championships was enough to make that point. The Yankees have won more championships than any other sports franchise in history.

Part One of Behind Enemy Lines: A Yankee Fan’s Story

I never truly understood what it meant to be a Yankee, or even a Yankees fan, until around 2000. At a young age, I always proclaimed myself a Yankees fan, with no concept of the implications. And with me living on Cape Cod, MA, (about an hour and a half away from Boston, home of the arch-rival Boston Red Sox) baseball arguments at school would go like this: "Yankees stink!" "Red Sox stink!" "No, Yankees stink!" "No, Red Sox stink!" And so on and so forth. It was a beautiful thing in all it’s simplicity. When you wanted to "talk baseball" in first grade, you said who stunk and who didn’t. I did know more about baseball than most others my age. Heck, I had been playing since I was four. And when I got that first hit, I loved it. When I had my first strikeout, I hated it. These are feelings that are not easily described. It’s baseball. What else can be said?

Of course, it can’t be so easy forever. After a while, I grew a desire to learn my game. And so I started to hone my knowledge of the game. Ball four, nine innings, steals, infield flies, balks, bunts, foul balls... The list is endless. I loved it. And I still do.

So one day, a dispute turned out like this: "Yankees stink!" yelled my adversary. "OK, the club ERA is down to 3.00, Jeter’s batting .332, and the Yankees have twenty-six World Series Championships. You’re going to tell me that we stink?" "Huh?" was the reply. I became pretty darn proud. With the Yankees always winning, I had nothing to fear. Except one thing. The rivalry that the Yankees had with a certain Boston team, and a certain curse involving a certain slugger who wasn’t so little around the middle.

In case you don’t already know, the rivalry between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox is undoubtedly the greatest in sports history. There has been so much conflict between those teams over the past decades that they have become the bitterest of foes. For those who are unfamiliar with the situation, the "Curse of the Bambino" plays a large role in this drama.

It’s 1920. Boston’s star pitcher and slugger George Herman "Babe" Ruth, has led the Red Sox to a 1918 World Championship. The Boston dynasty looks like it will never end. But, in desperate need of cash, Red Sox owner Harry Frazee sells Babe Ruth to the hated New York Yankees for the lucrative sum of $125,000. Babe Ruth goes to New York, becomes a national icon, saves the game of baseball (another story), then revolutionizes it. Babe becomes the first "true" home run hitter, swatting a record of sixty homers in one season, a record that would stand for nearly forty years. The Yankees go on to win twenty-six World Series Titles. Meanwhile, the Red Sox wallow in heartbreak. Their dynasty gone, they go without a championship for eighty-six years, with plenty of chances in between. And thus, the Curse of the Bambino.

You get the picture. Such is the story of New York and Boston. I never hear the end of it at school, or anywhere else. Because I’m a Yankees fan, I’m at the center of mean jibes and cruel remarks almost every day. But I’ve gotten used to it. Being at the core of this rivalry has, at the least, thickened my skin. But no matter how much I take from the Red Sox Nation around me, it seems that the Yankees still always come out on top. Prime examples are: The Yankees nabbing Babe Ruth from the Sox. Yanks center fielder Joe DiMaggio always getting the better of Sox left fielder Ted Williams, in the press and on the field. Or 1978. The Yankees were fourteen games behind the Red Sox in their division, but the Yankees fought all the way back to tie for first place. Then, in a one-game playoff, light-hitting Bucky Dent hit a pop fly that would be an out anywhere else. But not at Fenway. It got over the short left field wall, and the Yankees went on to later win the World Series. Even as recent as 2003. Game 7 of the American League Championship Series, the Yankees are down, 5-2 in the eighth inning. But they rally against Boston’s best pitcher, Pedro Martinez, who was left in the game by the manager, Grady Little. With the game tied in the 11th inning (two more innings than a regulation game), Aaron Boone, who was a bust in the regular season, came to the plate. He hadn’t gotten a hit in the series. But before he came the bat, Yankees captain Derek Jeter said "Ghosts come out [at Yankee Stadium] in October." On the first pitch he saw, Boone sent a high fly ball tracking into the night for a homer, and the Yanks had won again. So it was Babe, Bucky, Boone. And Boston. "Maybe they should move to Worcester." Heartbreak in Beantown. But in 2004, all of that was about to change. The Yankees lost the in the first round of the playoffs in 2002. I could deal with that. They lost the World Series in 2001 and in 2003. I could deal with that, too. But what happened in 2004 was something I almost couldn’t bear. It was a disaster that put a very regrettable hatred in me. And those around me (friends who happened to be Sox fans) didn’t make it any better. Yes, I got support from my family, but it didn’t help very much. You see, over the years, I had built up a great confidence. It was a confidence that the Red Sox would always be second-best, and that the battles I had with Sox fans would always turn out in my favor, and that my beloved Yankees would never disappoint me. Yes, in 2001, 2002, and 2003, they did in small ways, but I never expected them to fall the way they did in ‘04. Perhaps I was too confident; too cocky. I always thought that heartbreak belonged solely to Red Sox fans. I was full of pride. But what do you expect? I am a Yankees fan.

Part Two of Behind Enemy Lines: A Yankee Fan’s Story

The Yankees downfall actually began at 12:16 AM on October 16, 2003. Not a loss, but a victory. A great victory. In Game 7 of the ALCS, Aaron Boone, a disappointment for the 2003 Yanks, hit a walk-off homer in the 11th inning off of Tim Wakefield, after the Yankees rallied from three runs down in the 8th against Red Sox ace Pedro Martinez. Pedro had shut them down the entire game, and when he started to crumble, Sox manager Grady Little made a trip to the mound. Little then returned without taking Martinez out. The Yankees continued to come back until the game was tied. With three perfect innings of relief from closer Mariano Rivera, the stage was set for Boone’s blast. The Yankees won, 6-5. I saw the whole thing. In my opinion, that was my "christening" as a Yankees fan. I had seen the Bombers victorious over the Beantowners. Upon seeing my Sox fan teachers the next day, I raised my fist in the air. My finger was up making a "number one." The teachers were speechless. I had seen incredible bias from them the whole series. They always sided with the person making fun of me. Whenever I heard, "Derek Jeter is the biggest loser of all time!" (And some other remarks that weren’t so polite) and I would turn around and say, "You know, I’ve heard enough for today. You need to shut up," a teacher would reprimand me like this, "Now, sportsmanship is important!" Uh, hello? Who is the instigator here? I’m not blowing anything out of proportion when I say that they were against me as much as the students. But I didn’t expect them to be nice about it. The Yankees lost the World Series, but I didn’t care. Sure, I was disappointed, and a little angry. But now, I was convinced that the Yanks were invincible. No Red Sox team could beat the New York Yankees. The off-season passed with the Sox acquiring pitcher Curt Schilling, who I wished the Yankees had gotten. Then the Red Sox were on the verge of signing the reigning MVP, Alex Rodriguez, a.k.a. A-Rod. But the deal fell through. Who got him? You guessed it. The New York Yankees. The Boston brass was furious. What they could not accomplish in two months, the Pinstripers had accomplished in about three days. There were a few other acquisitions, such as right fielder Gary Sheffield and pitcher Kevin Brown. Now, I was sure that the Yanks would beat the Red Sox. They had done it for eighty-five years. Now we had the best player in the league, Rodriguez. There was nothing that could stop the Yankees dominance. And so the 2004 season began.

As it turned out, the Yankees got off to a bad start. Alex Rodriguez wasn’t producing, and the Yankees lost five of their first six contests with Boston. The Yankees needed to find a turning point. They did that and then some. In a game in Boston, at Fenway Park, New Yorkers got what they needed. Alex Rodriguez, the new Yankees third baseman, was plunked in the back by Red Sox pitcher Bronson Arroyo. A-Rod immediately took offense, yelling profanities at Arroyo. Boston catcher Jason Varitek got in between the two and proceeded to promptly shove Rodriguez’ face with his big catchers glove. Varitek never even took off his catchers mask to face A-Rod. The benches cleared, and there was a huge brawl. Two Red Sox men (Trot Nixon and David Ortiz) jumped on one Yankees man (Tanyon Sturtze) in an "I’ll-hold-you-punch" match. The Yankees lost that game, but the fight was enough. They got their act together and started winning, pulling into first place and winning the AL East Pennant in September. It was time for the second season to commence.

Part Three of Behind Enemy Lines: A Yankee Fan’s Story

First came the American League Divisional Series. The Yankees played the Minnesota Twins of the American League Central Division. Even though Boston ended up in second place (behind the Yankees) in ‘04, they won the wild card by being the second-place team with the best record. They played the Anaheim Angels of the AL West. Both series’ passed without much incident. New York beat Minnesota. Boston beat Anaheim. Once again, the rivals were set for the American League Championship Series, the last stage before the World Series. I was slightly on edge, wondering about the consequences of a Yankees loss. But my overbearing confidence conquered my fears. Even when my friend super-imposed my head on Red Sox center fielder Johnny Damon’s body, I didn’t care. On October 12, Game 1 began.

New York went into the series as the underdog for the first time in a long while. Mike Mussina was the starting pitcher for the Yanks in Game 1, while Curt Schilling (who said nothing would be better than "shutting up" 50,000 Yankees fans) started for the BoSox at Yankee Stadium in the Bronx. The Yankees jumped to an 8-0 lead early. Mussina, a.k.a "Moose," was perfect into the 7th. The Red Sox rallied late, but the Yankees held on. Yankees closer Mariano Rivera shut the door in the Yankees 10-7 win. I felt good, but I knew that if the Yankees wanted to win, they had a long way to go. Series Score: Yankees-1; Red Sox-0

Game 2 also had the Yankees wearing pinstripes and an interlocking "NY." That only meant one thing: home game. In New York, Jon Lieber started for the Yankees. His opponent was Pedro Martinez. Earlier in the season, after another devastating loss to New York, Pedro said, "I guess the Yankees are just my daddy." And so, chants of "WHO’S YOUR DADDY?" rocked the Stadium and echoed through the Bronx night while Liber pitched seven inning, three-hit, one-run ball. Pedro stumbled, and the Yankees won, 3-1. The final margin was provided by Jon Olerud’s two-run home run. Rivera saved it again in the final inning. I was then 60% sure that the Bombers were going to win. All the while, though, I kept my mouth shut at school (alright, it was shut most of the time). Yet I was sure that another victory was coming my way. How naive. Series Score: Yankees-2; Red Sox 0

Game 3 was a record breaking night for New York, and a heart breaking night for the Sox and their fans. In short, the New York Yankees pulverized the Red Sox for a 19-8 win. Sheer embarrassment reigned during the game, and broken hearts took over in the aftermath. Kevin Brown pitched horribly for New York, but it didn’t matter. The Pinstripers set LCS records in runs (19)and extra-base hits (13). They tied the records for hits (22), doubles (8) and home runs (4). It was awesome. But more importantly, the Yankees had taken a three-game lead in a best of seven (meaning first to four) series. No team had ever come back from three games down. Ever. In all of baseball history. There was no way the Red Sox would be any different. By now, the "Johnny-Damon-picture-of-the-Yankees-fan" had circulated around the school and was in most of the classrooms. But hey–a three game lead? You can have your picture. School days passed without much incident in the baseball sense. No one said a word to me about "you-know-who." And I usually kept quiet as well. I couldn’t help poking a little fun after Game 3, though. Their reply was "Believe in Boston!" Yeah, OK. Series Score: Yankees-3; Red Sox-0

Part Four of Behind Enemy Lines: A Yankee Fan’s Story

After Game 3, I expected school to be like a funeral. After all, it was in 2003, after the Red Sox lost. And in my opinion, Boston had lost. But instead of sadness, an unprecedented faith prevailed. One teacher even set up a "shrine" on her wall, with pictures of each member of the Sox and the words "WE BELIEVE" over them. It was unbelievable. But it didn’t diminish my feeling of accomplishment. Not at all. I looked at the "Johnny-Damon-picture-of-me" and laughed.

Here comes Game 4. I really wanted to sweep and just get it over with. The Series went to Fenway Park in the "Fens" of Boston, MA. Orlando Hernandez, a.k.a. "El Duque," started for the Yanks, and Derek Lowe started for the Sox. A homer by Alex Rodriguez put the Yankees up 2-0 in the 2nd inning. The Yankees held a lead up until the 5th, when the Red Sox took a 3-2 advantage on a David Ortiz single. The New Yorkers came back later to get a 4-4 tie, and then took a 5-4 lead on an infield single by first baseman Tony Clark. With that lead, Mariano Rivera returned, and put up a scoreless 8th inning. Then, in the 9th, with only three outs needed for the AL Pennant, he walked Sox first baseman Kevin Millar to lead off the inning. Millar represented the tying run. The Sox put in pinch runner Dave Roberts, and he stole second base. Then, third baseman Bill Mueller lined a single, scoring Roberts. The game was tied. The game went into the bottom of the 12th inning. Paul Quantrill was on the mound. A leadoff single by Boston left fielder Manny Ramirez set up a walk-off homer by David Ortiz, a.k.a. Big Papi. Beantown won, 6-4. "So what?" was what I said as I climbed into bed. "So what?" was what I said in school when numerous jibes were directed at me. "So what?" But I couldn’t overcome that ominous feeling. Series Score: Yankees-3; Red Sox-1

So, Game 5 rolled around. I was truly ready for victory now. Nobody had ever come back from 3-0 down in a best-of-seven series. Mike Mussina (NY) and Pedro Martinez (BOS) went to the hill again. The Yankees had a 4-2 lead going into the 8th. David Ortiz then hit a solo-homer to make it 4-3. After walking Kevin Millar, Yankees reliever Tom Gordon gave up a hit to Trot Nixon. Mariano Rivera came on after blowing the save in Game 4. Red Sox catcher Jason Varitek then lifted a sacrifice fly to center field. Pinch-runner Dave Roberts scored from third. Rivera had blown the save again. The score remained at 4-4. Until the 14th. Esteban Loaiza came in to pitch for the Yankees. After walking Johnny Damon with one out, and walking Manny Ramirez with two, David Ortiz struck again. He hit a walk-off single into right field. The Sox won again. I couldn’t believe it. I had stayed up for all 14 innings, just for that. In school the next day, it seemed that there were more Red Sox "fans" than the day before. It was "peculiar." I was hit with more remarks, some worse than others. "Hey, Yankees suck!" "Just shut up," I would say, "You haven’t won yet. And you weren’t a Red Sox fan yesterday..."  A teacher would butt in, "That is not acceptable! You have to have good sportsmanship!" My reply would be "Didn’t you hear what they said? Didn’t you?" It seemed that they always heard me, but never the opposite. Never the offense, only the defense. Did they expect me to just sit there and take it? Did they expect no retaliation? Did they want me to just roll over and die? Series Score: Yankees-3; Red Sox-2

Game 6. "OK Yankees. Time to live up to your name: Bronx Bombers. You beat Curt Schilling once, you can beat him again." What’s more, Schilling had a right ankle injury (that would require surgery after the season ended) when he went out for the Red Sox, and the Series was back in New York. And reliable Jon Lieber was going for the Yankees. But it wasn’t meant to be. In what would become the performance of the "ultimate Red Sock," Schilling pitched a seven-inning, one hit gem, despite blood from his ankle staining his sock. The Yankees bats went dead. The game was decided by a three-run blast by Sox second baseman Mark Bellhorn, who had a mere .150 batting average, and ten strikeouts in twenty at-bats. And when the Yankees began to try and rally, Alex Rodriguez became the poster boy of the Yankees collapse.

It was the 8th inning. One on, one out. A-Rod hit a bouncing ball up the middle. Pitcher Bronson Arroyo nabbed the ball. He ran to tag Rodriguez and clearly had him out. But Rodriguez swung his arm and slapped the ball from Arroyo’s hand. The ball rolled away, Derek Jeter scored from first base, and A-Rod was called safe. Argument immediately arose from Boston, and the new ruling came quickly and deliberately. Rodriguez out, Jeter returns to first. A-Rod, who was standing on second base, raised his arms and said "What?" I originally thought that he should be safe at second. But upon looking at the replay, I knew that the right call had been made. It was just frustration. I was frustrated, A-Rod was frustrated, Yankees Nation was frustrated. Whether he knocked the ball from Arroyo on purpose or by accident became a moot point. Anyone in Alex’s situation would’ve done it. There isn’t any denying it. But he did it, and that’s what mattered.

It ended 4-2, in favor of the Red Sox. The Yankees were even admitting after the game that "Boston is a great team." A-Rod said "If we lose tomorrow, it won’t be embarrassing." "Here we go again," said Yankee shortstop and captain, Derek Jeter, "That team on the other side has responded well in three games that were do-or-die. Now we’re going to find out how we do in a do-or-die situation." Somehow, I knew that he realized it. The dynasty was falling apart. Eighty-six years of dominance was falling by the wayside. And no one would let me forget it. Not even the Yankees themselves. Tony Clark, (who struck out to end the game) said, "It’s a beautiful thing. These two teams have been so evenly matched ... to have it come down to Game 7 is nothing surprising." Beautiful wasn’t the word I was looking for. Series Score: Yankees-3; Red Sox-3

And so, the final game rolled around. On the New York sports radio station "Mike and the Mad Dog," Chris "Mad Dog" Russo said, "Not this team, not this building," when asked about his opinion on who would win the deciding game. I realized that the Yankees still had a very real chance to win. All they had to do was win one game. Joe Torre opted to go with experience when he sent Kevin Brown to the mound. Brown had been disappointing in the regular season, but I had to trust Torre. His hunches had always proved right. Since 1996, he hadn’t let me down. It was up to Kevin Brown. Signs of "1918!(the last time the Sox had won the World Series)" were everywhere. A Yankees fan even put a big white sheet over himself and proclaimed he was "the ghost of Babe Ruth." But there were no heroics for the New York Yankees. Johnny Damon hit a grand slam, which became the mark of the Sox game 7 victory. Derek Lowe came through for the Red Sox, with flying colors. Pedro came in and "WHO’S YOUR DADDY?" resumed. The Pinstripers put up a small rally. And I never lost faith. I thought that maybe, just maybe, the tides would turn. But it was over. Alan Embree induced Ruben Sierra to hit a slow grounder to the second baseman. And it was over. The Boston Red Sox had won 10-3, and they were going to the World Series for the first time since 1986. On October 20, 2004 the Boston Red Sox defeated the New York Yankees, and became American League Champions. I am not ashamed to say that I trudged up to my room, threw myself on my bed, and cried. I cried and cried and cried. I was...it was...an indescribable feeling...a mixture of anger, depression, desperation, anxiety and hatred. Baseball is my religion, and the Yankees are my chapel. But my chapel has collapsed. "Swung on and grounded over to second, the throw to first is...in time, and the Red Sox are AL Champs! THE CURSE OF THE BAMBINO IS NO MORE!" Series Score: Yankees-3; Red Sox-4--Red Sox Win Series; American League Pennant

Part Five of Behind Enemy Lines: A Yankee Fan’s Story

And so I thought it was over. I had watched the Red Sox celebrate on the middle of the ball diamond. I had watched about 50,000 dejected Yankees fans file slowly out of the Stadium. David Ortiz, the Yankee Killer, was ALCS MVP. The Red Sox had won a well-deserved pennant. But it was far from over. I seriously contemplated not going to school the next day. But I decided that wouldn’t be right. They deserved to brag. But I was not prepared for what would happen. I didn’t even hear a "Hi," before "Yankees suck!" "HAHA! What are you going to do now?" "You just weren’t smart enough to root for the right team!" "Whose your Papi?" And earlier in the day, someone had written, "GO RED SOX" in big chalk letters on the blacktop playground. So the teachers decided to arrange everyone over the letters and take an "aerial picture" from the roof. I said, "I don’t really want to be a part of this." And the reply from one teacher was, "You should do this in the spirit of sportsmanship." "I just really don’t want to, thanks." "All of the other Yankees fans in the school are doing it." "But they don’t care about it as much as I do." "You should really do this! I’m very disappointed in your behavior." "I just don’t want to be forced to do this." "Go stand over there with your friends. Don’t make it worse than it has to be. Just go over there!" So I did. I wasn’t wearing a smile, that was certain. "C’mon, smile!" No, thanks.

At lunch, the principal gave out ice cream. I said "no, thanks." But they insisted. Just to escape their nagging, I ate the ice cream. It was bitter with the taste of defeat.

I had mistakenly gotten one teachers e-mail address earlier in the year, and in an e-mail to the teacher, I had called the Red Sox the "Red Slobs," something I frequently did. And the next day, I was strongly reprimanded. "The Red Sox are not slobs! That is very disrespectful." I was stunned.

And so, the Red Sox went to the 2004 World Series. It was the first time that they had been there since 1986. But they hadn’t won since 1918. They played against the Saint Louis Cardinals of the National League Central Division. And in four not-so-tight games, Boston swept them. Manny Ramirez was the World Series MVP. There was dancing in the streets of Boston. All of New England rejoiced. After Boston won, we had "Red Sox appreciation day" at school. So I wore a #2 Yankees home jersey. Derek Jeter. And so, the principal actually pulled me out of the classroom. I like my principal a lot, but I was flabbergasted at what she said to me. "I’m disappointed in you. You aren’t wearing anything to show any appreciation for the Red Sox." "Sister, I have no appreciation for the Red Sox." "But you’re not wearing anything red, not even a little red dot. Don’t you even respect the Red Sox?" "No," I said. "Not at all."

Closing of Behind Enemy Lines: A Yankee Fan’s Story

I still haven’t escaped the Boston Red Sox World Series victory. It’s everywhere. On hats, shirts, pennants, flags and signs. It follows me everywhere. Nor have I escaped the awful hatred the was kindled in my heart after the Red Sox won. It may not be as bad or as strong as I think, but it is still pretty horrible. This deep anger burns like a fire in me. Every time I see David Ortiz, or Manny Ramirez, or any Red Sox logo, I bristle with an old anger that has been awakened. And the only way that it can be extinguished is if the Yankees get redemption. The Bronx Bombers have to beat the "Idiots," the Red Sox. The collapse of 2004 will serve as motivation. But no matter how long it takes for that to happen, I will always be a Yankees fan. And I will never be afraid to proclaim it to the world, even though I am behind enemy lines.

Now, one year later, I’m still waiting. I still love the Yankees, and I still hate the Red Sox. But I am still waiting for the Yanks to win again. I just hope I won’t have to wait 86 years.


The 1960's Yankees through another young boy's eyes.

 

I’m pretty sure that I wrote this for a grammar school assignment in 1962.  I received an “A” on it.  I copied it exactly, even leaving in spelling and grammatical errors.

 

If I Were by Marc Friedland

 

If I were the manager of the Yankee’s I’d do many different things that Ralph Houk didn’t.  My line up would be Moose, Richardson, Berra, Mantle, Maris, Howard, new shortstop, Boyer, Pitcher.  My pinch hitters will be Blanchard, Cerv, Hale and others.  I won’t make any foolish deals.  I’ll pay them a good price as long as they hit the ball and catch it.  I’d never put my pitchers in order it depends on the other pitcher who I pitch against him.  I’d probably trade Lopez and other players.  I’d tell Maris and Mantle try for homers not average.

That’s how I’d manage the Yankee’s.


KEVIN BROWN, WHAT A CLOWN, TAKES TO THE MOUND LIKE HE'S CHARLIE BROWN.
1 AND 1/3, SIX RUNS DOWN, 14 MILLION DOLLAR HOUND.
CRUSHED BY ANYONE HE FACES, PUNCHES WALLS IN PLAYOFF RACES, BALKY BACK AND OLD AND FLAT, THIS GUY GETS A YANKEE HAT?
GAME 7 HE GETS AND 3 TIMES IN THE FIRST, FOR SOME WEIRD REASON (MONEY), I GUESS THEY DON'T THINK ITS HIS WORST!
WELL IM WILLING TO FACE IT AND CALL HIM A BUST BECAUSE WATCHING HIM PITCH FOR THE YANKS IS NOT JUST.
 
WRITTEN BY: JEFF WEAVER 
 

Sox/Yanks

I once was a Yankee fan, but I thought it was easy,
So I went for a team that the Yankees see as sleazy,
In ALCS 2004 I saw a an absolute collapse,
It happened so terribly slow, due to strategic mishaps.
The empire had fallen, was through, and finished.
The chances of victory and morale were diminished.
the Red Sox were victorious they had seized the momentum and day,
The Fenway freaks are out, and the pinstripe fans have gone away.
Beantown started with high hopes then went 0 and 3
Take a homerun by Big Papi, a bloody sock, and then you get "history."
True Schilling had a blood sacrifice, but earlier so had Jeter.
But in Game 6, A-Rod went from a Yankee to a cheater.
Yanks just three outs away, Torre gave the ball to Mo,
A walk, a stolen base, a single, and then Mo had a blow.
All these events I saw closely happen but said, "What the hey,
"I'm used to losing, I root for Tampa Bay!"

 
Then the season was over for the men who were winners,
With what Boston had done, they must've felt like sinners.
With all of the Yankee faithful feeling like dopes,
The Red Sox went on to Fall Classic sweep, St. Louis had no hopes.
A chance to return to the World Series had been missed,
No World Series, a loss to Boston, means Emperor George is pissed.
Heredia went to the Mets, Lofton to the Phillies,
Torre had kept his place, but the Mets now are Willie's.
Cashman doesn't sit back on the off-season, he goes to it with a bang,
So he went on a signing and a trading spree, and got back the old gang.
Favorites came back, Stanton, Joe Girardi, and Tino,
I'm sure if he could've, he would've gotten the Bambino.
Youth returned to the rotation, in Carl Pavano and Jaret Wright,
And best of all Randy Johnson, the Yankees tunnel-end had some light.
But who could really know how Opening Day would be,
Results from what they'd call Game 8, they'd have to wait and see.
 
So the day finally came when the Yankees got retribution,
A combo of the Big Unit and Godzilla was the Red Sox execution.
A recipe that would feed the Yankees another Series champs was cooking,
The season is just one big formality, it's the fall where the Yanks are looking.
New York Yankees, 27-time World Champions, is a comfortable fit.
But if it is true and done, it will also have a nice ring to it.
So good luck and congrats on a good start,
A team well blended and talented, each player will play a part.
But me and Sweet Lou wish you well, though Yankees fans of yesterday
We'll give you hell all nine innings, cause we root for Tampa Bay.

 

Coach Donnie B.
 
For the New York Yankees there's a coach of much respect,
He has so much talent, the players he must infect,
He must infect them with his old ability and skill,
So that when the bat meets the ball, the bat will make a kill!
 
To the fans he's known simply as Donnie Baseball,
To the players, he's one of the best players of all.
So when he became hitting coach, a post he couldn't refuse,
He assured a highly talented team that they couldn't lose!
He coaches the pinstriped hitters so well good 'ol twenty-three,
Through the following examples, I'm sure that you'll agree.
 
Alex Rodriguez, he sure does blow a ball away!
Only trouble was if he wasn't doing that, he was producing a K.
So Donnie got him in the clubhouse and they had a talk,
A few lessons later, and A-Rod learned how to work a walk.
 
Miguel Cairo, former Cardinal, a journey man of utility,
But his time in New York, he was a student of Donnie B.
A student, yes, he learned all from the great man,
Boost his B.A. over 45 points? Yes, yes he can.
 
And most epically the slugger Jason Giambi,
For his lack of swing, a juicer he used to be.
But he came clean and wanted to win the right way,
So Donny said to him, "I'll improve the way you play."
His hits were so predictable, so Donny had to say,
"You'd be a better hitter if you go the other way."
Now when Giambi plays, the shift is always on,
But it doesn't matter when the ball is going, going, gone!
 
So when Yanks are in a slump they know right where to go,
A few batting sessions with him, he'll make your swing flow.
He put Giambi's bat in a renaissance, teaches Yankees not to strikeout,
So in the case of good 'ol number twenty-three, the Yanks just cannot do without!
 
Jonathan Carlson, New Jersey (fmr. Yankees fan)

"PEDRO (LITTLE MANGO TREE)"
                        BY: CHUNGAS FURY
 
POOR LITTLE PEDRO WITH 5 CENTS CAUSE HE'S POOR,
THREW ALL THE MANGOS HE COULD FIND ON THE FLOOR,
WATCHING THE BUSES GO BY 1 BY 1, POOR LITTLE PEDRO, HE BAKED IN THE SUN.
HE HAD 2 CHOICES THAT DAY AS HE STOOD WITHOUT FARE,
HE COULD THROW ALL THE MANGOS AND SHAKE THE TREE BARE,
OR PERHAPS HE COULD WAIT AND LET THE FRUIT SHADE HIS HAIR.
POOR LITTLE PEDRO WAS JEALOUS OF ANOTHER, HE KNEW HE COULD THROW A MANGO HARDER THAN HIS BROTHER.
SO LITTLE PEDRO PRACTICED BY KILLING THE BIRDS FIRST, HE BLEW OFF THEIR BEAKS AND DEVELOPED HIS THIRST.
THEN HE PICKED MANGOS TO THROW AT THE CROWD, AND 1 BY 1 HE STARTED KNOCKING PEOPLE DOWN.
POOR LITTLE PEDRO WITH 5 CENTS IN HIS POCKET, NO HE DIDN'T COME FROM TEXAS LIKE THE GUY WE CALL ROCKET.
POOR LITTLE PEDRO UNDER LITTLE MANGO TREES,
WHAT COULD HE PROVE UNTIL HE SET HIMSELF FREE?
HE SWAM TO L.A. AND HE STARTED A TREND,
HE THREW THE BALL LIKE A MANGO FROM START UNTIL END & HAD NO IDEA WHERE THE THING WOULD LAND.
POOR LITTLE PEDRO WAS KICKED AND SLAPPED, PUNCHED & BEAT, HE WAS FORCED TO CONTROL MUCH OF HIS HEAT.
EJECTED, SUSPENDED, THROWN OUT OF THE GAME, HE THOUGHT THROWING BASEBALLS AND MANGOS WOULD ALL BE THE SAME.
POOR LITTLE PEDRO, UNDER LITTLE MANGO TREES,
IF YOU SEE THIS LOSER, KEEP WALKING PLEASE.

LIAR
 
 
Oh -  Roger Rocket
Have I got news for you
You sold out to Houston
You're a traitor without a clue
 
 
You say you signed for friendship
I believe Pettitte is his name
Well if Andy jumped off a bridge
Would you then do the same?
 
 
You never planned to retire
Just didn't have the backbone to say
You wanted out of New York
So you did it in the most cowardly way
 
 
You took our loving send off
And got a Hummer to top it off
Then I see you on Sports Center
Wearing the colors of Astro cloth
 
 
I heard you are disturbed
By the way New Yorkers feel
Did you really ever think
We would embrace your 1 year 5 mill deal?
 
 
Pitching ten minutes from your mansion
you say you just couldn't turn down
well here's a news flash, you traitor
you're a backstabber, a liar, a clown
 
 
When the hall of fame comes calling
I hope I never see
you wearing Yankee pin stripes
Because you don't deserve to be!!!
 
 
 
Melode Lazzaro
Native New Yorker

A Great Poem about the Redsox and Yankees ALCS Game 7

The Yankees and the Red Sox faced each other Thursday night,
A wet dream for the media, an Ali-Frazier fight.

Two heavyweights that slugged it out were heading to the mound,
Martinez and the Rocket would decide the final round.

A match up that went hand in hand, like Spielberg & Jurassic,
The feeding frenzied fans were sure that this would be a classic.

And so the hopes of Beantown fans were pinned on Pedro's arm,
"There ain't no way we lose tonight! on that we'd bet the fahm!"

The pinstripe faithful filled the place, and every eye was peeled,
As Roger touched the forehead of the Babe in center field.

The curse was there that fateful night that Pedro had to throw,
As Clemens went down weakly, Yankee bats were mute as snow.

The Rocket didn't have it as the Sox ran up the score,
When Torre took the ball from Rog, the beaners led by four.

And as the Boston batters finished kicking Rockets ass,
They started painting "Champions" upon the Fenway grass.

This time, for sure, the Red Sox were about to win it all,
So Manny got his cell phone out and gave his dad a call.

"We're going to the Series!", Manny boasted to his dad,
"It's first and third with no one out, we're going to beat them bad."

Ramirez started smiling when Mussina took his place,
A strikeout and a double play erased it from his face.

Giambi hit a dinger 'twas a welcome sight to see,
A solo shot that broke the ice, New York was down by three.

And as Mussina held the score Martinez did the same,
It looked as though the Boston nine were sure to win the game.

Then Ronan Tynan took the field, and belted out his song,
And nearly sixty-thousand stood to cheer and sing along.

Giambi answered with another homer for the crowd,
The Yanks were only down by two, the stadium got loud.

So Torre gave the ball to Wells and with it all our hopes,
When Ortiz parked one in the seats, the Yanks were on the ropes.

Giambi' s clout was answered and the Sox tacked on a run,
The Yankee faithful needed outs, so Boomer got it done.

When Pedro toed the rubber in the bottom of the eighth,
The easy out to start it gave Martinez "super" faith.

So even though the Captain sent a double through the gap,
When Grady Little hit the mound, he couldn't shut his yap.

"If you don't let me finish this the Boston press will kill me!"
So Grady let him have it..... but Matsui slapped him silly.

A ground rule double set'em up on second and on third,
So when Posada waded in, the multitude was heard.

The House that Ruth built, at this moment, seemed to come alive,
Posada fists a double, now the score is five to five.

And somehow at that moment, every Yank & Beaner knew,
Mystique & Aura just showed up, perhaps the curse was true.

When Torre called Rivera like a thousand times before,
This time he needed mo from Mo, so Mo gave Torre more.

His critics said he'd lost his stuff, he wasn't quite as strong,
Three innings went Rivera ... and he proved the critics wrong,

So here in the eleventh, Grady Little thought a bit,
his brain deduced that Wakefield was impossible to hit.

He figured Mo was finished, and the perfect time for him,
To go with old reliable....... he gave the ball to Tim.

His rubber arm was legend and his knuckler did the dances,
With Mighty Wakefield on the mound, what were the Yankees chances?

He toed the mound, he shook his arm, and everything felt fine,
Then looking in at Aaron Boone he peered in for the sign,

So now Tim Wakefield holds the ball, and now he lets it go,
And now the air is shattered by the force of Aaron's blow...

Oh somewhere is this fabled land the sun is shining bright,
Oh somewhere hearts are happy, and somewhere hearts are light,
In Boston fans are wailing, and they're cursing at the moon,
For there is no joy in Beantown thanks to Aaron Bleepin' Boone.

John Roche
Marietta , Georgia


The Red Sox Vs. The Ultimate Yankees

 

          The Red Sox are in fame, hopefully not for the rest of the game

           

            The score is 8-4

            Can the Sox score more?

            Can the Yankees score?

            Or will this game be a total bore

            When the Sox beat the Yankees 8-4?

                       

            Nick Johnson just hit a home run and the score is 8-5

            3 other players get on the bases as well. 

            Now, Jorge Posada is up at bat

            He looks at all the Sox players, like they’re little gnats.

            He stands up straight

            As the first pitch comes across the plate

            The Ump calls a strike

            And Torre on that first pitch, he does not like.

            Posada continues the game and tries to put the Yanks into fame

            He knows that all the Red Sox players are truly lame

            So the next pitch comes and the ball is to aim

            Right at the catchers glove

            But because Posada is a catcher

            Who said that it had to aim at the other catcher’s mitt or bat? 

            As all the Yankee fans raise their Yankee hats

            Of hope and belief that Posada is going to hit

            Because 3 players are bases 1, 2, and 3

            He can surely hit the ball into a grand slam

            And everyone is watching and can see. 

            The pitch comes across the half way and Jorge does his move

            As he hits the ball, but at the bottom

            Causing it to be a pop fly

            But because Posada had such an erg to get the ball out of the park

            It had power, strength and belief in God 

            That all the fans including the Sox, had to, just had to nod

            This ball was out of the park, and half way into New Jersey!

            Former Yankee and now announcer Paul O’Neil said “ Boy what a game!”

            That hit surely put the Yankees into fame and proved that the Sox are really lame!

            They had a belief and that was in God

            And on that hit everyone had to nod!

Boy what a game, what a game!
written by: Bella Scorran


Silence in Beantown

 

As Friday began in Boston Town

Little was said about a world series crown

They watched last night and frustration grew

Here come those damn boys in "pinstriped" blue

 

Not a word was said; not a boast or brag

No dancing in the street, no waiving of the pennant flag

And even though this is only game two

Last night, Beantown looked pretty much through.

 

To New York this win came as no surprise.

Game one just threw a little dirt in our eyes.

It takes more then one game to win the show

Oh but wait a minute, 99.9% of Boston wouldn't know.

 

So I hope Wednesday night in Boston was grand

I hope you all could hardly stand

Even Beantown should taste a little bit of victory

And hope that the curse is just a piece of history

 

Saturday brings home one of your own

A face that Boston made very well known

But some how to Roger that means not a thing

'Cause on his finger "The Sox" never put a world series ring.

 

So to Boston this series is all your gonna get

Its locked up at 1 and the Yanks didn't even start yet

Raise you glasses while you sit in your pubs 

And toast to the "Babe" as the YANKS play the CUBS 

                                                               by - Jon Encarnacion 


ART HOWE DO YOU SLEEP? 

When the "Moose" took the ball and painted his zone,
The curves guaranteed a Yank win, and the mound was his throne.
Zito was wasted by shock and by awe,
Art Howe is still dreaming about what he had saw!
It wasn't enough for the A's at the plate, as Jeter stepped forward and Giambi was late.
Art Howe did you sleep?
THE YANKEES ARE GREAT!
Determined to settle the score you have faced,
you come to NY and land in last place,
Art Howe do you sleep?
THE METS ARE A DISGRACE!

written by: Rob "Yankee"
*************RETIRE #49!*************


Manny at the Bat, a Ballad of the Curse
A PARODY of "Casey at the Bat, A Ballad of the Republic".......
By Vin Britton


The outlook wasn't brilliant for the Boston nine that day;
the Yanks led four to two, with but one more inning to play.
And then when Nixon died at first, and Mueller did the same,
a sickly silence fell upon the faithful at the game.

A straggling few got up to go thinking, "this is the worst".
Many more clung to their seats thinking, "we can beat the curse."
They thought only if Manny could get but a whack at that,
they'd put up even money now with Manny at the bat.

But Damon preceded Manny, and did Nomar that chump,

The former was a pretty boy, the latter was in a slump.
With a thread of hope, but not much chance the Bosox fans all sat,
it was not looking good for Manny getting to the bat.
But Damon ripped a single, to show he wasn't through,
Nomar hit a little bloop, all that he could do

25,000 plus fans cheered with all their soles.
The noise rumbled off the monster, and wrapped around the pesky pole.
"Now we have a chance" they thought, certain they were of that.
Fore Manny, the mighty Manny, was advancing to the bat.

All eyes were on him, as he rubbed his hands with dirt.
All the fans were shouting, as he wiped them on his shirt.
Then while the aging Rocket ground the ball into his hip,
defiance gleamed in Manny's eye, a sneer curled Manny's lip.

Here comes Rogers fastball like a bullet from a gun,
Manny stood there watching, and the umpire said "strike one!"
The Rocket leans in, and gets the sign, his chest bears Yankee blue.
A stream of milk, at the knees, and the umpire said "strike two!"

The sneer is gone from Manny's lip, his teeth are clinched in hate.
He pounds with furious anger, his bat upon the plate.
And now the Rocket holds the ball, and now he lets it go.
And now the air is shattered, by the force of Manny's blow.

Somewhere Clemens' is winning rings, somewhere Boggs has one.
And somewhere Buckner's thinking, if we just had one more run.
Somewhere the Babe is laughing, while the Sox fans scream and shout.
Fore there is no joy in Beantown, the mighty Manny has struck out.......


WHEN THE YANKEES WIN

WHEN THE YANKEES WIN IT'S PURE DELIGHT,
I CAN SUFFER FOOLS I CAN SLEEP AT NIGHT

I CAN SIT IN TRAFFIC ULCER-FREE
EVEN LETTING CARS IN FRONT OF ME.

I'VE A QUICKER STEP I'VE A BROADER GRIN
WHEN THE LAST OUT'S MADE AND THE YANKEES WIN.

ELOQUENT I WAX, CLEVERLY I PUN
WHEN WE'VE GOT TORONTO ON THE RUN

AND WHEN THE RED AND WHITE SOX SLIP,
MY HEART FILLS UP WITH FELLOWSHIP

AND PRIDE AS I REFLECT THEIR GLORY,
WATCHING SCOTT PUNCH FISTS WITH TORRE.

JOYFULLY I'M GIVING THANKS
AS EMPTY BASES FILL WITH YANKS

AND WHEN AND IF THEY'RE CLEARED BY JETER
STARS ARE BRIGHTER AIR IS SWEETER,

RICH THE COFFEE CRISP THE BAGEL
WINNING GAMES WITH CONE AND NEAGLE.

HOW MY FORTUNES RISE AND FALL
WITH BERNIE, TINO, CHUCK AND PAUL

GOODEN, JUSTICE, JORGE, ROCKET,
PUTTING PENNANTS IN THEIR POCKETS,

EL DUQUE, MARIANO, HILL,
PETTITTE, OH MY HEART BE STILL !

HOW LIGHT THAT HEART, HOW FREE OF CARES
WHEN OUR SHOES TOUCH HOME MORE THAN THEIRS !!

NO NEED FOR THEM TO WIN EACH DAY,
JUST LET THEM WIN ON DAYS THEY PLAY !


Carol P, Yankee Poet Laureate (self-proclaimed)
West New York, New Jersey


Great joke - A Mets fan, a Braves fan, a Yankees fan, and a Red Sox fan are climbing a mountain. On the way to the top, each is arguing about how loyal they are to their team and what they would do for that team.  As the climb gets higher, the wagers increase. Upon reaching the top, the Mets fan shouts, "This is for the Mets!!!" and hurls himself off the top of the mountain.  Next the Braves fan yells, "I love Atlanta....This is for you Braves!!" and he, too, jumps off the top.  Suddenly, the Red Sox fan screams, "This is for EVERYONE!!" and pushes the Yankee fan off the mountain.


Contributed by:
Christopher J. Neville
Danbury, Connecticut

Ode to the Red Sox

1918 was the last year,
The Red Sox last won.
Shortly before the end
Of World War One.

Soon after,
the Sox sold to the Yankees Babe Ruth;
It was so long ago that all of our great grandfathers,
Were still in their youth.

Teddy Ballgame, Yaz, Fisk, Pedro and Nomar,
None have sipped the sweet taste of champagne;
Every year it's the same old thing,
Sadness, heartache and pain.

1946, '67, '75 and '86
Each year they lost the World Series in 7
Could it be that the Babe
Was cursing them from Heaven?

Two things are always certain they say;
Death and Taxes;
Well, there is one more guarantee:
Red Sox collapses!

So for a Red Sox fan to gloat when the Yankees don't win,
It's truly a joke;
Just look back at all your Septembers and Octobers
When the Red Sox always choke.


The 1998 Yankees
By Ryan Jobson

They won 114 games,
That is quite a lot,
Yankees fans all loved this,
None of them did not.

The lineup was just this,
Knoblauch, Jeter, Paul,
Then Bernie, Tino, Jorge,
Their production wasn't small.

Then at the end of the order.
Strawberry, sometimes Raines,
Ricky Ledee and Brosius,
They hit it to the lanes.

The pitchers they had was this,
Wells, Pettitte, Cone,
El Duque and Irabu,
But they were not alone.

There also was the bullpen,
Rivera was the best,
  Nelson, Lloyd, Stanton, Mendoza,
They made up the rest.

They lost the first three games,
But the manager Torre said,
We will fix this up,
We are not yet dead.

Well they proceeded to win,
A myriad of games to come,
The best season ever,
Only done by some.

None in the American League,
Had ever won more,
All the teams they faced,
Could've walked right out the door.

Then into the playoffs,
And the Texas Rangers,
They swept the five-game series,
To no one were they strangers.

Then came the Cleveland Indians,
Who were the toughest challenge of all,
Colon pitched a four-hitter,
And the Yankees were about to fall.

The Indians led the seven game series,
But two games to one,
But El Duque evened them up,
And it was all but done.

The Yanks beat them in six,
And now the World Series loomed,
They faced the San Diego Padres,
Who everyone knew was doomed.

It was another best of seven,
First it was game one,
And Tino hit one out,
He hit it a ton.

The Yankees won again,
This time in game two,
And now they left New York,
And to San Diego they flew.

This time the Yanks were stuck,
They trailed in the game by one,
But Brosius hit one out,
Now the Padres chances were none.

And now to game four,
Against Kevin Brown,
The Yanks won three to zero,
And now they won the crown.

But little did they know,
That this began a dynasty,
They won for two years after,
And lived so famously.


NEW YORK YANKEES

     &    

BOSTON RED SOX

                      

 BIG BOYS & BRIDESMAIDS

 

IT’S RAINING IT’S POURING,

THE YANKEES KEEP ON SCORING.

JETER HIT THE BALL REAL HARD,

AND IT WENT BEYOND THE YARD.
 

NOMAR’S SOX ARE IN THE DUMPS,

CAUSE THEY PLAY JUST LIKE THE KLUMPS.

BERNIE STEPS UP TO THE PLATE,

HIT THE SHOWERS PEDRO! IT’S TOO LATE.
 

THE SOX WILL NEVER LEARN WHAT THEY WERE TOLD,

THAT THE BRONX BOMBERS ARE ON CRUISE CONTROL.

THE SOX SHOULD WIN WITH NO HANKY PANKY,

THEN THEY WILL KNOW WHAT IT IS TO BE A YANKEE.
 

TORRE’S GLORIES RIDING HIGH,

FOR BOSTON’S RED SOX IT’S BYE BYE,

RUTH, GEHRIG, DIMAGGIO AND MANTLE,

EVEN THE YANKEES OF TODAY ARE HARD TO HANDLE.
 

JASON GIAMBI HAS GREAT AT BATS,

TO THAT WE ALL TIP OUR HATS.

SLOWLY BUT SURELY THE SOX WILL KNOW,

                                YOU JUST DON’T SCREW AROUND WITH MURDERER’S ROW!                                   

                  BY, CINDY A. BISTANY

                          A NATIVE YANKEE


THE HOTTEST GAME

(CHORUS)

WAY, WAY BACK IN EIGHTEEN NINETY-FOUR

BOSTON PLAYED THE HOTTEST GAME WITH BALTIMORE

BALTIMORE THE DAY BEFORE BEAT BEANTOWN BAD

THE CROWD GOT FIRED UP THEY TURNED RED-HOT MAD

 

BECAUSE OF THIS GAME, BEANTOWN WENT UP IN SMOKE

SOME SAY IT ALL STARTED BECAUSE OF A POKE

JOHN McGRAW AND FOG HORN TUCKER HAD A FIGHT

THEY TRADED LOTS OF PUNCHES LEFT AND RIGHT

 

BOTH DUGOUTS CLEARED, EVEN THE FANS BATTLED

A FIRE WAS SET ALL SHOULD HAVE SKIDADDLED!

WHILE THE BLAZE WARMED SEATS NEAR THE RIGHT FIELD WALL

ALL THE GRAND STAND CHANTED PLAY BALL!  PLAY BALL!

 

(REPEAT CHORUS)

 

NO ONE RANG THE ALARM THE FIRE WAS THOUGHT TOO SMALL

UNTIL THE FLAMES SPREAD OUTSIDE THE RIGHT FIELD WALL

WILL THEY PLAY THE GAME ONE FAN WOULD STILL SAY?

THE FLAMES ROARED GAMES OFF, BECAUSE OF FIRE TODAY

 

THE HOMES AND SHOPS ALL OF WOODEN FRAMES

AND THE SIX SPIRE GRAND STAND WERE SOON IN FLAMES

THE FIRE GRAND SLAMMED THROUGH THE POOR PART OF TOWN

TWO THOUSAND HOMELESS, TWO HUNDRED DWELLINGS DOWN

 

(REPEAT CHORUS)

 

ALL THE FANS WENT HOME TO HOMES THAT NIGHT

FOR THE NEWLY HOMELESS, NO HOMES WERE IN SIGHT

THE NEXT DAY THE NEWS READ GAME REPLAYED THURSDAY

BUT WHERE DID THE HOMELESS GO? IT DIDN’T SAY

 

(REPEAT LAST TWO LINES AND FADE)

  Written by Joe Pickering, Jr.
Joe Pickering, Jr., President
King of the Road Music
13 Pond Street
Bangor, ME  04401
 www.kingoftheroadmusic.com

1-207-947-3525                                                               C2001


WHO'S THE GREATEST RED SOX FAN?

CHORUS

WHO'S THE GREATEST RED SOX FAN THERE EVER WAS?

A LADY NAMED DOROTHY SURELY BECAUSE

SHE WAS BORN IN A YEAR THE RED SOX WON IT ALL

AND STUCK WITH HER SOX NO MATTER THEIR RISE OR FALL

 

SHE FELT FAIR WEATHER FANS LIVED IN MORTAL SIN

EVEN SOME FRIENDS AND CERTAIN OF HER KIN

SHE TOOK ME TO SEE HER RED SOX AT FENWAY

SHE GAVE ME MEMORIES THAT LIVE WITH ME TODAY

 

SHE ADMIRED JOLTIN' JOE BUT DIDN'T WANT HIM TO WIN

SHE JUST KNEW HER SOX WOULD BE A SHOO IN

SHE LOVED TEDDY BALLGAME, THOUGHT HIM HEAVEN SENT

BUT BUCKY DENT SHE WANTED PLANTED IN CEMENT  

REPEAT CHORUS

IN AUGUST OF '78 THE RED SOX WERE MILES AHEAD

SHE PROCLAIMED HER SOX CHAMPS. THE HATED YANKEES DEAD

THEN BUCKY HIT A POP UP HOMER INTO THE STRATOSPHERE

ALAS HER HIGH HOPE SEASON ENDED WITH A TEAR

 

I FIRST HEARD HER CRY OVER THE SOX IN FORTY NINE

THOUGH YOUNG, I SHOULD'VE KNOWN THIS WAS A SIGN

WHAT'S THE MATTER I ASKED IN GREAT DISMAY

SHE CRIED OUT LOUD WE'VE LOST THE PENNANT TODAY

REPEAT CHORUS

AFTER DECADES OF STRUGGLE, SHE WASN’T FREE

FREE OF WHAT WAS AND SOMEHOW HAS TO BE

THOUGH HER HEALTH WAS UP AND DOWN LIKE THE SOX HER LAST YEAR

SHE HELPED THEM WIN THE WILD CARD BY THE FORCE OF HER CHEER

 

AT THE END SHE RALLIED LIKE THE SOX BACK AND FORTH IT WENT

‘TIL THE YANK’S IN THE SKY SENT SOMEONE BIGGER THAN BUCKY DENT

NOW SHE’S IN HEAVEN THERE'S SIMPLY NO GAME DELAY

AND HER BELOVED RED SOX WIN EVERY GAME THEY PLAY

TAG LINE REPEAT ONCE

SHE MUST BE WATCHING A YOUNG BABE RUTH ON THE MOUND

IF BABE'S NOT WITH THE SOX SHE'LL CHASE HIM FROM GOD'S TOWN!!

Written by Joe Pickering, Jr.


GOD’S NOT A METS FAN

WE HOOPED AND  WE HOLLERED IN THE ’86 SERIES

BUT TEARS SOON FLOODED THE SUBWAY SERIES

SO METS FANS TURNED TO HEAVEN AS WE BELIEVE

BUT GOD HAD SOMETHING UP HIS HOLY SLEEVE

 

BEFORE THE FIRST GAME WE TRIED TO BE SCARY

OUT TROTTED KEITH, MOOKIE, LENNY, AND GARY

OUR HEROES OF ’86 COULDN’T SCARE THE YANKS AWAY

LIKE THEY SCARED THE SOX AS BUCKNER’S LEGS GAVE WAY

(chorus)

OH RED SOX FANS SUFFER FROM BABE RUTH’S CURSE

BUT OUR NEW YORK METS HAVE IT MUCH MUCH WORSE

WORSE THAN BEING HAUNTED BY OLD BABE RUTH

GOD’S NOT A METS FAN AND THAT’S THE HELLISH TRUTH

 

GOD LOVES THE YANKEES I WISH IT WASN’T TRUE

BUT LOOK AT ALL THAT WE WENT THROUGH

THROUGHOUT THIS SERIES I CRIED WITH OUR METS

THE YANKEES ROBBED US WITHOUT REGRETS

 

OUR METS PLAYED THEIR HEARTS OUT BUT YANKEE PRIDE

TURNED CLOSE GAMES INTO WINS FOR THEIR SIDE

WHY ROGER THREW A BAT FASTER THAN HIS BALL

HOW COULD OUR METS HAVE ANY CHANCE AT ALL??

(repeat chorus)

NOW THOSE YANKEE FANS LAUGH IN OUR FACE

THEY DON’T BELIEVE WE’RE FROM THE HUMAN RACE

GOD WE’LL PRAY HARDER! PLEASE LET US WIN

BAN ROGER’S BAT AND BALL WE’LL BE  A SHOO-IN!

 

(repeat last two lines and fade)  

Written by Joe Pickering, Jr.
http://www.kingoftheroadmusic.com
Joe Pickering, Jr., President
King of the Road Music
13 Pond Street
Bangor, ME  04401
1-207-947-3525
(C)2001


BABE RUTH’S CURSE I

OUR RED SOX NOW LEAD BY A COUNTRY MILE

STILL FEAR GRIPS OUR HEARTS THE CROWD WEARS NO SMILE

BABE’S CURSE IS WITH US ALL CLOUDS GROW DARK

IT’S WORLD SERIES TIME AT OLD FENWAY PARK

 

THAT’S NOT DISTANT THUNDER I HEAR FROM THE SKY

BUT MISTER BABE RUTH STEPPING DOWN FROM ON HIGH

BABE’S COMING TO PLAY WITH HIS BAT AND HIS BALL

TO MAKE SURE WE DON’T WIN THE SERIES THIS FALL

CHORUS

HEY MISTER BABE PLEASE GIVE US A BREAK

HOW MUCH MORE CAN THE RED SOX FANS TAKE

IN THE ANNALS OF BASEBALL NONE CAN BE WORSE

THAN THE TERRIBLE TALE OF BABE RUTH’S CURSE

 

IN THE SERIES OF ’18 BASE STRODE TO THE MOUND

AND PROCEEDED TO MOW THE CHICAGO CUBS DOWN

BUT THAT’S THE LAST SERIES THE SOX EVER WON

SOON BABE RUTH WAS TRADED, THE DIRTY DEED DONE

 

THE BABE GRABBED THE TRAIN AND LEFT SAD OLD BEANTOWN

TO BUILD UP THE YANKEES AND TEAR THE SOX DOWN

ALL THE FANS AGREE, THE TRADE WAS A SIN

BUT IT WASN’T OUR FAULT BABE SO PLEASE LET US WIN!!

REPEAT CHORUS TWICE

TAG: LAST TWO LINES OF LAST VERSE 

Written by Joe Pickering, Jr.
Joe Pickering, Jr., President
King of the Road Music
13 Pond Street
Bangor, ME  04401
1-207-947-3525                                                           (C)1990


BASEBALL’S MORTAL SIN

 

THE HOUSE BABE RUTH BUILT MAKES ME SO UPSET

MANY OTHER FANS HAVE THAT SAME REGRET

THE BABE BEGAN THEIR TRADITION TO BE FIRST

THEY PUT AWAY TEAMS LIKE BODIES IN A HEARSE

 

THEY FIND A PLAYER WHO CAN’T PLAY FOR HIS LIFE

ONCE IN PINSTRIPES HE’S THE BABE COME TO LIFE!

OH YANKEE FANS DON’T CARE FOR OTHER TEAMS!

THEY LAUGH AT OUR MOANS, THEY LAUGH AT OUR SCREAMS!

CHORUS

THE NEW YORK YANKEES ARE BASEBALL’S MORTAL SIN!

THEIR GREED’S SO GREAT, THEY ALWAYS NEED TO WIN

HOW CAN THEIR FANS STAND IT YEAR AFTER YEAR?

HOW BORING IT MUST BE TO CHEER WITHOUT FEAR!

 

ONLY UPS NO DOWNS, IT’S ALWAYS THE SAME

THE YANKEES WIN THE LAST WORLD SERIES GAME

LET’S DEMAND CHANGE, LET ANOTHER TEAM WIN

LET’S BREAK UP THE YANKEES, BASEBALL’S MORTAL SIN!

 

CHICAGO SUFFERS BASEBALL’S LONGEST DROUGHT

THEIR FANS STILL CHEER, BUT THEY SHOULD POUT

THE WHITE SOX HAVEN’T WON SINCE ‘17

YAH AND THE CUBS ARE WORSE, THAT’S TRULY OBSCENE!

REPEAT CHORUS

THE CUBS LAST WON FLAGS IN ‘O8 AND ‘O7

SO FAR BACK, THE BABE WON’T CURSE FROM HEAVEN

THE BROOKLYN DODGERS FLED NEW YORK IN DISGRACE

THE YANKEES KILLED THEM IN ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­MANY A SERIES RACE

 

LA FOLLOWS THE OLD DODGER TRADITION

NEW YORK STILL BEATS THEM INTO SUBMISSION

FOR YEARS ATLANTA’S BEEN TOPS IN THE N. L.

BUT THE YANKEES KNOCK THEM INTO BASEBALL HELL!

REPEAT CHORUS

IN THE SUBWAY SERIES WITH THE NEW YORK METS

THE YANKEES TRAIN WRECKED THEM WITH NO REGRETS

THE DETROIT TIGERS ARE TURNED INTO PUSSY CATS

BY THE LION OF BOTH LEAGUES, THE KING OF CATS!

 

CLEVELAND TORONTO AND ALL THE OTHER TEAMS

LIE BROKEN ON THE YANKEES FIELD OF DREAMS

THEIR ARCH FOES THE RED SOX ARE THEIR BIG TREAT

THEY TORTURE THEM INTO GLORIOUS DEFEAT

(Tagline)

THOSE DAMN NEW YORK YANKEES GET UNDER MY SKIN

LORD, WHEN WILL YOU LET SOME OTHER TEAM WIN!

Written by Joe Pickering, Jr.

(C)2001
Joe Pickering, Jr., President
King of the Road Music
13 Pond Street
Bangor, ME  04401
1-207-947-3525


THE 2003 ALCS

    (HERE WE GO AGAIN)

It was October 17, 2003

When the Yankees celebrated another victory,

The Red Sox were sure they would taste champagne

They then quickly realized that the Yankees remained to reign.

Pedro thought he still had good stuff,

But Roger showed it wasn’t good enough,

Jeter, Bernie & Jorge all hit,

Pitch’s that never reached Varitek’s mitt.

Each Yankee that scored, the crowd grew louder,

For it’s our Bombers who are ahead, & we couldn’t be prouder.

As Pedro left the hill that night,

The Red Sox knew of their impending plight,

Wakefield came in & took the mound,

The Bridesmaids dugout was without a sound.

Aaron Boone stepped up to the plate,

Even though the inning was late,

One pitch, one swing, the walk off home run,

That’s it, all finished, the Red Sox were all done.

As usual the Yankees proved to be the best,

Shutting down the Red Sox to lay them to rest,

Beantown was shocked that this happened again,

But that’s what you get when the ladies play against the men.

The Red Sox just don’t seem to get it,

That there’s just no way around Andy Pettitte,

Pedro thought he would get the win,

But as usual DA BRONX BOMBERS were the ones with the grin.

                                             BY   CINDY A. BISTANY

                                                 A NATIVE YANKEE


'Twas the night before Christmas, the Yankees were set,

Between Sheffield and Brown every need had been met.

All the Sox fans were hanging on every report,

And praying the A-Rod deal wouldn't abort.

The Beaners weren't happy, their plan was in shreds,

With visions of championships dashed from their heads.

'Cause Manny was slighted and Nomar was dissed,

So half of the Beaner's were angry and pissed.

They couldn't imagine how things got so bad,

Why weren't they happy? Why weren't they glad?

It's true they had Schilling and Pedro & Foulke,

With horses like this there's no way they could choke.

But in baseball reports there arose such a clatter,

They sprang to the web to see what was the matter.

Away to their PCs, they surfed into action,

And followed each step of the A-Rod transaction.

The news on the web to these suffering souls,

Was that A-Rod's trade status got shot full of holes.

It turns out the union, which governs all things,

Doesn't care about Boston and A-Rod and rings.

Protecting the rights of these players ain't funny,

They care about contracts, they care about money.

So now with the Beaner's plans cut to the quick,

One look at that line-up, and Boston got sick.

With Nomar & Manny both hung out to dry,

The Beaner's were screwed and they started to cry.

"Our chemistry's shot, either way this thing goes,

With the way it was handled, this team really blows!"

"The Yankees have filled every hole that they had,

We boasted too early...and now it's gone bad."

"With Lofton, and Sheffield & Vazquez and Brown,

the Yankees got better, and we're goin' down."

So I'd like to exclaim....... though I don't like to brag,

"Happy Christmas to all.....'cause the East's in the bag."

by: John Roche


BEANTOWN (A SONG FOR LOSERS)


   FIRST PART:
  
   "WELL...... I'VE BEEN HERE BEFORE, ITS NOT LIKES IT NEW, ITS NOT LIKE I'M SHOCKED BY YOU KNOW DAM WHO,
     THOSE YANKEES, THOSE YANKEES WHAT ELSE CAN I DO, THOSE YANKEES KEEP GIVING ME THE POST SEASON BLUES,
      THOSE PINSTRIPES, THAT MAGIC, THE AURA, THE FEW, ONLY A YANKEE CAN BLEED DARK NAVY BLUE!
    
   CHORUS:
  
    "OHHHHHHHHHH THE HAT IS YOUR CROWN, BUT NOT IN BEANTOWN, YOU WEAR A BIG FROWN, IN THE LAND OF BEANTOWN,
       ITS LATE IN THE EVENING ON A SOMBER FALL NIGHT, THE YANKEES HAVE DELIVERED ANOTHER DOG FIGHT, WE STUMBLE AWAY ON THE DRUNK HORRID SIGHT, SILENT AND LATE ON A BOSTON FALL NIGHT.

   PART 2:

   " WELL..........BILL-Y BUCKNER, BUCK-Y DENT, AARON BOONE, WHO WILL BE NEXT SHALL BOSTON BE DOOMED?
      ITS NOT LIKE I'VE NEVER SEEN YANKEES GET GROOMED, AND I WOULDN'T BE SHOCKED IF THIS YEAR WE  GET BROOMED, ITS HARDER TO THINK OF THE PAIN THAT COMES SOON, ITS NOT THE SAME PAIN THAT WE SUFFER IN JUNE.

   CHORUS:
 
  OHHHHHHH THE HAT IS YOUR CROWN, BUT NOT IN BEANTOWN, YOU WEAR A BIG FROWN, WHEN YOUR DOWN IN BEANTOWN,
   ITS LATE IN THE EVENING ON A SOMBER FALL NIGHT, THE YANKEES HAVE DELIVERED UNDER BRIGHT FENWAY LIGHT, WE STUMBLE AWAY FROM THE SHOCK OF THE SIGHT,
   THOSE YANKEES, THOSE YANKEES- WE JUST CAN NOT FIGHT!

   THOSE YANKEES, THOSE YANKEES, THE INTERLOCKING N/Y
    YOU KNOW YOUR UP SHITS CREEK, WHEN YOUR "B" STARTS TO CRY.


                         WRITTEN BY: THE BIG BAD GOOCH OF NEW YORK


"Camp Posada"

Hello Muddah.......hello Faddah,

Noone's hittin'.......but Posada,

Some may think it's...... entertainin',

But the only shot we got is when it's rainin'.

All the pitchers......hate the hitters

And the fans all......got the jitters,

You remember......Mike Mussinah,

He got lit up last night sometime after dinnah.

Kevin Brown is.......lookin' tired,

Now the fans want......Torre fired,

Ask Enrique......"What's the reason?"

That he hasn't had a single since last season.

Take me home.........oh Muddah Faddah,

Maybe we......should buy Tejada,

On the rocks.......a pox........and we got swept here by the Sox.

Hello Faddah........Hello Muddah,

Yankee fans can't......take anuddah,

Series like we......had with Bawston,

If we stink like this with Oakland it'll cost'em.

Wait a minute........A-Rod's hittin',

Jeter homered, Sheffield's fittin'

in and things are.....so much bettah.....

Hey Muddah Faddah disregard this lettah.

John Roche


When The Season Ends
By Casie Shimansky

      I became a Yankee before I even knew what being a Yankee really meant. On May 11th I came into the world shouting, "YANK-EES!! YANK-EES!!" instead of being a normal crying baby.  My dad had one eye on my birth, and the other on the Yankees game.  My family has loved baseball, played baseball, coached baseball, had screaming fits of rage while watching baseball on TV, and gone to baseball games at the greatest stadium in the world- The House That Ruth Built.  I sat in those stands, cheered for my team, ate hotdogs, and watched some of the greatest players do what they do best. 
    It's been almost twenty-one years now, and nothing has changed.  Although I am forced to watch the games on television in Florida...everything else is still the same.  I am still a Yankee.  I'll always be a Yankee.  Out of all those baseball teams I found a home with the Yankees, and that's never been a bad place to be.
***
My cousins, David and Steven decided to take me along with them on a trip to the baseball card store.  It was a long walk for my little five year old legs, but I knew I could make it.  I had to make it.  We were halfway there when I tripped and fell.  My knee burst open from its impact with the concrete.  I didn’t cry.  I don’t remember the pain.  After a few minutes I even stood up and started to walk again.
    “What about the blood?”  I looked at my knee and then to Steven as if he would have some magical cure in his back pocket.  He was the older of the two, but it was David who spoke of what seemed to be my only option.
    “Just lick it.”  We continued to walk.
    “Lick it?!”  I squeaked truly horrified at the idea.  I was a little girl and little girls don’t lick their own blood!
    He shrugged his shoulders, “It’s only blood.”  
    Steven looked at his younger brother as if he had just handed me a cigarette, and told me that it was a healthy habit that would guarantee me a long prosperous life.  He smiled at me however, “We’ve still got a while to go, Case.  Want a piggy back ride?”
    My eyes lit up.  Of course I want a piggy back ride!  I shook my head, “Yeah!” I shouted enthusiastically.
    Steven laughed, “All right then,” He crouched closely to the ground, “Dave, help her up.”  David lifted me off the ground and placed me onto Steven’s back.  I quickly clung to his neck as he stood into his natural height.  “Now don’t go getting any blood on this shirt…got it?”  I nodded my head again as we continued our way down the street.
    It wasn’t too much longer before we reached the card shop.  Steven set me up on the counter, and I picked out a few packs of baseball cards with David’s help while Steven and the store’s owner cleaned and bandaged my bloody knee.  The boys then picked out a few packs of their own before we paid and left the store.  
    We walked slowly down the street as the boys inspected each card, each player, and each statistic.  I quickly unwrapped my first pack and shoved the cardboard gum into my tiny mouth.  
    “What’d you get, Case?  Anything good?”  David was still searching through his newly acquired cards.  I shrugged and handed him my first pack, and he searched through them.  I pretended to search through my second pack as if I knew what to look for.
    “I got one! I got one!” I shouted, my mouth overwhelming full of chewing gum.
    The boys laughed.  They didn’t have to ask to know who or what I meant, yet Steven humored me and inquired excitedly,  “Who’d you get?!”  
    I held out my card to him and beamed, “Daryl Strawberry!”  I said the name as if it were golden.  My cousins laughed again as I continued, “I don’t have this one…”
    It was only natural for Daryl Strawberry to be my favorite.  I realized that a baseball player with my favorite fruit for a last name was rare, and so it seemed to be fate.  Fifteen years later I still carry a small scar on my left knee from that concrete encounter.  It seems to be a simple reminder that baseball never leaves you.
***
    He was twenty years old when his mother called him, “Johnny?  What do you want me to do with these baseball cards?”
     He laughed.  “Baseball cards?  You still have those?”
     “Of course I do!  Now…what do you want me to do with them?  They’ve been sitting around this house collecting dust for years.”  
     “Just throw them away, Mom.”  He sighed.  You’ll regret this.
     “You want me to throw them away?” She was stunned.  
     “Yeah…yeah.”  Just tell her to put them in the attic.
     “Are you sure?”  She could tell that he wasn’t.  A mother always knows.
      He hesitated.  “Absolutely,” he was more confident this time, “I’m too old for silly cards.”  He inhaled deeply.  They’re just stupid baseball cards.
     “All right, Johnny…if you’re sure.”
     “I’m sure.”  It’s okay.  They’re just baseball cards.
     She hung up the phone, and walked out to the curb where she opened the trash can and threw in her son’s box of childhood baseball cards.  She knew she shouldn’t have.  She knew that she could’ve put them in the attic.  He never would’ve known she had disobeyed him.  She closed the lid and sighed.  What if he regrets this?  
     In that box sat legends.  Johnny’s favorite was Mickey Mantle, and he had strived for years to acquire all of his cards.  He had nearly succeeded.  How was he to know?  There was no way for him to know.  You’re never too old for baseball.  Baseball is never too old for you.
***
    "Daddy?" I tugged at the side of his white t-shirt as we stood in a Disney World Sport's shop.
    He shook his head lightly as if to rid himself of a faded memory, "Yeah?"
    "What'cha lookin' at?" I stared up at the autographed picture that was carefully hung on the wall.  The picture wore a 'sold' sign around its golden frame. 
    "That?  That's a photograph of Mickey Mantle."  His tone was hushed.
    "He's a Yankee."  I stated matter-of-factly.  The pin striped baseball uniform and symbolic logo was hard to miss.  I knew nothing of Mickey Mantle though.  I was a different generation of Yankees fans.  I knew of  Daryl Strawberry and Don Mattingly, but nothing of Mickey Mantle.
    "Yes, Case. . .he was." He appeared to be reminiscent.  I began to ask a question, but before I could finish he whispered, "He died this morning."  We stared at the photo silently.  
    My mom then came around the corner followed by my two younger sisters.  She immediately looked up at the photograph on the wall, and smiled slightly as if she knew this is where we would be. 
    "John...what ever happened to all of those old cards?" She asked.
    He sighed, "I told mom to throw them away years ago."
    I pried my gaze away from the photo, "What old cards?"  I let the question hang in the air as I searched my parent's faces for an answer.
    "I used to have a baseball card collection," dad began, "Full of Mickey Mantle cards.  He was my favorite.  Now they're gone."  He forced a smile in my direction.
    "You told grandma to throw them out?"  It didn't make sense to me.  How could he just let her throw them out?  How do you throw away your team?
    "I thought I was too old for baseball.  I had no way of knowing. . ."
    "You still watch it though!  You yelled at them just the other night!" I protested.
    He nodded his head, "I know, Case.  I know."
    The rest of the family began to walk out of the store slowly, but dad and I stood there for a moment longer staring up at Mickey Mantle.  I slipped my tiny eleven year old hand into his palm, and we smiled at one another before we began to trail my family's footsteps toward the exit.
    "Daddy?  Tell me about Mickey Mantle." 
    He squeezed my hand tightly, "Mickey Mantle was a great baseball hero. . ."
***
     My mom, Kellie, and I sat in the living room watching television when Stefanie rushed out of the master bedroom in a fit of laughter.  Mom and I exchanged a concerned look as Stefanie fell to the floor.  The tears rolled down her rosy cheeks.  
     “Um…Stef?  What’s so funny?” Kellie questioned.
     “You can’t hear him in there yelling at the TV?!” she choked out..
     Mom and I looked at one another again.  “How could we not hear him?”  Dad had just spent the past nine innings of a baseball game yelling at the Yankees.  Suddenly from around the corner he appeared.  He was still red in the face as he sat down in his green leather recliner.
     “Good game, Dad?” I questioned as I smiled at Stefanie.
     He stared intently at the TV screen which was now programmed on the news, “The Yankees suck.”  He grumbled.  
     “Guess not,” Mom said answering my question.  We were forced to laugh as he continued to pout.  It seemed to be my dad's favorite saying, and it took me a long time to understand the reasoning behind it.  It's just a superstition.  My dad will say that they'll lose in hopes that they'll really win.  It's odd, but that's the mind of a sports fan.  I smiled to myself as I was fully aware of my own superstitions.  He was upset now, but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind  that he would still tune in for tomorrow night’s game.  Only a true fan would.
***
     Ms. Barris,  my gym teacher taught our class how to play baseball.  What the terms meant.  How to swing.  How to run.  How to steal the bases.  When to play it safe, and when to be brave.  I struck out a lot.  I was just better at striking out than running the bases.  It’s not that I wanted to strike out.  No one ever wants to strike out.  
     My opponents were in their places that day on the field.  My teammates were sitting behind me.  I put the helmet on my head, took a bat, and stepped up to the plate.
     “Ready?” Ms. Barris yelled in a voice that only drill sergeants should have.
     I shook my head.  She threw two pitches, and I missed two hits.  
     “All right, Casie…last try.  Three strikes and you’re outta here!”  She shouted again from the pitcher’s mound.
     Throw the ball!  I took a deep breath.  She threw the ball, and I swung with every intent on knocking that ball past Ms. Barris, past my classmates, and past our school’s outfield.  The ball flew past my bat with a sudden whiff.  The catcher caught it.  I stood there, and for a moment things were quiet.  We all knew what was coming.  This scene had run it’s course before.  I held my breath.
     “And the Mighty Casie has STRUCK OUT!” Ms. Barris quoted the children’s tale excitedly as if she had struck out Babe Ruth himself.  She did it every time we played baseball.  She did it every time I struck out.  I hated it.  I loathed it.  Why’d they have to name that character Casey?  Why’d we have to play baseball?  When we played dodge ball or volleyball there were no references to children’s stories.  I never struck out then.
***
     I was nine or ten when I stepped up to the plate that day.  Nothing was different about the day.  Nothing was even remotely special about the day.  It was just another Saturday baseball game.  I tried to exude the image of a professional as I stood there in my baby pink Twins t-shirt.  I swung the bat lightly in a practice attempt, and aimed exactly where I thought the ball would be pitched.  It was my own personal routine.  I readied myself.  Then it came.  Strike one.  It came again.  Strike two.  Last chance, Case.  Deep breath.  It came one more time.  I swung.  You always know when you hit the hell out of a ball.  You can feel it in your bones.
     I watched that ball until it was gone, and by gone I mean the farthest edge of the field.  I ran around every single base and came home to a cheering crowd that surrounded me.  I felt heroic.  I felt like a champion.  I don’t know if we won that game.  I can’t tell you how many other games we did win, but that was my shinning moment.  My first. . .and only. . . homerun was witnessed by no more than parents, teammates, and opponents on a field in New Jersey over ten years ago.  That is still one of the highlights of my life. The day Casie did not strike out.
***
     I tore the box open rapidly.  I knew what was inside of it.  I had been waiting for it’s arrival for weeks now.  I had just purchased the Derek Jeter jersey off of EBay for twenty dollars.  I picked it up out of it’s cardboard box and smiled.  I inspected the shirt’s front and back before throwing it over my tank top and tucking it into my denim jeans.  I raced toward the mirror to get the full effect.  It was a little big, but that was okay.  It was mine.  I walked into my parents bedroom where Stefanie and her friends were watching TV. 
     “Like my new shirt?!”  I grinned as I modeled the jersey.  Stefanie rolled her eyes as her friends smiled politely.  “Well?”  I encouraged her comments.
     “It’s great.”  She murmured sarcastically just to please me.  She turned to her friends and whispered, “She’s nuts about baseball…I don’t know why, but she is.”  I was too wrapped up  in my own excitement to notice her lack of enthusiasm.  It had arrived just in time for the World Series.
***
     “The Marlins have won the World Series!  The Marlins have done it!” The radio announced.  I turned off the car, and climbed out slowly.  I felt sick.  It had been my first night of a new job at a local restaurant, and I tried to focus on the guests.  I really did, but I'd be lying if I said my eyes never ventured up to the TV screen at the bar.  I kept an eye on the game all night, and when my manager let me go home early I raced to my car to turn on the radio.  Listening to the games on the radio was nothing like watching them, yet it still had a certain undeniable excitement to it.
    I walked slowly through the garage, and then into the house.  I entered the kitchen and then finally the family room.  Dad was in his green recliner and the news was on.  He looked up at me.  I wish I could've watched the game at home.  We would've had so much fun even with the upsetting loss.
     “The Marlins won.” He mumbled.
     “I know.  I listened to the game on the radio.”  The season was over.  We watched the news for a while.  “Turn on FOX, Dad.”
     “Why?  I don’t want to see them celebrating.”  
     Neither do I.  He turned the channel back to FOX.  The Marlins were jumping all over our field.  They deserved it, no doubt, but…on our field?  It was too much.  
     I got up to get ready for bed, and walked down the hallway toward the bathroom. I was forced to hesitate at Stefanie’s door.  Her TV was on, which was no surprise…she often fell asleep while watching TV.  However, it was what was on the screen that caught my attention.  I entered her room quietly and slowly sat myself down on the edge of her bed.  She had been watching the game.  I smiled knowing that she'd never admit to this scenario.  I sat there in the dark as the season came to an end.  The Marlins celebrated, the broadcasters made their last remarks.  Then I turned off the TV.  There will always be next October.
***
     Fans do not stop being fans because their team has lost. We may yell, scream, jump up and down, lose our voices...curse...and some even cry, but we never stop believing that OUR team is the BEST team. I got lucky...my team just happens to be one of the best sports teams in history. We never lose hope that we'll pull off the big win, make the great play, and ultimately save the day.  
    Once a Yankee, always a Yankee.  So, until next season...goodnight from Yankee Stadium.

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