End of a Journey

It's over. The last first pitch. The last last pitch. The last homerun. The last out. The final winning pitcher. The final losing pitcher. The final game at the Cathedral of baseball.

And the Yankees won.

But I'll back up a moment. Because today represents the reason I love this season. The end of summer, the beginning of fall. Baseball's pennant races; Football's surprises. The game I was genetically predisposed to love; The game I learned to love by playing, against all odds. All of it in a day.

I woke at 9 and went into the living room. ESPN and CBS and Fox pre-game programming. Let's get to it. At 10 I expected to see some random game like Arizona V. Washington - since Seattle didn't play until 1. But no... Ho, what is this? Giants V. Bagels. Awesome! I sit myself on the couch with some Honey Smacks and start talking at the television. Every once in a while I laugh at myself realizing I'm sounding like my uncle and grandfather. I shrug the thought off and keep talking, scaring the dogs every once in a while with a 'You're dead!' or 'What are you thinking!?'

With about a minute until halftime, I get a call from a friend who happens to be a huge Jaguars fan. He asks if I'm still planning on watching the later games with him and our mutual friend at a local restaurant named Sport. Ready and waiting, I tell him. We agree to meet there early to beat the rush for the later games. About noon.

That's when I arrive. I make my way back to the bar where I see hats and jerseys of every type. Panthers. Eagles. Bears. Seahawks. Cowboys. I have added the Giants to the mix.

Much to my chagrin, they are showing the Cardinals/Redskins, Bears/Bucs, Dolphins/Pats, and Panthers/Vikings games on the four televisions above the bar. Raiders/Bills was playing behind us. But no Giants. Finally, my friend spots a television across the restaurant in a far corner playing the Giants game. Sheesh!

So, I'm watching the Giants game from afar while spying five other games. And there's a beer in front of me. All is right with the world. There come eruptions of applause form every corner of the place at different intervals. A check of all the games will tell you which game has prompted the response. Orton getting spun. Trent Edwards leading his team down the field to try to catch up again. Ronnie Brown scoring a TD. Ronnie Brown scoring a TD. Michael Turner running. Gus Frerotte trying. Randle El leaping. Ronnie Brown scoring a TD. From afar, Carney kicking another FG.

The games are coming to a close. Bears/Bucs coming down to the wire. Giants/Bagels too. Dolphins pummeling the Pats. Cardinals close. Panthers letting it slip away. The Raiders driving.

I have to go watch this up close, I tell my friend. I get up and watch the final Bagel series. In front of me, there sit about 20 - no exaggeration - Philly fans cheering Palmer, Chatman, Perry, and the other multivarious Bagels. I hold my tongue as Graham kicks the FG. OT. I return to the table to find that the Bears/Bucs are going to OT as well. They switch the Dolphins/Pats game to the Giants/Bagels. I watch both games back and forth. Plus the Raiders/Bills game behind me. Loving it.

Long story, short, Carney kicks. Good! Okay, I can breathe. Bucs win. Fine with me. The Bears fans leave in a huff. Bills pull it out. Game winning field goal. I can't help but chuckle anytime I see the Bills have a game on the line that they can win by a field goal in the final seconds. Mean? Yes. But, hey, I'm allowed.

The second round of games start. Not as many, but enough to have one of each on the televisions. Eagles/Steelers. Go Steelers, except I need Westbrook to score a lot for fantasy. Westbrook goes down. Oy! There's Saints/Broncos. Couldn't really care less. Seahawks/Rams. Remember if the Seahawks lost I vowed to write them off. They didn't. They can stay for another week. Lions/49ers. Umm... And Colts/Jaguars. I was there to support my friend. What a game. The best to watch, in fact. Back and forth and back again. Jags seize the day on the second to last play. FG.

And there's still the Cowboys/Packers game. My friends want to go to another bar. Nah, I said. I'm done with bars for the day.

When I arrived home, I found the following text from the old man: 'Tonight is the last at the stadium. Now I truly appreciate our day. It started with Grandfather Morrell and ended with MY sons. Thank you.'

The football that day had been awesome, enjoyable, and all that. But now, I had to watch the final game, media circus that it was. No, I didn't catch all the ceremony that preceded the game. I was, however, sitting on my couch for the first pitch thrown by Andy. I watched as the night unfolded. The sparkle of cameras like stars in a field of black. The Orioles were there for show, to be honest. There was no way in hell that this final game at Yankee Stadium would spell the entry of the Red Sox into the playoffs. I don't doubt that the Orioles played hard and to win, but they had to know it wasn't happening. That can be some other night. This night was reserved for the Yankees.

I felt that sense of history. The greats. Derek. Joe D. The Mick. Lou. Mariano. Thurman. Roger. Yogi. Reggie. Whitey.

The Babe.

All of them were there in some way or another. I'm sure Joe Torre was watching from afar. With Casey and Miller and Ralph and Billy and Joe all haunting the place with their dirt kicking, double speaking, and ass chewing.

After the final lap around the stadium. And after all the pictures and the pomp, they ended with Yogi. 'I'm not gonna miss this place because it's right here,' he said pointing to his heart. Yes, I know that final tribute was meant to pull at the heartstrings. And if it were most anyone else, I'd chalk it up to nostalgic kitsch. But there was something in Yogi's face that made me believe him. For his age, for his experience, for his intelligence, I can say by looking at him that he has never lost that quality of loving the game as would any little boy. And in that final look into his eyes across the television, I was reminded of my grandfather Klemenz.

A tear fell. Thank God I had made it to Yankee Stadium one last time. Thank God it was with my brother and father. Thank God we have that memory.

I enjoy football immensely, yes. But there's no game akin to baseball