Papelbon takes it easy. JD Drew, ASG MVP, hits 7th inning homer.
Best All Star Week Ever? ASG in Review
On Monday night I sat in Yankee Stadium’s right field lower deck, two rows back from the foul pole, just barely in fair territory. Great seats for a Home Run Derby. And a perfect vantage for watching Josh Hamilton’s dingers fly during his record breaking first round. By home run number 12, all 55,000 Bronx fans chanted “Hamilton, Hamilton!” Corny as it sounds, the chills were a-goose-bumpin. When he railed like 13 straight with 7 outs, most to the upper deck or deep into the bleachers, my awe-factor reached boner status. Ending with a dead center shot, Hamilton’s 28 homers broke Bobby Abreu’s record of 24 and earned him a long standing ovation and place in Yankee lore (barf).
It was my fourth or fifth time at the Toilet this year. On previous visits, as much as I tried to get nostalgic for The House That a Bad Trade Built, it never hit me—until Hamilton. Seeing an entire stadium—the biggest in the majors—packed with baseball nuts on their feet cheering for some guy who spent his early 20s smoking crack was beautiful. I’m hardly a mystical, metaphoric baseball fan (it’s just a game), but I love communal energy focused on pure athletic power and talent.
This was my second Derby. Back in 99, I was at the Home Run Derby in Boston. Then, Mark McGuire hit 13 homers in the first round, a record, some of which flew above the old Green Monster Coke bottles to heights still unmatched in Fenway history. Like Hamilton, McGuire lost the Derby (to Ken Griffey Jr). Like Hamilton, McGuire’s performance legitimized the Derby, making it more than just a dunk contest or some dumb spectacle. When a guy like an Ortiz or Abreu goes on a Derby tear, it becomes a once-in-a-lifetime oppurtunity to see the hardest feat in sports at the highest level.
Yesterday I went up the All Star parade on 6th Ave in Midtown. Arriving late, and finding it sparsely attended, I missed A Rod and Jeter, but caught JD Drew and Captain Tek sitting together in the back of a Chevy truck (official MLB sponsor). The fifty people on the corner of 57th barely booed, but boo they did. Mo Rivera drove by wearing the worst brown-on-brown biz casual/Latin yuppie outfit.
Then Josh Hamilton came by and was given the best non-Yankee response. Doing his best Tom Brady, Hamilton, in a white shirt tucked into chinos, was all humble smiles. The “Josh” chants, overwhelming cheers, and so many happy onlookers (”That’s him!” screamed a girl in a sundress to another, who responded, “The cokehead who hit all those home runs last night! He’s hot!”) made me realize this guy’s about to score some big time endorsement deals. You don’t come to New York and steal the spotlight without Madison Ave noticing. Look for a Hamilton NIKE deal by week’s end.
When the most hated man in NYC, Jon Papelbon, rolled by in a grey suit and tie, he flicked off the crowd with a World Series ring. (Love it.) Boos and “faggot” chants came in response. Pap’s comments the day prior to reporters, saying him not Mo Rivera should close the ASG, were plastered with a “Papelbum” headline on the back of the day’s Daily News. He later blamed the News for blowing up a non-story, “My wife was really upset. We got threats, everything. I wish I hadn’t taken her.”
I don’t know why, but before every All Star Game people always say, “I only care about the first two innings. These game’s usually suck.” Except they don’t. And last night was maybe the greatest ASG ever. 15 innings. 7 Red Sox. 4 Yankees. 34 strikeouts. 3-3 tie for seven innings. An amazing 11th inning . JD Drew hit a 7th inning game tieing two-run shot and the whole Stadium cheered—for a Red Sox! Obviously, The Rivalry was the true star (Jeter-A Rod/Pedroia-Youk starting infield, the Papelbon-Mo closer beef, Terry managing at the Stadium) even if ESPN and the Steinbrenners want you to believe the Stadium was.
On ESPN Derek Jeter said New York has the “Most intelligent fans in all of sports. They pay attention to detail here.” Incorrect. Boston has more knowledgeable fans. I’ve been to The Stadium enough to know that Yankee fans don’t pay attention to nearly as much Sox fans do. In Boston, the Red Sox are all people have. New Yorkers actually have lives outside baseball.
I’m not too familiar with New York Mag’s new sportswriter, Will Leitch, but he totally misses the beauty of last night’s game by focusing on the scene at the Stadium:
It is a unique quality of baseball that an event can hold such magnitude that the best tickets are running nearly $10,000 … and then, just four hours later, those same people are leaving before they know who wins. Yankee Stadium looked pretty last night, but it wasn’t an epic sendoff of the old bird. In fact, people couldn’t wait to leave. Considering the sorry lot of the Yankees this year, it’s more than likely this will be the stadium’s last night in the national spotlight. Fox’s last shot? The box seats, nearly empty. “This time it counts.” Obviously, no, it doesn’t.
First off, the assholes paying $10k for tickets are just that—assholes. All Star Games aren’t filled with average baseball fans. They draw show-offs and rich guys trying to impress chicks, especially in the expensive seats.
But really, all the baseball fans I know (mostly AL East maniacs) were texting about this game right up until 2am. No one said, “Please end this.” Rather, I read “Best game,” “Holy shit,” “Am I rooting for or against Mo here,” etc. Some fans I know even went out to celebrate post-game. That’s right folks, an impromptu party for an All Star Game AL win was held at a downtown sleaze den.
To the players and real fans, last night’s game counted. If you think Terry Francona, whose team is in first place, doesn’t want home field advantage for the World Series, you’re high. The game features all the best players in the league, and no one wants to get showed up, especially the young guys from small market teams making a national appearances for the first time—in New York of all places! There were thirty f–king four strikeouts against the best hitters in baseball! These guys weren’t playing an exhibition game (certainly had no meatball tossing like to Cal Ripken back in 01). These guys were playing to win, playing like it counted, because it did.
And finally, what of A Rod, the most amazing human ever? The guy didn’t do much at the game, but he did throw a funny, weird sounding party at 40/40:
Instead, his mommy, Lourdes, and his new best friends, Guy Oseary and Ingrid Casares, were by his side in a corner booth as he threw back shots. And Casares was then spotted leaving A-Rod’s Park Avenue pad yesterday afternoon.
Reps from Berk Communications, who’d slapped Madonna’s name on their tip sheet for the event, kept insisting she was on her way, but she never showed. Instead, A-Rod was entertained by big-busted hotties who shimmied to Material Girl tunes and desperately tried to make eye contact with him.
Overall, the ASG NYC energized the city and made me happy to live in a baseball-mad town even if I hate both teams that play here. The Derby was record breaking. The gossip and shit talking unprecedented. And the game was the best ever. Now, bring on the second half!
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