Exit Sandman

My family has been encouraging me to take my endless sports related jabber and put it into a blog (I assume so that I will have an outlet for the millions of things that run through my mind other than their ears) and tonight, I’ve decided to bite the bullet. I feel inspired at the moment and I would like to share my thoughts with y’all. And if you know me at all, the title of this blog absolutely makes sense.

There are two very important things you must understand off the bat. 1. I cry once in a blue moon. I mean that. I’m not a big crier. I never have been. My father claims that I lack empathy and I’ve had more than one person question if I was a robot. 2. As I write this, there are tears in my eyes.

There certainly have been things happening in the sports world today. Although not overly eventful, they are happening. None of them compare to what took place tonight though. Let’s rewind to earlier this week. On a very eventful Sunday, One on which I spent 8 hours in the car and relied on the wonderful world of twitter to provide me with updates, the most monumental sports related news was not a play on the field. Sure there was an ever entertaining goalie fight, (Did Bernier spend all of his time in LA in south Compton or what?! Seriously…), to my Texans looking like they had never been taught that First downs on our side of the 50 yard line were actually a good thing, and two actually fantastic NFL games, however on Sunday the most important thing that happened was the hanging of a second #42 on the wall of retired numbers in Yankee Stadium. The greatest closer of all time was given an hour long ceremony to celebrate a prolific career with one of the most storied programs in baseball. 

To understand how important Sunday was to me let me back track a little. While I really do love all sports (I tolerate soccer.) Baseball is my first love. It’s the high school boyfriend of sports for me. While I expressed my interest in playing baseball at a young age, my parents tried to steer me towards the less dangerous, and more boring, road of softball. (Sorry softball girls! Just wasn't my cup of tea.) “A girl doesn't aim extra hard to brush you off the plate like a boy would if you were the only girl playing in a boys league,” my parents reasoned. However, I wanted to be the first female pitcher in the MLB and I wanted to wear Navy pinstripes. I fell in love with Derek Jeter and in turn, the entire Yankees roster. This included an ever growing affection for Mariano Rivera. I’ve never known a Yankees roster that didn’t include Mo and I can’t think of a classier person to be the last active player to wear Jackie’s number. I can be ANYWHERE and hear the intro to “Enter Sandman” and immediately think of Mo. He’s had so many great career moments but I find that most of my personal favorites come from other teams honoring him as he played in their ballparks for the last time this season. That’s right. A man who played his entire career on a team that other teams LOVE to hate, is so highly respected that other teams would have ceremonies honoring him in their own home ballparks. Truly speaks volumes. My by-far favorite moment in his career comes from this season at Fenway Park. As soon as Girardi made the call to the bullpen and Enter Sandman came over the speakers, the entire stadium stood and gave him a standing ovation. This is outstanding for two reasons. These two teams have the greatest rivalry in baseball (and Boston fans are not known for warm hospitality of opposing teams) and Mo entering the game means that you’re losing, and there’s not a real good chance of you leaving with a win. It’s kind of his thing...

So tonight, when for the last time ever, the greatest closer of all time took the mound at Yankee Stadium, a little piece of my heart broke. It was a wonderful thing to see the crowd truly honor him, and see Pettite and Jeter, two of my all-time favorite Yankees, come out to pull him off the mound. It was amazing to see the emotion he expressed and all the embraces from his teammates and the standing ovation from the Rays dugout. The Yankees finish their season with a three game series in my hometown of Houston, but I honestly hope Rivera is not pitched here. I want to see him go out on his home field... but I do hope to see a bunch of “thank you, Mo” signs in the stands. Mainly because given the opportunity, it’s what I would say to him. Thank you for showing us exactly what a DOMINANT cutter looks like, for the ease in my stomach every time you took the mound to save a game that we  were going to come out with a win, and for never shying away from thanking Jesus for everything you’ve been blessed with. Even though my allegiances have switched over the years, the one thing I have always enjoyed is watching you pitch. I’ve been lucky enough to never know baseball without you, and it will certainly be strange watching someone else step into the closing role for the Yankees. While I’m sure that batters are breathing a sigh of relief, you will be so missed.

Thank you for the memories.

Exit Sandman.