Dan's Papers - July 3, 2009 - THOUGHTS ON AMERICA'S NATIONAL PASTIME

In the top of the ninth inning at Citifield last Sunday night, I witnessed one of the greatest at bats in baseball ever.

The Yankees were holding onto the slimmest of leads over the Mets. And they were up at bat trying to lengthen it and put the game away. There were runners on first and second, with Yankees team captain Derek Jeter coming to the plate. He would face the Mets closer, Francisco Rodriguez, also known as KRod. Any hit would put the game pretty much out of reach for the Mets when they came to bat in the bottom of the ninth.

KRod is a big man. And this year, he leads the league with 20 saves. Surely, he could put Jeter out. But would he even have to do that? Up next to hit after Jeter was Mariano Rivera, the Yankee closer. Pitchers cannot hit. It is not what they do.

There is one rule in baseball that applies to one of the leagues, but not the other. In the National League, the pitchers have to take their turn hitting. In the American League, they do not. They are removed for pinch hitters, when it is their turn to hit, but still are allowed to remain in the game. As a result of this, National League pitchers, who can barely hit, wind up with .125 hitting averages, while American League pitchers, always getting a pinch hitter to hit for them, never get a chance to bat at all. They don't even have to do batting practice.

In recent years, however, the commissioner of baseball has sanctioned interleague play on a few occasions during the year. As a result, National League teams face American League teams. This game was one of those.

On these occasions, of course, the teams cannot play with conflicting rules. To resolve this, the decision has been that the rules that prevail are those that are in force in whatever league the home field is. So here, at this game, the National League rules apply. A rare occasion. Rivera would have to make an appearance.

The wheels turned in the minds of both coaches on the sidelines. For the Mets, the choice would be to walk Jeter to load the bases, and then pitch against the hapless Rivera for the third out. What could be easier? The best closer in the league this year against a man who does not know how to hit.

The Yankee coach, on the other hand, had almost no card to play. But he could bluff. As Jeter came to the plate, he kept Rivera in the dugout and put a pinch hitter up in the on deck circle, as if to say, we are going to pinch hit for Rivera anyway, and then, we will have somebody else come out and pitch to the Mets for the bottom of the ninth. We want the possible extra run here in the top of the ninth.

It was a pathetic bluff, and surely nobody in the stadium believed it. KRod for the Mets might be the best closer in the league this year, but Rivera, although not quite as good as KRod this year, is the acknowledged best closer to ever play the game. Should he close out the Mets in the bottom of the ninth, he would achieve his 500th save. No one in modern baseball history had ever achieved that number of saves. Of COURSE, Rivera would be staying in the game.

Jeter came to the plate and wagged his bat on his shoulder. KRod, as expected, walked him, loading the bases, still with two outs.

Now, Mariano Rivera came out of the dugout with the bat on his shoulder to try anyway. He has been up to the plate unsuccessfully exactly twice this year, both times in interleague games. He was hitless. This would be inevitable.

"I am sure Rivera has been instructed not to swing," an announcer said.

First pitch was a ball. Second pitch was a ball. On the third pitch, Rivera swung and missed by a foot. KRod threw a second strike and then, pressing, threw the 2 and 2 count pitch high. It was now 3 and 2.

All KRod had to do at this point was throw the ball over the plate one last time. He leaned in, looked at the sign and threw at 94 miles an hour. The ball headed right over the plate, then leaped up and as Rivera jumped back, came across it just above the shoulders. Ball four. KRod, the great new Met closer, had just walked in a run, and Rivera, grinning from ear to ear walking down to first, had just achieved the first run batted in of his career.

In the bottom of the ninth, as you might expect, the disheartened Mets went down like pussycats. The Yankees won the ball game, a three-game sweep of the Mets at their home stadium and a re-confirmation of the dominance that the greatest team in baseball, the New York Yankees, have over the New York Mets.

Citifield, the new home of the Mets, has architectural touches of the old Ebbetts Field in Brooklyn, where the likes of Jackie Robinson, Pee Wee Reese and Duke Snider played their excellent, but doomed, games against the Yankees in the 1940s and 1950s. There is a statue to Robinson at the main entranceway to Citifield, a tribute to Brooklyn, from the borough of Queens, home of the Mets.

Perhaps it is fitting. My first awareness of the wonderful game of baseball came in those years. In 1947, I was seven years old. All my fellow second grade boys decided they would root for the Yankees. I decided to root for Brooklyn.

That year, the Brooklyn Dodgers won the pennant and faced the Yankees for the World Series. They lost.

In 1949, the Brooklyn Dodgers faced the New York Yankees in the World Series and they lost again. The Brooklyn Dodgers lost to the New York Yankees again in 1952, then once again in 1953. At that point, the Brooklyn Dodgers had played in six World Series since their founding in the nineteenth century and had not won any of them. The Yankees, by contrast, had won a World Series 17 times.

It was a humiliating experience for me to root for a team that was quite excellent but would always lose when the chips were down.

It affected my thinking. I have, ever since, whatever the sport, rooted for the underdog.

After the Dodgers abandoned Brooklyn for Los Angeles, however, I had, as far as baseball was concerned, nobody to root for. I became a fan of whoever it was that was playing the New York Yankees - a sad and pathetic decision that, in retrospect, I wish I had never made. Psychiatrist after psychiatrist, however, has only helped me conclude that I cannot help rooting for the underdog. That's the way it is for me.

I think that watching sports with this attitude brings limited joys. Whenever two teams play, I root for the smaller guys or the less talented guys in the hopes that by sheer will they can pull it off. On the rare occasion that happens, the wine of victory far exceeds that of the wine of the expected. It is my way. And I live for these rare moments.

I don't know if the Mets are ever going to be able to beat the Yankees. Unlike the Dodgers, they have never had a team good enough to get into an important game with the Yankees. I wish them well, but, well, I really don't care. At this point, I get my jollies from the Boston Red Sox.

But just maybe, with KRod in there, with a few of their best players returning from the disabled list, with their new stadium a tribute to the Dodgers and a fine manager and roster, the Mets can rise up to make it to the World Series against the Yankees. When that happens, when the chips are down and it is all on the line, when the old smell of quite excellent and we-can-do-it is out there against the all-powerful Yankees, they shall lose.