I grew up a young kid, but how else could I have grown up. An old man growing up just doesn't seem all that right. Even if Brad Pitt thought it was.
When I was younger though my favorite baseball player was New York Yankee first basemen Donnie Baseball. No, no his name isn't actually that. How fitting it would be a baseball player with the last name of well, baseball. But his name is Donald Arthur Mattingly. Now he is no longer a first basemen for the Yankees. But a hitting coach for the Los Angeles Dodgers.
With my favorite player being a member of the Yankees I was a fan of which. Sadly for a Yankee fan it was part of the worse years. Not many playoff wins if any at all, which obviously means no World Series titles.
In these dark years there were great moments at least in this little kid's eyes. When Donnie Baseball would light a spark with a great defensive play or a spectacular double which with him seemed more average than spectacular.
Wellsville and the Yankees tie in greatly here. As I remember one year getting to Wellsville late on a Friday night and walking into the living room of my great grandmother's house at just the right time when that first basemen who oh, by the way shares the same birthday as me took a ball deep and over the fence for a home run.
Now this wasn't a tape measure shot at all, it was a game winning one. It was just a home run by a kids idol at just the right time and right place.
I'm not quite sure what year this took place, as Mattingly would have a streak of eight home runs in consecutive games back in 1987. Yet I tend to believe that I wouldn't remember me being 4 years old. But I do remember a few things.
Yet, this does fall into place with right time and right place. No matter which year it actually was. While this may also be the right time and the right place while Donnie Baseball and the New York Yankees are now both in the playoffs. Yet, Donnie like I stated earlier is a coach for the Dodgers. And well, his team isn't doing so good at this time. Down three games to one. His old team on the other hand is doing a little better as they are currently playing the Los Angeles Angels.
Yankees versus Angels.
To some it might just be another set of seven games that don't mean anything. To others it's a wonderful playoff series. To me, in this right time and right place could mean a little bit more.
I am no longer a Yankee fan. I have chosen to root for the Chicago Cubs after Donnie's retirement from baseball in 1995. Why? I feared rooting for a World Series championship team. Seeing as the Cubs haven't won a World Series since long before my great grandmother was born. Over a 100 years and counting and still no World Series wins for the Cubs. So the Cubs are again wrong time and wrong place.
The Yankees and Angels on the other hand are in the right time and right place.
Much like how back in 2001 when the Yankees made the World Series after the occurrence of 9/11. The city of New York and much of America rooted for the so-called "evil empire" of the Yankees. While their opponents the Arizona Diamondbacks played the role of the hated intruders. Much like the suspected terrorist leaders who caused 9/11. The Diamondbacks were from the desert and I could list six or seven somewhat similarities but this wasn't the time and place for me.
The time and the place was Yankees versus Angels. The first two games went to the Yankees. While sitting in my mother's room at the Inn, she slept through most those games.
So our place was game three.
Our time was now.
A mother and a son.
Her back was towards the television although it wouldn't have mattered her cancer has riddled her vision quite useless now.
As the game played on the small 13 inch television in her room on mute so the volume of crowd reaction or crack of the bat wouldn't scare her.
She laid in her bed as I sat in a wooden chair beside her. The Yankees had the lead at the moment three runs to one. As the game continued to unfold the Angels battled back. A two run home run from Vladimir Guerrero tied things up.When I was younger though my favorite baseball player was New York Yankee first basemen Donnie Baseball. No, no his name isn't actually that. How fitting it would be a baseball player with the last name of well, baseball. But his name is Donald Arthur Mattingly. Now he is no longer a first basemen for the Yankees. But a hitting coach for the Los Angeles Dodgers.
With my favorite player being a member of the Yankees I was a fan of which. Sadly for a Yankee fan it was part of the worse years. Not many playoff wins if any at all, which obviously means no World Series titles.
In these dark years there were great moments at least in this little kid's eyes. When Donnie Baseball would light a spark with a great defensive play or a spectacular double which with him seemed more average than spectacular.
Wellsville and the Yankees tie in greatly here. As I remember one year getting to Wellsville late on a Friday night and walking into the living room of my great grandmother's house at just the right time when that first basemen who oh, by the way shares the same birthday as me took a ball deep and over the fence for a home run.
Now this wasn't a tape measure shot at all, it was a game winning one. It was just a home run by a kids idol at just the right time and right place.
I'm not quite sure what year this took place, as Mattingly would have a streak of eight home runs in consecutive games back in 1987. Yet I tend to believe that I wouldn't remember me being 4 years old. But I do remember a few things.
Yet, this does fall into place with right time and right place. No matter which year it actually was. While this may also be the right time and the right place while Donnie Baseball and the New York Yankees are now both in the playoffs. Yet, Donnie like I stated earlier is a coach for the Dodgers. And well, his team isn't doing so good at this time. Down three games to one. His old team on the other hand is doing a little better as they are currently playing the Los Angeles Angels.
Yankees versus Angels.
To some it might just be another set of seven games that don't mean anything. To others it's a wonderful playoff series. To me, in this right time and right place could mean a little bit more.
I am no longer a Yankee fan. I have chosen to root for the Chicago Cubs after Donnie's retirement from baseball in 1995. Why? I feared rooting for a World Series championship team. Seeing as the Cubs haven't won a World Series since long before my great grandmother was born. Over a 100 years and counting and still no World Series wins for the Cubs. So the Cubs are again wrong time and wrong place.
The Yankees and Angels on the other hand are in the right time and right place.
Much like how back in 2001 when the Yankees made the World Series after the occurrence of 9/11. The city of New York and much of America rooted for the so-called "evil empire" of the Yankees. While their opponents the Arizona Diamondbacks played the role of the hated intruders. Much like the suspected terrorist leaders who caused 9/11. The Diamondbacks were from the desert and I could list six or seven somewhat similarities but this wasn't the time and place for me.
The time and the place was Yankees versus Angels. The first two games went to the Yankees. While sitting in my mother's room at the Inn, she slept through most those games.
So our place was game three.
Our time was now.
A mother and a son.
Her back was towards the television although it wouldn't have mattered her cancer has riddled her vision quite useless now.
As the game played on the small 13 inch television in her room on mute so the volume of crowd reaction or crack of the bat wouldn't scare her.
As the game went on numerous things occurred but other than a seemingly lucky catch from Mark Teixeira nothing else seemed too interesting.
Yes, game three of a league playoff game is a big deal. Don't get me wrong. A tied version closing in on extra innings, that's a huge deal.
But something pulled me away from the television. Much like it would have when I was younger. Maybe as young as when Donnie Baseball hit those eight consecutive home runs in as many games. Or maybe not as young as I thought I was. Yet, this one thing pulling me away was my mother's hand.
As the Yankees battled to go up three games to nothing. My mother struggled to hold my hand.
While former Yankee Bobby Abreu struggled to turn a double into a triple.
My mother wanted to feel something other than pain.
As Abreu decided his double was good enough it was too late he already veered too far in the in between. In between second and third.
The ball he hit had landed right in front of the outfield wall, ricocheting off of a picture of number 34, Nick Adenhart, who had been killed earlier this year in a driving incident.
As my mother allowed me to tighten my grip.
The ball bounced off the wall into Melky Cabrera's glove. A man a year previously was in danger of not only losing his role with the Yankees but in danger of not being one.
As my mother's eyes and mine traded contact our hands still grasping one another.
The Melk man, who now wears number 53 in honor of his role model Bobby Abreu, threw the ball into the infield. As the ball sailed past the cut off man, Robinson Cano and into the glove of Derek Jeter.
It was then, the right time and right place.
When the battle between good and evil re-emerged.
Much like how back in 2001 Americans rallied behind the Yankees in hope of something to believe in. In hope of something to celebrate.
It was then that I realized this series, the Yankees and the Angels had the same feeling.
But not for all those who lost something on 9/11, but for that little kid who's favorite baseball player hit a home run when that little kid happened to be in his mother's favorite town.
And just as Abreu thought running and sliding back towards second would be his safest bet. The captain of the Yankees made the turn to second. Instead of the seemingly then obvious turn to third. And caught Abreu, the Angel, trying to take something to early.
As my mother made a slight move to rearrange her blankets.
As my mother's eyes and mine traded contact our hands still grasping one another.
The Melk man, who now wears number 53 in honor of his role model Bobby Abreu, threw the ball into the infield. As the ball sailed past the cut off man, Robinson Cano and into the glove of Derek Jeter.
It was then, the right time and right place.
When the battle between good and evil re-emerged.
Much like how back in 2001 Americans rallied behind the Yankees in hope of something to believe in. In hope of something to celebrate.
It was then that I realized this series, the Yankees and the Angels had the same feeling.
But not for all those who lost something on 9/11, but for that little kid who's favorite baseball player hit a home run when that little kid happened to be in his mother's favorite town.
And just as Abreu thought running and sliding back towards second would be his safest bet. The captain of the Yankees made the turn to second. Instead of the seemingly then obvious turn to third. And caught Abreu, the Angel, trying to take something to early.
As my mother made a slight move to rearrange her blankets.
The out call was made. Jeter was excited. Abreu shocked and disappointed with himself.
He's turned into a Yankee fan once again.
But this time. It's not because some guy named Donald shares the same birthday as him.
But because he is a Yankee. His mother is a Yankee. And he isn't ready to see the Angels win the fight just yet.
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