Here at the End of All Things, 2007

You thought that this year, things were different.

You thought this year, surely, with everything that happened it was just destiny.

You hoped.

Even in the bottom of the ninth, when Posada's hit went sailing towards the upper deck, you hoped, before it hooked foul like a cruel dagger.

You watched. You wished. You hoped. You prayed. You thought, not in our house. Not in October.


Most of the time, it's just the end of the season, but this time it is the end of so much more.

It is the end of the Yankees under Joe Torre; I am too young to remember them under another manager.

I am crying as I write that. Not a violent hysteric, but the same type of tear that comes to my eyes any time I watch that ER episode where Carol goes to Seattle to FINALLY be with Doug, where my eyes are full, and just under them, before my cheek proper, is moist.

It could be the end of Posada and Rivera as Yankees, and I am at a loss for words. I cannot bring myself to contemplate the idea.

It could be the end of A-Rod in a Yankee uniform, but this series was not on him, and he should stay. It's that simple. He should stay.


I could talk about where the game went wrong, but by now everyone knows.

So how do you be optimistic when baseball has gone black for 2007? How do you remain optimistic when the World Series winner will be either Boston, Arizona-2001, Colorado-swept us this year, or Cleveland? Which is the least of those three evils? (I think it's Arizona, btw, there aren't many from the 2001 team still around).

You remain optimistic by thinking about this:

Spring will come again. Hell, with global warming it might not even be winter proper.

Spring will come again, and it'll bring with it Melky, Robbie, Joba, Ian, Phil, Wang, Shelley...

You think about how the last time the Yankees lost in the wild card round, the last two times, they won the World Series the very next year.

You think about how this isn't that old team of grizzled all-stars who were randomly thrown together, but a young bunch who are at the forefront of something we haven't seen in ages: a Yankees team you feel right about.


Spring will come again, and I will be there.


I hope you'll join me.