Musings with a Broken Keyboard

So I have a confession to make.

Earlier today, during halftime of the Jets/Bengals game, I caught the ninth inning of game five of the 2001 World Series on TV.

For various reasons, it was the first time I'd actually seen the top of the ninth inning--and the chanting of Paul O'Neill's name.

The moment gives me chills, of course, but this was the first time I'd heard it without any embellishments, any retrospective announcing or music, and I realized that while there's a lot of the 2001 World Series that I remember, there's a lot that, at the time, I simply didn't understand.

I'd only started following the Yankees in 1996--when I was 10--and thus the significance of the dynasty teams was largely lost on me. The Yankees were good, I knew, and I'd thought it wasa right that we were in the World Series nearly every year.

I kind of took it all for granted. I know better now, of course, but that's not the point.

The point is, when Brosius hit his home run in the ninth inning of Game Five, I knew it was incredible, but I didn't realize how incredible.

When you consider that the entire thing happened only about six weeks removed from 9/11, it takes on an altogether added importance.

More than winning, New York needed the Yankees to play those few games in October and November. Play the game well, and you'd prove to the world that you cannot bring New York down.

The Yankees, in true Yankee fashion, just happened to make sure that those games were unforgettable.