Baseball History — As Seen From The Shadows of Cooperstown: Part XI

This issue concludes my eleven-part series on “Baseball History,” with a look at 1995-200. It’s been fun writing this series, and I recommend it to others. No, seriously — try it, see what happens.

It reminded me of when I started writing baseball back in 1989. I gathered together all my baseball memories, and sorted them out, then strung them together. In the process, I found myself reading more baseball than ever, and doing some research, too, to see how accurate my memories were. I discovered that I remembered things in my family history a bit differently than my older brother and sister, and my mother. I was pretty good when it came to actual baseball history, but even there, the microfilm newspaper accounts corrected me here and there, on the facts. What needed no correction was the feelings I recalled, many still vivid — Mazeroski’s HR on October 13, 1960, 3:36 PM, for example. Or Haddix’ perfect game in 1959. I might get a name wrong, or a date, or one of a hundred details — but the ecstasy or the agony were unmistakable.

When I started my own “Baseball History” here (in Notes #437; the intro is in #436), I was recalling mostly what I had read, and then reporting what I had dug up in my library. Once I got into the 1950s, I could include my own memories. That was increasingly way it went for the 60s and 70s and 80s, I was able to add something of my own. I think the decades were less dry, less abstract, after 1957. Once I got into the 90s, it was really a whole different ball game. Not only did I report less about the events, I cared less about the recitation of the facts, which anyone can look up easily, and more about my memories.

As I said last issue, I shifted gears again in 1993, when I started taking NOTES from the Shadows of Cooperstown. For these seasons, I did not need to rely on my ever-more-fallible memory, I could look it up — in NOTES. My own accounts of games and events and seasons had limited circulation at the time — NOTES was for Editors Only. But thanks to the magic of the internet, now those accounts can be widely read … and can be looked up by others, and — they can become part of baseball history.

And I think that is why I encourage all readers to become writers. Share your memories, of where you where when, of how you felt when, and what else can you add to what we can all look up easily at MLB.com or Wikipedia or a dozen other sites? I think the chances are good that you can add something original, something new and worthwhile. It’s the magic of baseball, Ray.

And now, without further delay:

Introduction

This final installment in my series on baseball’s history will cover “the rest of the Nineties” — last time, I presented the first two parts. First, there were the three terrific seasons for us Pirate fans, the three NL East titles that propelled the Bucs into the post-season, but not the Series. My interest in MLB had revived in 1987, and these three seasons fed my second-time-around habit. I was also following the Minors, and my kids were playing ball, and I had started writing baseball in ‘89, so it was no wonder I felt immersed by 1993 — when I started doing NOTES. Next, there was The Strike, which I survived, better than many fans I knew. Selig’s Strike, because it happened on his watch, and he could have acted in the best interests of baseball to end it early; yes, it might have cost him his Temp job. Instead, he acted as an Owner.

“The rest of the Nineties” unfolded while I took Notes, with the exception of a stretch from the World Series of 1996, to January 1998, when Notes went on an extended break. I still cannot really explain how that happened, or why. There was a brief fling with doing Notes on a web site in 1997, but that did not work out too well. As I recall, I was producing issues much faster than my host webmeister was posting them, and it became very frustrating. So I don’t have much of a written record from 1997.

The six seasons I cover here were not nearly as magical as the ones that preceded the strike, and I mean 1957-1994. The game was the same, and yet it was different — we had seen it at its worst in the tug-of-war between owners and players. It was not that it was revealed as a business, versus sport, no, we knew that all along. But now we saw it — well, this fan saw it — as a business fairly ruined by greed. The salaries would continue to spiral upward, as revenues started pouring back in; the playing field felt more tilted than ever; the strike had really accomplished little or nothing, making its residue an even worse-tasting memory. The black eye given baseball by “the Black Sox scandal” had been healed quickly by the advent of the Lively Ball era, and soon after the strike, baseball were flying out of parks with amazing frequency. It was as if MLB had cloned Babe Ruth. It appears that players were a bit engineered, not genetically, but chemically, and we shall probably never know exactly how much.

But those long balls were a tonic back then, especially in 1998, and MLB really should not “forget” that fact. Baseball knew athletes were bulking up, and did not really care. Their first concern should have been for the player’s health — then for the health of the game. Instead, they celebrated the SRO crowds that McGwire and Sosa were drawing, and all the other Ruthian clones, in less dramatic style. But I do not favor asterisking the era, or any of the records set in the late Nineties and early 2000s. I might, if only batters were “enhancing” — but they were not alone, and maybe pitchers in pursuit of that 100 mph fast ball were “enhancing” even more.

And that’s all I’m going to say about “the steroid era” — I think we are still too close to know just how it will go down, in the baseball histories written in the next 50 or 100 years. We see MLB wringing its hands and condemning and punishing with a public report and mostly posturing … which seems humorous, in a way, because it has yet to ban chewing tobacco at the top level, a very visible “bad habit” that is known to have devastating effects on health. I might even be the more dangerous “juice”!

1995

There was one other brief hiatus for Notes. After doing the 100th issue on January 9, 1995 (my notes say a total of 932 pages), with MLB strangling itself, I took a break. When I did #101 in late April, the title was An Affair to Forget. For 232 days, MLB had cheated on its fans. And I was not convinced that it was sorry, or that more nonsense did not lie ahead.

But the season had many bright spots: I attended the SABR convention in Pittsburgh, saw the Silver Bullets play in Cooperstown (with my wife along, for color), and as the season wound down, I joked about “Wild Card Fever.” Something new had been added to the post-season mix, the three division winners would be joined by the best of the rest of the teams in each league.

The season had started late — a judge said “Play ball!” — not Selig. So every team lost around 15 games. So when Seattle finished a game ahead of California, it didn’t seem quite right; not as sour-tasting as 1981, but — oh well. Boston finished ahead of New York, but the Yankees were the AL Wild Card. Cleveland was the other AL winner.

Two vivid images remain from that October. One is the general dismay with MLB’s “The Baseball Network” treatment, which I called The Nyetwork because it seemed like the game I wanted to see was never the one shown locally. The other image is of the feisty Seattle Mariners, with Randy Johnson, coming back from 0-2 to defeat the Yankees in the first round. I hated best-of-five all over again; two more games in this series would have been so great. Cleveland swept three from Boston, then took the Mariners in six.

In the NL, LA finished one ahead of Colorado, but the Rockies got to play on, as the WC, so the 144-game season for LA and CO didn’t seem as unfair. Atlanta finished 21 in front of the Mets, Cincinnati 9 ahead of Houston. Atlanta advanced in four, beating the Rockies; Cincy swept past the Dodgers. Then the Braves rolled over the Reds in four straight.

This set up an Indians vs Braves World Series, and created a stir about those Native American nicknames. Fueled by the Pirate October losses to the Braves in 1991 and 1992, my anti-Atlanta feelings were now as strong as my anti-Yankee sentiments ever were. I didn’t mind them mashing the Mets, but I had rooted for the new kids, the Rockies, and then the Reds, and now I rooted for Cleveland to Stop the Chop. That didn’t happen, of course, and the Series ended with a Game Six 1-0 combined one-hitter by Tom Glavine and Mark Wohlers, the lone run provided by a 6th-inning David Justice HR. I had been out that night, so I watched the finale on video replay. Once was enough.

I was keeping An October Journal in NOTES that Fall, and here are just a few excerpts:

October 6. I began the evening watching the Yankees-Mariners game that went 15, knowing (a) the outcome and (b) that my tape shut down after 14. Knowing the outcome makes watching (or listening to) a game a whole different experience. I listened to “the Buckner game” rebroadcast about a year ago, and was struck by how many opportunities were missed by the Red Sox early on, and how really intricate that game was, start to finish. What a shame that we recall it for a single play (or misplay)! The Yankees game re-heated lost some flavor — like when Griffey homered in what, the 11th? I knew it wouldn’t hold up. Also knew Sierra’s hit wouldn’t clear the wall, but what a great relay to cut off that winning run and keep the game going.

With company over, I started watching tonight’s game late, and at first the TV was just on in the background, silent. My wife and her friend were prompted by a close-up of Randy Johnson to comment, “That is one ugly guy.” I tried to explain, he ain’t ugly, he’s Randy Johnson, and gave them a short litany of accomplishments from his 1995 resume. “He’s still ugly.” I was unable to agree. Like Randy’s mother, fans cannot be objective.

That was shortly before some idiot hit Gerald Williams with something, and another threw a tomato — we guessed. With the sound off, it was hard to tell what was going on.

Somewhere on another planet, Tim Wakefield was pitching, but apparently not the one who got the Sox to October. Too bad, and who knows how he might have done with me, the accomplice, rooting for him with better contact? Tim once gave Pirate fans a winter full of hope, after his dazzling ‘92 epiphany. But ending as he has, Sox fans will spend all winter worrying. I hadn’t realized they had lost 13 straight playoff games — starting with that game! Uncanny. But then, this is a very good Indian team.

Somewhere else Tommy LaSorda was losing, Nomo chances left, and will Hideo be denied Rookie of the Year out of respect for Japanese baseball? The Yankee game ends with Charlton in charge, pitching like ‘90, or like he’d like to face the Reds. A quick cut to Atlanta, where the Damn Braves rally again, then the Damn Nyetwork says Goodnight and I have to read about the Rockies‘ win in the morning paper. As the commercial says, major annoying.

On the same page, an AP story says Bill Giles and Giants’ VP Larry Baer are trying to head off a tar-and-feather posse of fans by promising that next year we’ll see all the games. Thanx, but in the future, don’t sign anything till we read it, OK?

With the Strike pushed into some closet, with Bud Selig (now there’s a face that’s ugly to fans, ladies), the Nyetwork has revived the atmosphere of fan protest, that sooner or later ought to make MLB think about a Fan Advisory group of some kind, don’t you all agree? Let Bob Costas head it up, if he’s not Commish!

October 7. Just two games going tonight. Atlanta is chopping the Rockies, the first WC to be eliminated. I tune in late to the only game in my neck of the baseball woods, it’s already 5-5, then suddenly Edgar Martinez slams the Yankees and there will be a game five. I find myself rooting for Seattle, inexplicably — I like this Yankee team. Maybe it’s the Steinbrenner factor, or the hired guns thing. If the Yankees win, I know I’ll see the Indians, but otherwise?

October 8. Game Five. Pirate fans have been there before, in 1972, when perhaps the best Pirate team ever went down to the Reds, in an unforgettable finish. I still feel that the Bucs would have won in seven, and I’m sure that’s how Yankee fans will feel forever about this series with Seattle.

It was only fitting that the game went into extras. These two teams turned out to be very evenly matched: Seattle, who played well enough with and without Griffey to overtake the Angels and have enough left to elbow them aside at the end. And the Yankees, picked to win by everybody, underachieving but still formidable, weighed down by expectations and potential, and by the price tags as persistently visible as their pinstripes.

I watched the first nine innings on a tiny B & W set borrowed from my kitchen, the other sets in the house reserved. Randy Johnson still looked awesome — not ugly. Mattingly’s tie-breaking double in the sixth, bouncing high over the wall in left, seemed to be enough for a while, but I made a mental note to come back to that inning later and see. Would Sierra have scored if the ball had stayed in play? Seattle escaped that inning, it could have been much worse.

Of course the Mariners would come back. It’s what they do. Cone, dog-eyed and pouty, finally surrendered to the pressure, with a short burst of wildness. Johnson at last gave in, too, Velarde’s hit finding Coleman’s weak arm (the ex-Met factor biting both teams now), but at the end it was Black Jack McDowell yielding the final flurry of hits that sealed the verdict.

Yes, Cora seemed to be outside the line beating out a bunt to get it started. But the Mariners would have figured out other ways to win, it Edgar’s double had only tied, and not won it. The Yankees played valiantly, in the crush of enemy noise, with the odds shifting against them with each Pinella finagle. Had this one been played back in the Bronx, with the same result, I wonder how the fans would have reacted to McDowell’s breakdown — and how McDowell might have responded. Some pictures don’t go away.

I hate five-game playoffs. Not just because the best team may not win, but because when two teams play so hard against each other that neither deserves to lose, they deserve seven. And so do the fans. We can’t get enough of games this good.

October 17. The tiny run the Indians squeezed out of Randy Johnson Dam in the fifth inning looked larger with each dart out of Dennis Martinez’ arsenal. When the big guy finally could hold back the Cleveland flood no longer, in the eighth, three extra runs poured across, but they seemed superfluous, and they were. With the Seattle battery literally deadened by the passed ball that disengaged the 1-0 plug, Lofton flashed home almost before anyone noticed, a true steal of home!, and Baerga’s blast to seal it at 4-0 only served to remind the Mariners of what kind of power they had been holding back in this feisty series.

I found myself rooting for Game Seven at the end, more than for the Mariners — or the Indians. Seattle came of age this summer, probably finding itself when Griffey was on the DL and everyone else discovered their own potential, by pushing for it. Certainly the fans in that northwest territory leave ‘95 with a brand new taste in their mouths, the taste of cheering rewarded, again and again and in a kaleidoscope of ways, down a stretch run and into October. It can keep you going a long time.

Like 41 years, some Cleveland fans will respond. Longer than my career as a fan. Last summer, I was with several Indian fans at a game in Baltimore, when the Strike date of August 12 was announced, and surely no fans felt worse when it happened than those of the Indians. The ecstasy of ‘95 will, I hope, heal some of the pain and scars.

October 29. A year ago, we were watching Hershiser and Glavine hanging out with Don Fehr. This was much better. One-hitters make for empty boxscores (count the zeroes), but terrific stories, and I can still recall Julie Javier’s double off Lonborg in 1967, which is not nearly as famous as Lavagetto’s off Bevens in Brooklyn, 1947 (before my time), because Cookie’s came with one out to go, and won the game. (We remember Gionfriddo’s catch, two days later, too, but the Yankees still won that Series. Which was played on seven consecutive days, by the way, no need for travel, and I guess the pitchers just blew out their arms.)

Braves in Joyland was one headline I came up with, imagining Atlanta on top. But I liked Damn Braves better. I confess rooting against them because they are, in this half-decade anyway, what the Yankees were in the fifties: the team to beat.

I would not be surprised to see a rematch of these two teams in the next few Octobers.

And so this October’s journal ends. Not with the Mazeroskian bang of Joe Carter’s homer in 1993, and not with the Selig whimper of 1994. No, 1995 went quietly off into the night, for me, with my remote in charge. I played certain at bats over and over, I was in no rush to get to the end. It sure felt like the Justice home run would hold up, from about the sixth inning on, but you never know. In the ninth, Belle was due up fourth, and wasn’t everybody hoping he’d get his shot? But that was how this Series went for Cleveland, their hitting was forever on deck, and when the final out was made, they knew they had had their shot.

Rest in peace, Nyetwork. It is dead. Long live baseball.

1996

Well, it was a full season. The Damn Braves finished 8 ahead of Montreal, St Louis 6 ahead of Houston, and San Diego just one ahead of LA, but the Dodgers got the WC. That set up two round one sweeps, by the Braves and Cards. Could the Cards break Atlanta’s winning momentum? No, but they took them to Game Seven.

In the AL, the Yankees finished 4 ahead of WC Baltimore, and Cleveland was back, and they were joined by Texas. The Yankees and Orioles both advanced in four games, then the Yanks took the O’s in five, and then they took the Braves in six. John Wetteland recorded four saves in the Series, and I recall pulling for the Yankees, the lesser of two Evil Empires at the time, but I liked Joe Torre, too.

I had kept a Stretch Run Diary in NOTES that summer, at the end of a strange season — I had defended Albert Belle and Marge Schott (One Woman Out), who I thought were both treated very unfairly by “the media” — and MLB seemed spineless in both cases. The season began with an Opening Day death of an umpire, John McSherry in Cincinnati, and this was the season that Roberto Alomar spit in an umpire’s face, and maybe now I see why I took a long break when it was finally over.

Here is the end of my Stretch Run Diary:

Friday, September 27. Up to be on the road before my paper arrived, the kitchen radio delivered last night’s scores, good news for the Rangers, Orioles and Padres.

The CNN announcer was ‘way too perky for me — my morning eyes tend to open as the sun rises, and at about that speed. He was bubbling about how the Texas franchise had never played an October game in its long history (b. 1961, in D.C.), but this looked like their year. I recalled how the Yankee radio voices, on the night they clinched, being excited that their drought was finally over — no flags in a non-strike seasons since 1980. It shows how relative time is. Fans of the Texas franchise, even if they got hooked after the move in ‘72, have been wandering in the desert much longer. And the oasis now in sight is their first!

Saturday, September 28. The only baseball I caught yesterday was a few innings of the Cleveland game on our motel TV. Northern Ohio is Indian Territory: there is Chief Wahoo, grinning out from Gepetto’s Pizza; there are Albert Belle posters (”Fifty-Fifty!”) prominent in the Revco pharmacy (the likeness was by far the friendliest Albert I’ve ever seen, nothing villainous about him at all — honest!); and in the admissions office, the lady who heads the math department at Oberlin chats with a secretary about last night’s loss: can they still get 100 wins? Are they letting up? The Fever is epidemic, blowing south from Lake Erie.

The motel’s cable is limited, but they have CNN, and that perky voice is at it again this morning. All I pick up is that the Rangers clinched, and the Padres took game one from the Dodgers. It ain’t over in the NL West.

Sunday, September 29. We arrived back in the Shadows yesterday about six, and why the Padres-Dodgers game was not on our Fox station, needs to be investigated. I heard Tony Gwynn’s deciding hit on my car radio (ESPN), but I had to pluck it our from a bundle of college football scores, when I shouldda been there! The Orioles’ win eliminated Seattle from the WC thing, while Montreal dropped out with the Padres’ win. For opponents of the Wild Card, another neggie: the game between L.A. and S.D. today, instead of being one of those sudden death thrillers that make heroes out of Bucky Dents — now is just a game to determine playoff pairings. The losing team, instead of “dying,” will play in October. (I don’t have my playoff schedule handy, but if the losing team gets to play the Cardinals, instead of the Braves, we may see some strange baseball today!)

With the eight October reservations confirmed, I end this diary. I’m looking forward to watching (live or on tape) as many games as I can … a Padres-Rangers World Series would be fun. So would a rematch of the Braves and Indians. So will any combo!

And here is how I ended 1996:

POST-SEASON BLUES, 1996

The Alomar thing. The wild-card format ruining the showdown between the Padres and Dodgers as the season ended. Montreal, the team that seemed second-best in the NL to the Braves all summer, getting knocked out of October — by the Braves.

The first round of playoffs being overshadowed by — the Alomar thing. All four series going to teams I was rooting against. All four ending quickly, so there was no baseball on Sunday, October 6. Realizing that the four winning teams have four of the five largest payrolls and are reeking with free agents. Getting reminded how much I hate five-game playoffs.

The second round of playoffs starting with a rainout. The first game being awarded to the Yankees on a blown call, which makes me wonder if the Orioles are battling both the Yankees and the umpires in this series, because of — the Alomar thing. The youngster who interfered, being treated like a celebrity. An unthinking act in a moment of excitement goes unpunished … sort of like the Alomar thing.

In the NL, the underdogs of the world uniting behind the St Louis Cardinals, until The Empire Strikes Back. Where’s the damn five-game playoff when we need it? (To be honest, I don’t mind the better team getting into the Series, but did they have to run up those awful scores in Games 5 & 7? Turning them into games that only Braves’ fans could enjoy. The sports-spoof, on the day after the 15-0 clincher, on the Imus in the Morning program: “The Cards came up just short last evening, in a game that was tied as late as the first inning.”)

ON THE BRIGHT SIDE

All the playoff games being televised. Juan Gonzalez bidding for the title of Senor Octobre. Reggie Jackson and Steinbrenner back in the news — but briefly, thank God. Ron Gant exacting some sweet revenge from the Braves, who cut him loose after his accident: the lesson of Jeremiah Johnson. The Braves’ pitching staff, backs to the wall, performing up to their billing. (Not to be overlooked, the pitching of ex-Buc Denny Neagle, wasted when the Braves’ pen failed.) The Orioles going winless at Camden Yards, ending, happily — the Alomar thing.

WHERE I CAME IN

Braves-Yankees in the World Series. Just like in 1957, the first series I followed. My father bought our first color TV for the event, and while I’m sure the picture was awful by today’s standards, the green grass was a terrific sight back then. It is almost forty years later, and my family has a fancy new TV in time for October’s Game. I am not, cannot be my father; my son is not, cannot be me. Our generations are unique, we are ourselves. But we can toss a baseball back and forth, and that’s something.

[There are four issues of NOTES from 1996 in the Archives, in the “Older Issues” section.]

1997

This was the season I covered least, of all the seasons since 1993. When I started NOTES up again, January 4, 1998, this is how I looked back on ‘97 [from #151, in the NOTES Archive]:

REMEMBRANCE OF A SUMMER PAST

These moments are the soul of baseball: the ball perfectly hit, perfectly caught, or perfectly thrown; the strikeout that ends a game, the pitcher’s hand punching the air, the catcher running toward the mound. We can unwrap the moments later, when it’s quiet, and enjoy them all over again. Each fan has a private collection, and his moments are more precious than another fan’s whole game. — Alison Gordon, in Foul Ball!

It is later and quiet now, and time to unwrap some of my own collection of magic moments, which grew considerably last summer. I didn’t visit the Little League field as often, but I got to a lot of Utica Blue Sox games, and none were disappointing. The home team didn’t really go anywhere, but they played hard, and I was dazzled almost every night by their young second baseman, Raul Franco. Just 21, the lad from the Dominican Republic seemed to get three hits every time I kept score, which was most times, and he wound up the batting champ of the NY-Penn League. Raul!

I picked the Pirates to go all the way in 1997, as I do every spring, with less grounds for optimism than usual. Most of the media experts were wondering just how many losses this team of unknowns could rack up. Expectations were as low as mud.

So when the team played .500 ball, and arrived at the All Star break in first place, the reaction was, “Pinch me.” This time around, .500 never felt so good, because it looked like that pace would be good enough to take the chunk of pennant owned by the NL Central, but a mini-slump or two down the stretch gave it to the Astros. Being in the chase until September 25 was exhilarating, and made the season unique among my 40+ of rooting for the Pirates.

And I was not alone. Exiled in the land of Yankee and Met fans, I communicated almost daily with over a hundred other Pirate fans scattered around the globe, thanx to the internet. I “subscribed” to the Pirate “List” before spring training, and continue to check in and contribute regularly.

Just when you think you’ve discovered all of the different ways of rooting, of tapping the fun that baseball provides…. I ought to mention that the SABR List is another dose of baseball that I take almost daily. Belonging to SABR adds much to any fan’s experience, especially if you can make the meetings, and if you can also access the ‘net, the SABR List is too good to miss.

I watched baseball on TV last summer, but I think I had more fun tuning in KDKA radio to listen to the end of Pirate games, especially when they ended with Lanny Frattare’s “There was noooo doubt about it!” But I followed some games on the ‘net, too — not just current scores, but the situations and results of each at bat, and box scores in the making. I liked to imagine that whoever was generating all this data for the ‘net fans, obtained it from kids climbing poles out in left field, or from homing pigeons being released at the park to fly updates to the villagers.

Meanwhile, here’s how the season went for the winners. Baltimore finished two ahead of the Damn Yankees, but NY got the WC. Cleveland and Seattle were back in the post-season, finishing six ahead of Chicago and California respectively. But the O’s knocked off Seattle (so there would be no Mariners-Yankees rematch), and Cleveland KO’ed the Yanks. Then the Indians took the Orioles in six, and they had another Series shot.

In the NL, Atlanta finished nine ahead of Florida, but the Marlins snagged the WC anyway. As I recall, this was a Jim Leyland team that finished strong. Houston won the NL Central with a record of 84-78, 5 better than Pittsburgh. SF finished two ahead of LA. The first round featured sweeps, the Marlins over the Giants, the Braves over Houston. Then, miracle of miracles, the Marlins took the Braves in six, and then the Indians in seven. A wild card team as World Champion? Say it ain’t so! But it was a great Series. I felt good for Leyland, bad for the Indians and their fans.

1998

I had used the headline Year of the Gopher in 1996, but as I look back now, it really fit 1998. There are seven issues of Notes from ‘98 in the Notes Archive, most of them pre-season, but the two from August are worth looking up. In #167, That’s Entertainment!, I celebrated the joys of minor league and independent baseball. I think discovering great baseball outside MLB, on every level from Little League to AAA, has always helped me tolerate MLB better.

The other ‘98 issue, #168, Off to See the Sultan, brings back the theme that dominates my memory of that season at the top: the Sultan of ‘98 was Mark McGwire, and his HR duel with Sammy Sosa was something else, and no matter how many real or imagined asterisks are eventually added, no one can take away the excitement fans felt that summer. We all knew Mark was taking “andro” and it was keeping him off the DL, and that seemed to be all that mattered. We should have been asking how safe is this stuff that’s bulking up players today? but instead, we cheered.

1998 was the season that the NY Yankees bulked up 114 wins in the regular season, so the WC team Boston, finishing 22 games behind, also got into the playoffs. So did Cleveland, again, by finishing 9 better than Chicago; and Texas, 3 over California. The Yanks then swept Texas (117 wins and counting), while the Indians knocked off the Sox in four. It took the Yanks six to get back into the Series (121 and counting).

Atlanta finished 18 ahead of the Mets, Houston 12.5 ahead of the WC Cubs, San Diego 9.5 over San Fran. The Braves then swept the Cubs (boo!), and the Padres took the Astros in four. But there would be no rematch of the dynasties, because Tony Gwynn’s Padres knocked off the Braves, in six, to earn the Series shot.

That the Pads were swept by the Yanks — make that 125 wins, thank you — surprised no one, I think. That Yankee team seemed to me to be both very good, and lucky — an unbeatable combo. I kept A Fan’s World Series Journal in Notes that Fall, and here it is:

Saturday, October 17. I’ll be rooting for the Padres, and their first Series win. The Yankees hardly need another trophy. The Padres’ shelf is bare. I can come up with other reasons — the Padres are small-market, National League, underdog, Brave-beating (without much help from their injured 50-HR slugger), and the team of nearby Rome’s Archi Cianfrocco (also injured, most of this season) — but I could list just as many reasons, maybe more, to root for the Yanks. So in my case, it’s not a rational thing.

I did root for the Yankees (against the Braves) in 1996. And I certainly admired the ‘98 Yanks, their .750 pace, their team play and hustle and lack of superstars in the lineup, and their excellent pitching. 114 regular season wins is something, but it actually puts history on the Padres’ side — the 1906 Cubs and the 1954 Indians, the only other teams to win over 110 games, both lost in October’s Game.

In 1906, the Cubs faced off with the “Hitless Wonders” from the other side of Chicago. Pitching dominated — neither team could manage to hit .200 — and the Sox’ 1.67 ERA held the Cubs to two wins in six games. In 1954, “The Catch” in the eighth inning of Game One kept tied a contest the Giants won in the tenth, 5-2. 3-1, 6-2 and 7-4 wins followed in succession, as the Indians were swept — who could have predicted that?

I have noticed, in the pre-Series chatter from the on deck circle, that Yankee fans range from “we’ll sweep with our eyes closed” cocky, to the genuinely worried. For the latter, it is as if the entire summer has come down to this series, and a failure here somehow ruins the season. To me, this is utter foolishness. The Yankees could get swept, and still be proud of their 1998. I don’t think that will happen, and frankly, I want the thing to go seven games. Because there’s nothing like a Game Seven.

The more sober Yankee fans know that the team cooled off down the stretch (they had to), are worried about Pettitte, and are scared about Irabu. They miss Strawberry, and realize that the offense didn’t exactly cream Texas and Cleveland. They are worried about losing their DH for the San Diego games, and they are nervous that Kevin Brown could be a serial killer, if he’s on his game this last week or so. But I’ve heard Yankee fans worry all summer, as if each loss was the start of a tailspin, and not a temporary glitch in the march to October’s Game. Play Ball!

Sunday, Oct. 18. “Redemption” can be a difficult theological concept, or one of baseball’s most satisfying experiences. Even if you were rooting for the Padres, watching Chuck Knoblauch and Tino Martinez transform themselves from hapless Clark Kents into Super-heroes, in dramatic moments that were so close in time that they seemed like the same moment — was damn good theater.

Until the fateful seventh, it looked like the worst fears of Yankees fans were coming true: Greg Vaughn was back, and so was the ageless Tony Gwynn, and David Wells was serving gophers. And Kevin Brown was back, too, struggling, but ahead 5-2 when he left the battlefield. Ten Finger Brown, mixing up his catcher as often as the Yankee batters, who will be on the hill in Game 4, and not against Wells, but some lesser arm. Woe is us, the Stadium moaned.

Was I the only Padre fan who was calling out loud for Trevor Hoffman at that juncture? I am conditioned by my first years of rooting: Pirate skipper Danny Murtaugh had a bullpen ace named Roy Face, and would bring him in whenever the crisis of the game arose, including the middle innings. Yes, you want your ace out there to close out the win, but if you don’t get past this crisis, there will be nothing for him to nail down.

After Knoblauch’s tying, redeeming home run, Langston almost wiggled off the hook — the 2-2 pitch to Martinez was so close. Then Tino’s angry, redeeming grand slam, and it was over. To be honest, I would have pinch hit for Tino, he was looking so awful and the game was on the line. Torre must have considered it, and if Tino had fanned, Torre would have to think about benching him. Now Tino may go on and be the Series MVP, but it is just as possible that this hit will keep him in the lineup, keep him at bat in other crises — where he may fail mightily. We’ll see.

Monday, Oct. 19. Routs in a World Series (or All Star Game) always seem somehow out of place. Routs should not happen to the best teams, logic says — even though no team completes a season without suffering a few massacres. We expect close games, and hope for a close Series, come October. Never expect in Oct!

That lesson was plain last evening as the Yankees KO’ed the Padres early, going up 7-0 after three and never looking back, in the 9-3 Game Two victory. This time Bernie Williams woke up, and Tino got three hits. Every Yankee got hits. It wasn’t pretty for Padres’ fans.

Orlando Hernandez didn’t need that much support, he seemed in control, once the early innings went his way. While I’ve admired the pitching of “El Duque” all summer, his presence on the Yankees continues to bother me. He’s a reminder of all the great players in Cuba whom politics keeps shut out. And because Orlando was drawn to the Yankees like a mosquito to blood, he is (like brother Livan last year) also a nagging reminder of the uneven playing field, just when we don’t want one.

Weds, Oct. 21. It seems like only yesterday that the Padres went up 3-0 in games to the Braves. We learned then that no pro team (in any major sport) ever came back from a hole that deep. The Braves apparently were fortunate and exceptional, when they took two and forced a Game Six. We heard at that point that if any team could do it, the pitching-rich Braves could, and 1998 was just the season for such a first.

I’m hearing none of that today, after the Yankees’ 5-4, come-from-behind-again victory in San Diego last night. Instead, the question is, How good are these Yankees? 10-2 in the playoffs & Series so far, their 125th win in sight, it seems like a fair question. They really don’t need a Series sweep to impress me, but there seem to be a lot of greedy Yankee fans right now.

When the Hitchcock-Cone duel was finally broken, the Padres plating three in the sixth, helped by a rare Yankee error, my feeling was long way to go. Sure enough, New York came right back with a pair. Trevor Hoffman, positively dripping with brilliant regular-season stats, made a too-good 2-2 pitch to Scott Brosius, and suddenly the tables were turned for good. Interestingly, both pitchers got hits, and both were tagged for runs after running the bases. Would the duel have gone into the late innings, if the DH was in use?

A month or so ago, I scheduled a floating holiday for next Monday, so I could stay up all night, if necessary, to watch the end of Game Seven, if the Series went that far. I am still rooting for that to happen, but the odds are staggering. Tonight, I’ll be out at a theater, watching our Broadway Theater League’s A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum. My VCR will do its duty, I’ll catch Game Four later. I would love to be able to use the headline, A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Sweep.

Then there’s Mike Lopresti, carping in my morning paper about the low ratings this Series is getting. Who cares? Not the fans following the Series. Considering the network, the times of the games, and the increasing sense that this is a mis-match, the ratings aren’t that bad. Who could be surprised that they fell steadily during the Game Two rout? I tuned out of that one myself, content to monitor it on my TV’s “PIP” and my trusty little transistor radio. It’s not like there’s no competition for people’s interest. Maybe the ratings hint that fans have lives.

This afternoon, radio sports-talker Peter Brown was wondering if baseball shouldn’t scrap this week-long finale for a one game “Superbowl” ending. He took seriously, some caller’s plan that would make the first round of the playoffs seven games, and the next round five. File these thoughts under “Fixing what ain’t broke.” Ninety-some years of experience have shown the value of the seven-game series (especially vs. five), and the drama that unfolds in October, one game at a time, is unmatched.

Thurs., Oct. 22. At the play last night, the lead actor (Rip Taylor, in the role of Pseudolus) drew cheers by announcing at various times, updates on Game Four. “No score after two!” … “Still no score.” So much for watching it on tape as if it was “live”….

When the final curtain rang down, it was 1-0 Yankees, but another curtain was on its way down in San Diego. I got home to watch the last few innings, and felt at the end, more than anything else, a disappointment: I hate sweeps. The only fans who like them, I have concluded, are the ones holding the brooms.

With Kevin Brown and Andy Pettitte both run-stingy, this game hinged on little things. The bang-bang play at first, when a quick toss to Brown might have nipped O’Neill. The Padres’ failure to score a runner from second on a two-out single. The innings I caught were like watching a suicide.

The Yankees completed a spectacular season, in almost dull, robotic fashion. The Padres battled, but seemed to be struggling against themselves much of the time. Had they hung on to take Game One, everything might have turned out entirely different. Instead, things just got more desperate for San Diego. I think the low ratings might reflect something else — without taking anything away from New York’s achievement — this was not a very interesting Series. Sweeps never are, are they?

So the Yankees have their umpteenth trophy, and a record 125-win season. Rather than join the arguments about whether the ‘98 Yankees are the best-ever Yankee team, or best-ever team, I find myself asking this: in a hundred years, when time-travel is perfected, given the chance to go back and watch one Yankee team take the field, what year would you pick? I would likely pick the Yankees of Ruth and Gehrig, precisely to see Ruth and Gehrig. (If I was a little older, I might pick the next generation dynasty, say, Gehrig & DiMaggio, 1937. Since I saw the Yankees of Mantle’s era, and Reggie’s, I would not be that interested in those teams.)

But if 125 is still a standing record in 2098, there will be fans who would pass on the Babe, Joe D., and all the stars of past dynasties, to visit 1998. (Later, some would admit that they really wanted to see McGwire and Sosa chase Maris’ 61.) They would be entertained, all right, the Yankees do not play dull baseball. And they are extraordinarily balanced. Their other special feature makes them stand out from Murderer’s Row and the M & M Boys and the Reggie Show: they lack braggadocio. In 1998, this is refreshing (and it may still be in 2098.)

Another reason for even broom-carriers to hate sweeps, is that they prevent us from seeing the whole roster in action. The quick dropping of the curtain must disappoint the understudies and their families, terribly. Wait’ll next year.

1999

Holy Cow! Moving thru just four seasons has taken over 15 pages! Well, that’s OK, because I’m not going to write much about 1999 and 2000. NOTES went online in March 1999 — starting with issue #184 — so anyone who wants my take on those summers, and the summers since, can look it up.

‘99 ended with another (ho-hum) dynasty Series, and with the Damn Yankees sweeping the Damn Braves. I was rooting for the Red Sox to stop the Yankee express, in the series before the Series, but they didn’t. But they’d get their revenge in the next century. Everyone in New York was rooting for the Mets to get past Atlanta and make it a Subway Series — but that wouldn’t happen for another year.

In ‘99, I kept A baseball Junkie’s Diary, starting with #193 and ending in #199, and that might be fun to revisit. My take on the Series is in #203, Damn Good Yankees.

2000

My take on the 2000 post-season starts in #223, Then There Were Eight, and ends in #225, Subliminal Series. As I said above, this was the Mets-Yankees Subway Series, which the Yanks took in five. The Yanks had to climb over Seattle (in six) to get there, after squeezing past Oakland, 3-2. The wild-card Mets had to beat the Giants, then the Cards — who had upset the Braves with a sweep in their first-round best-of-five.

During 2000, I was doing NOTES at a more leisurely pace, two or three issues a week, but I think the quality went up a notch. I had settled in — like those Damn Yankees. My Pirates had faded out of sight, removing any pressure to follow MLB very closely as a fan, so I was really following baseball. (Pirate fans might enjoy #224 and the piece “Over the Rainbow,” my account of my visit to Pittsburgh October 13, for the 40th Anniversary of Maz’ Homer, at the spot where the ball flew — over the rainbow.)

And thus ends my trip thru a full century of Baseball History. If I’m around in 2015 or so, maybe I’ll look back on the seasons of the decade that began in 2001. Thanx again to all who have sent corrections and comments on this series.

The above is an excerpt from Issue #447 of Gene’s Notes From the Shadows of Cooperstown. To read the rest of the issue (or past issues), click here.