Say It Ain't Mo
And so it ends with a bang and a whimper. No Yankee great's departure has ever caused anything like the shock to the system New York fans are now experiencing.
I'm hearing from some, "Well, what about Thurman Munson's death?" A shock, yes, but let's be honest, Munson wasn't loved. Certainly his loss was more tragic in human terms, but in pure baseball terms what can compare to this?
On top of the loss for the season of Michael Pineda, the Yankees are now, realistically, playing for nothing more than to stay in the top half of their division. Yes, Dave Robertson can replace Mariano Rivera, but who, then, is going to replace Dave Robertson as the set-up man?
The best response to the end of Mariano's career is from Alex Belth this morning on his BronxBanter website.
All that remained in Mariano Rivera's incomparable career as the finest short-inning closer in baseball history was an ending. Last night Rivera fell to the ground on the warning track in Kansas City before the game. He shagged fly balls, something he's done his entire career - teammates and reporters have always said he'd be a smooth outfielder. He sprinted after a ball and jumped as he reached the warning track. Then he was on his back, his mouth open in pain.
But that isn't the image that replayed in my mind this morning. What I remember most is watching Rivera being driven off the field in a cart and the smile on his face. Maybe he was embarrassed or maybe he wanted to reassure his teammates that he was okay. Or perhaps Rivera, a spiritual man who has always attributed the events in his career - from his accidental discovery of the cut fastball to losing the seventh game of the World Series - to an act of God believed this was just meant to be and who was he to question it? As if he's been secretly waiting and now he had an answer.
Things fall apart. For everyone.
Is there a consoling note in this? Certainly, if we take the long view. It isn't like Mariano's career was lacking in anything. He has five World Series rings and his reputation as the greatest relief pitcher ever is firmly established. There really wasn't anything more for him to do, and at least we're spared the sight of him going out solely, watching his magic slip away with age. Maybe it's better that it ends like this, all at once, so we can begin to deal with what life without Mariano is like.
Yes, thinking those thoughts does make me feel better. The long view - that's what we should focus on. Of course, as Keynes put it, in the long run we'll all be dead.
One other thing: I'm not sure how this connects with anything, but when I saw the photos of Mo lying on the ground writhing in pain, it conjured up an image from the past. Take a look at this:
I wonder, is it worse to have this happen to you at age 20, with your career ahead of you, or at age 42, like Mariano, in your final season of a glorious career? I don't know, but if I had to choose, I'd take what happened to Rivera.