Balance

In the midst of the terrible continuing war in Iraq; as the mighty winds and rain rolled through the Gulf Coast, while the homeless seeking shelter slowly moved on their nomadic march; as the price for gasoline continued its upward spiral and we prepared for paying whatever it will take to drive and work and stay warm this winter--- during these days of fear, uncertainty, and great discomfort, one small wonderful cosmic sign of normalcy reappeared.

At the direct center of my life when I was eight, nine, ten and growing up in The Bronx was The Yankees. It wasn’t that I didn’t do anything else, or care about anything else. I did. TV, girls, punchball, Bungalow Bar, Batman. But it was The Yankees that mattered.


I lived an easy, straight-shot 20-minute subway ride down the Grand Concourse from the giant, gleaming, white stadium where --- if you got there early enough and knew where to stand--- you could catch a quick glimpse of Phil Rizzuto, Snuffy Stirnweiss, Fireman Joe Page, and on the best, most amazing days a moment of Joe DiMaggio’s gleaming black hair as he hustled from limo to locker room. It didn’t hurt me that it was known around town that my uncle had written a best selling song about Joltin’ Joe only a few years before.

There could be terrible weather, wars, awful movies, snow on the television screens. But The Yankees were what you could count on. The rest you’d learn to cope with. You didn’t have to question god or politicians so long as The Yankees took the field. And, in my way-back memory, the most constant aspect of the end of every season took place when The Bronx Bombers would play The Boston Red Sox to see who went into the championship, and then to most certainly win the World Series. I would lie on the floor of my cousin Herbie’s apartment and thrill to the game on radio. But the truth is, no matter how close the score, no matter whether The Yanks were behind with 2 out in the 9th, the outcome never was in doubt for me. Yankees. Always The Yankees.

So much has changed since then. But this last week, as the hurricane of life swirled along its reckless, unsettling, disruptive path, the fact that The Red Sox and The Yankees were suddenly tied for first place, that the season was singing its final song, and that those 2 teams would once again play it out right at the end ---well that was the way it should be, the exact way we need it to be if there is going to be any balance left in the world.


And, leaving aside any recent history, and despite the obvious loss of intelligent reasoning on the part of at least 2 of my beloved grandchildren, I still know how it is going to turn out. For sure.


Bet you a nickel.