My heart is breaking. It’s a relationship that doesn’t last long enough. It’s a torturous inevitability. You know it’s coming but there’s nothing to stop it. It’s the impossibility of prevention that really gets to you. It’s the respect that they get all over the country no matter how far. It’s the beauty in their craft. It’s the perfection of the pursuit of greatness. In a world so uncertain and tumultuous, it’s the greatness that provides the comfort, the familiarity, and the happiness. It’s the respect. It’s the adoration. It’s the pride. But still my heart is breaking.
Mr. November… Captain Clutch… Number 2, Derek Jeter, Number 2 is retiring. It’s the end of a perfect relationship. Of two decades that transcended statistics and competition. A story seemingly too perfect, built upon the publicly infallible human being with a charm so inherent, even Boston loves him.
We know his accolades. We know his statistics, many of which are all-time leading categories as a Yankee. This is a career that trumps the numbers and even championships. This is a career that’s based on emotion that any baseball fan, whether purist or casual, has to tip their hat to. I don’t want to talk about Jeter’s impact on the game, nor do I wish to hash out his legacy by comparing him to all the greats that have come before him. It’s difficult to describe the feelings that come to me regarding the conclusion of his career. I grew up with Derek Jeter, living in New York the first eighteen years of my life. Since I’ve been a baseball fan I’ve known Derek Jeter. I remember the championships in the nineties that I watched with my late grandfather. I remember my first time seeing him play in person in 1999 against Cal Ripken Jr. and the Orioles. During the first few months into my second year in Philadelphia after moving here from Long Island, the Yankees beat the Phillies to win the 2009 World Series. I was the lone Yankee fan in a room packed with Phillies fans, and I loved every second of it. I vividly remember the waning sun of a beautiful Portland, Oregon summer afternoon creeping through my window as I lay on a mattress on the floor of my bedroom while I streamed a game on my computer. “See ya. 3,000. History! With an exclamation point.”
We all knew at the start of this season that it would be Jeter’s last. But the All-Star game on Tuesday night resurfaced all the emotions that had been in check the entire first half of the season. I think the realization of his greatness all over again and the finality of his 14th and final game as an All-Star really sunk in.
I write this on a whim to capture what’s been in my head the past few days. This is a small ode to one of the greatest Yankees of all time. This is pure emotion. This is saying goodbye to my favorite baseball player since I was six years old. There’s so much more that can be said, but I don’t know what else to say. Let’s tip our caps and start saying goodbye.
