They say an athlete dies twice, and Mariano "Mo" Rivera's actual passing may just as well end up not surpassing his first. Mo's season-long wake came to an end last Thursday evening.
The Yankees were not clinging to a lead that night against the Rays, or even trying to preserve a tie ballgame, when Rivera entered with one out and two on in the eighth inning down four runs.
The Yanks had also been eliminated from playoff contention days earlier, so apologies all around to the tri-state diehards who fantasized Mo's final bullets would be spent blowing up bats in Game 7. (Actually, the removal of any stakes heightened the realization that holy smokes this is it.)
He didn't even finish the game, but that was to set up the moment.
It was a nice touch when longtime comrades Derek Jeter and Andy Pettitte emerged from the dugout to remove Rivera with two outs in the ninth, like two schoolyard chums calling their friend back home after a long, but eventful day at the park.
When Mariano handed off the ball to Pettitte, his fellow retiree, he embraced Pettitte and burrowed his face into Pettitte's right shoulder. The brim of Mo's cap obscured our vision, but everyone knew what was going on. Well, to an extent.
Blessed with a buzz saw cutter, the kind of pitch where foreknowledge of its delivery often meant diddly-squat, all Mariano had to do was toss it in high and tight. After boring the league and its bats for ten years or so, some slight adjustments were made, and Mariano then began locating low and away. In all seriousness, Mariano's career was much more than toeing the mound, working that magic grip and rearing back. Don't forget he is coming back from a torn ACL at the age of 42, making the 2013 campaign seem like an effortless full recovery.
I'll stop waxing poetic over his greatness before readers confuse this for a tribute piece. No, the point is we witnessed a special (Mo) moment last week.
One wonders what Mariano was experiencing during those moments of genuine emotion. Joe Girardi may have enhanced it a bit with his Jeter-Pettitte pageantry, but the outpouring of emotion was genuine.
Perhaps he was overwhelmed by the conclusion of a lifetime of work, "sweat and blood."
Perhaps he felt blessed to be able to play a sport he loved as a (very handsomely) paid vocation.
Yes it is sad that his historic run of excellence has come to an end, that an end-game constant is no longer constant. (We'll overlook the fact he played for baseball's money colossus, a title which has since been swallowed up by the Dodgers.)
But it is true he was a cog, albeit one with a vicious bite, for a business valued well over a billion dollars. Jeter and Pettite? Two other competent and visible cogs who have worked in tandem for an unusually long period of time as the on-field product.
Collectively they provided ideologically-safe drama and intrigue for the tri-state area, and the nation for that matter. Millions of fans vicariously rose and fell with each victory or loss, contests that do not (should not?) have any real stake in their respective lives. The results of said contests provide conversational fodder and are a repository of emotional allegiance in exchange for money, a stimulating sporting escape.
Picture the sneering anti-fan: "Sports are dumb."
Yet seeing Mariano smile in surprise as Jeter hobbled to the mound while Pettitte played manager and motioned for another relief pitcher, with rookie catcher J.R. Murphy dumbly looking along as the Legends conducted their stately affairs, one can't help but feel a moment of meaning watching the guy cry.
Associate Editor Vincent Xu is a College senior from Central, N.J.
Photo courtesy of Timothy Appnel, Flickr
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