Written By: Harry Parmenter
Well, I didn't see it but I read about it.
The New York Yankees laid George Steinbrenner to rest with an emotional, come-from-behind victory fueled by Nick Swisher, the new Bobby Murcer.
It was Murcer who came through in a big way the night the Yankees laid Thurman Munson to rest after his untimely death. I will never forget that game. Murcer knocked it down the right field line to beat Baltimore the night of Munson's funeral with Howard Cosell calling the game for a national audience on Monday Night Baseball. Last night Swisher played the role, first with a dinger to tie the score, then a bingle to win the game v. Tampa Bay. History repeats itself.
Somewhere, The Boss is smiling.
Emotion Rules, in sports and life. The great moments are to be treasured, savored, marvelled (at).
George Steinbrenner dropped dead of a massive heart attack the day of the All-Star Game. The Voice of God, Bob Sheppard, died 48 hours earlier. Thank Goodness Yogi made the cut.
The Bronx Bombers -- led by Swisher and The Original Three: Jeter, Rivera and Posada -- came up big in their first game back after The Boss' death.
Easily the most impressive part of the whole story was the two-minute moment of silence in The Bronx to honor George, the man who rebuilt the Yankees and made them relevant again after the Burke-Tisch debacle.
It was pure poetry in the Bronx Thursday night. Against Tampa Bay, nonetheless.
Reminded me of one of the best concerts I ever attended in the early '80s.
The place: a Culver City bowling alley.
The bands: The Flamin' Groovies and The Plimsouls.
In those days you got two sets apiece for your five bucks.
As my brother and I walked in late, The Groovies were in the middle of absolutely crushing Paint It Black, a sound that still rings in my ears. Peter Case and the immortal Plimsouls followed, knocking it down with one monster after another: Makin' Up For Lost Time/Sorry/Now/Women/Zero Hour/A Million Miles Away, and many more.
Then the Groovies came back and just destroyed the place, shaking some serious action and finishing with one of the greatest songs ever written for nightcrawlers far and wide, Jumpin' In The Night. The guitar fadeout still reverberates in my brain.
Kind of like those who were there will never forget last night in the Bronx.
Being at a game that transcends winning and losing, when a group of athletes rises above like the Yankees did last night, like the Miracle at Lake Placid, like the Murcer-Munson game ... you never forget it.
These are pivotal moments for the participants; greatness begets greatness, inevitably.
I would now bet the house on the Yankees to repeat.
The black armband usually means nothing -- unless you are a Yankee and you are playing for The Boss.
The greatest owner in modern sports history is revered by his ballclub. Even A-Rod knows what it means.
Rest in peace, George, because your boys will be Jumpin' in The Night all the way to the title in October