Tearing up for Boone

Winter is coming to the Northeast in a big way today, but that isn't what has Yankee fans feeling an icy draft. Who would've thought that with all the aging mercenaries George has hired, whose injury histories pile as high as their commendations, the first to fall would be a vibrant, young, likable player? Make no mistake about it: Aaron Boone's absence hurts the Yankees much more than his performance at the plate last season would suggest. And I’m not referring to the high quality YES Network programming (Tonight: CenterStage followed by Best of CenterStage and wrapping up with the Emmy Award winning Yankeeography: CenterStage) they’ll have to cancel to afford an Eric Chavez and Mike Lowell platoon. I’m talking about sheer likability here. Each free agent signing, each million poured into the mold, speaks simultaneously to the inevitability of a Yankee pennant and the likelihood that fewer New Yorkers than ever will be moved by it.

Why should they care about this motley assortment? They haven’t followed most of these players’ careers, and they are smart enough to note the ridiculous payroll that, more than any sentimental pap about pinstripes or destiny, is the only thing holding this bunch together. I’m not saying that sentiment never had a place in the Bronx, just that it’s been crowded out by Gary Sheffield and Flash Gordon and Steinbrenner’s increasingly absurd pronouncements not to “count the Yankees out yet”, as if by some blessed miracle the Schilling signing made them into lovable underdogs again. I wish it had, though; I’d be able to hate the Red Sox with greater efficacy, and feel pissed when the Yankees swept my Mets in the now-regular Subway Series rout instead of just amused.

Aaron Boone didn’t come up with the admired, hated pantheon of Jeter, Rivera and the rest. He is fairly young, though, and he had a few other things going for him. For starters, he was genuinely excited to be playing for the Yankees. Let me give you a good example. My dad and I went to about six games last year, most of them after the trade that brought Boone into town. We usually grab seats along the third base line, so naturally a lot of our attention was focused on the recent acquisition. When the Yankees first take the field, there’s a little tradition that bleacher-dwelling fans carry out, where they yell out the names of the starters and clap as a greeting until the guy acknowledges them somehow. It’s pretty cool, and makes me wonder what it must have been like to root for the Mets in the late 80s as someone who wasn’t more interested in Transformers than baseball. Anyhow, I was curious to see how Boone reacted to this treatment, if he knew “how to be” with the fans. Jeter raised his hand nonchalantly and elicited a roar of approval; he played along, but you could imagine, if you wanted, that it was just part of his routine. Boone made them cheer on for a little while, concentrating on his defense and only responding when he was certain he had a free moment. I liked that, and I liked his response even better: no simple tip of the cap, but a fist thrust into the air. Even the folks in my section responded to it, because we saw somebody who really wanted to put on a show as much as we wanted to see it.

Here’s another example. After his homer sent the Sox to the showers in the ALCS, he was being interviewed as all hell broke loose around him. You might have missed this moment, actually, because it was right about then that Fox decided flipping between the hero and his awkward older brother Bret was a great idea and a real drama-builder. Somewhere in there, though, he tried to sum up what he was feeling, and his silence as he struggled to put it into words made me smile. Finally, grinning himself, he blurted out, “This is...this is stupid.” Lou Gehrig’s speech it was not, but I loved the honest, unscripted feel of it. You can’t help but watch that and smile. I feel the same way about Mariano Rivera collapsing on the mound, overcome by sheer joy, with a blissful smile on his face and his eyes closed. These are Yankees even a Mets fan could root for, in the right moment.

Now he does something that really is stupid, playing basketball to get in shape and messing up his knee. Does he pull a Jeff Kent and claim he was washing his truck when it was obvious that if he was washing his truck, he was doing it while popping wheelies on his motorcycle? No, he calls Yankees brass and fesses up to the whole thing, even though it’ll probably cost him a lot of money. Even though, knowing George, it’ll probably cost him the pinstripes. Doing that would be tantamount to Mo Vaughn issuing an apology to Mets fans that said: “Hey, I’m sorry. I was out of shape and I let myself and you guys down. I’ve already got more money than I will ever need, so I’m going to donate the rest of what I make to charity” – or, at least – “I’m not going to take money I haven’t earned.”

What I’m trying to say is that Boone was a refreshing sort of guy, on a team and in an industry where many of the players are increasingly faceless and stale with self-importance. Sure, you can take a look at his stats and compare them to whomever the Yankees replace him with, and get an indication of his value to the club. What some sabermetricians don’t seem to realize (or, sadly, have allowed themselves to forget) is that there’s no metric out there that can measure giving a damn. With the direction the Yankees have been headed the past couple of years, into Steinbrenner’s hands and out of their fans’ hearts, I’m awful glad I root for the other team in town.