I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you and your sister to be able to witness history in person.

1994 was going to be the year. Then, I was there on August 11, crying in the bleachers. It was, and still is, the only time I ever left the game with a ball (a batting practice ball I snagged from a Blue Jay). I got Mattingly to sign it a few years back, and it’s one of my prized possessions.

His last game is etched both in my mind and my parent’s basement ceiling. I was watching the game with the dad, and left, dejected as Griffey scored the winning run. I went downstairs to my bedroom at the time, and as I reached the bottom stair, I saw my Ken Griffey sneakers, emblazoned with his number 24, and in bright Seattle green (he will always be my favorite player to never wear pinstripes). I grabbed it and flung it a cross the room, and into my parent’s cheap drop ceiling. To this day, I won’t let them fix that dent.

[3] What a great story – is your sister going to tonight’s game?

[0] I think Jeter is absolutely a gamer, but the way Boswell defined the word, I don’t see how he could think it applies to Brett or Rose. Too intent is exactly how I would describe Brett and Rose. YMMV, I guess.

Mine, ftr, is Mattingly, too. First it was Reggie and of course I loved Randolph and Winfield and Rickey electrified me (though I never had the same deep affection for him as the others, I loved watching him but he wasn’t a hero, for some reason), but Mattingly was the one, the god among men who remains my gold standard for what a baseball player should be.

My loss of innocence on that front occurred in 1995 when Randy Johnson struck him out three times in clutch situations. I remember Kay, I think it was, making two remarks: “He just looks overmatched,” which devastated me just to hear the words. How could Mattingly be “overmatched?” God, talk about pathos.

I also remember, in his fourth ab, Kay (I think it was) musing, “Now, I don’t think Mattingly has *ever* struck out *four* times in a game…”

As much as I love Derek, he never quite attained that status for me, though I’m not quite sure why.

The closest player to occupy that place in my heart was Andy, and he only gradually. Not sure quite when, but the day I saw him on the front of the newspaper in that Houston cap, I felt like my best friend died and when he re-signed, I felt like he had been raised from the dead.

Ah, baseball.

Anyhow, I’m glad it didn’t turn into what my mind was thinking and getting ahead of itself.

(Also, mind your homonyms, Alex: “I still here that voice in my head when I see him play, reminds me to smile.”

We all know what happened next. 1996 Rookie of the Year, 1996 World Champion, 1998 World Champion, and so on and so on. But along the waym Derek Jeter became little sister’s hero.

There’s a seven year difference between me and my sister, and that leads to a generation gap in players. Mine is and will always be Don Mattingly. My father’s is Mickey Mantle. But, her’s is Derek Jeter. She lives and dies by what he does.

I don’t know when it happened. Supposedly, she said it’s because my father described him in 1998 as “the Leonardo DiCaprio of baseball.” she was 9, and I guess that was all it took. All of a sudden she was obsessed with the game. And ever since then, it was all about Derek.

He gave my family something to bond over. Together, me, my Dad, and her watched the Yankees. He gave my Dad and my sister something to bond over. Through good times and bad, Jeter was the constant. Over the last few years, we’ve been to the Stadium more than we’ve been to church. We were there when it closed, we were there when it opened. My sister even ended up dating a classmate who works at the stadium.

I remember watching her sob uncontrollably at the start of the 2003 season. She had a really tough first year of high school, and seeing Derek go down with what looked like a season threatening injury was all she needed to just release any pent up frustration she had.

I still remember her 16th birthday. She didn’t want a Sweet 16 party. She just wanted tickets to a Yankee game and her name on the board. So that’s what we did.

On July 1, 2004.

She just moved into her first apartment, and a giant picture of “The Dive” hangs above her TV.

A few years back, I got my first tattoo. It’s the interlocking NY on my right forearm, and underneath it, in uniform font, are the numbers “7 23 2″. Some people think it’s weird to have permanently etched the number of a guy still playing baseball on my arm. But no matter what happens from now on, it’ll never change what the last 15 years have meant for the relationship between me, my sister, and my father.