So, instead, I'll talk about the fond memories I have of the Yankees. All two of them.
The first is Roy White. I always liked him. He played during an era when the Yankees weren't very good, and then when the Yankees grew into perennial champions in the late-1970s, he remained above all the petty, obnoxious garbage that went on with that team back then. He was a quiet, consistent performer, much like Bernie Williams, although Williams had more talent. Seeing the huge ovation Williams received from the fans Sunday just goes to show you -- you don't have to be a jerk to be popular in New York.
The second memory is my one-and-only trip to Yankee Stadium. It was the day before my birthday. We went down to the game on an overnight visit. It was July 15, 1978, in the middle of the Yankees' two straight World Series titles. I can remember walking through the underground parking lot at the stadium and sitting in our seats along the third base line. I remember looking toward home plate and seeing George Brett in the batter's box and how awesome it was that I was seeing him live and in person. I remember the Royals were wearing their baby blue road unis. I remember a foul line drive heading right toward me before a fan a few rows in front stuck up his glove and caught the ball.
The senses and sights will always stay with me, but I remember very little about the game. I do know the Royals beat the Yankees 8-2 (yes!). Dennis Leonard was the winning pitcher. Ed Figueroa took the loss. I do remember that Thurman Munson played the outfield and pointing out to my brother how odd that was. Years later I looked up the boxscore on retrosheet. Sure enough, Munson was in right field (Mike Heath was the catcher).
We rode home after the game -- the five hours that it took --and got back around 3:30 a.m. I woke up sometime in the mid-afternoon the next day and celebrated my birthday. It paled in comparison to what I had experienced the night before.
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