This is the Greatest and Best Closer in the World…Tribute (Part II: A View From The Top)

In The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, we learn the Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything is 42. While the characters in the book are perplexed by this abstract response and spend the next several million years searching for the Question, it could be argued, in similarly abstract fashion, that this answer also holds true in the Yankee universe. When the going got tough, the innings drew late, and the stakes grew higher, the boys in pinstripes always had an answer – 42.

The last man to wear this number couldn’t have done so with more professionalism and dominance. Mariano Rivera transcended rivalries and consistently exceeded expectations. There have been many instances of a revered sports figure announcing prior to a season that it would be his last, yet the reception Rivera has received across the nation since April is unprecedented. No other professional athlete in recent memory has commanded the same level of respect from both players and fans alike, and this is even more a reflection of who he is as a human being than the records and championship rings of which he possesses. Sure, the likes of Reggie Miller or Ray Rice will get heartfelt ovations from opposing fan bases and be lauded by scores of journalists and commentators for their contributions and team loyalty through the years, but it will be a very long time before we see anything like volume of gifts and tributes bestowed upon Mariano this year. There was a charitable donation or meaningful gift waiting for him at every ballpark he visited this season – for the record, the broken bat rocking chair in Minnesota was by far the best – and the Giants even provided a present while they were the visiting squad in New York. They were just as happy for him as they were about not having to face him anymore.

There aren’t any words to say about Rivera that haven’t already been said. But from here on out, what we do have that remains unique is our memories, fond and abundant. The last time I saw Mariano in person was at Camden Yards, a beautiful park full of history in its own right. My friend and I had splurged on some nice neats only a few rows back from first base and were loving life regardless of the score. The Yanks had been down all game, but managed to produce a rally in the top of the 9th, capped off by a three-run homer that gave them the lead by a slim margin and extended the game into the bottom half of the inning. At that point, everyone knew what was coming next. We popped the headphones into my iPhone and split the earbuds, listening to “Enter Sandman” as no. 42 slowly trotted to the mound. After that, it was lights out. The batters knew that vicious cutter was coming, and they couldn’t do a thing about it. Perhaps that’s what I’ll miss the most – the certainty. Everyone knew he was coming into the game. Everyone knew his entrance song. Everyone knew what he was going to throw, and much of the time, even where he was going to throw it. And still, it was beautiful in its simplicity, a masterpiece of consistency.

He was a hero. He was the GOAT.

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