Monday, October 12, 2009

Old Guard glory never grows old - New York Post

Old Guard glory never grows old
By MIKE VACCARO

Last Updated: 11:22 AM, October 12, 2009
Posted: 3:06 AM, October 12, 2009

MINNEAPOLIS -- The celebration on the field was muted and reserved, the nine men in road grays honoring the old directive to act like they had been here before. Derek Jeter fielded the ball, fired to first, pumped his fist in postgame delight the same way he has been doing it since Opening Day in Cleveland in 1996.
Mariano Rivera was stoic as always, cracking a thin smile as the Metrodome quieted for the final time in its baseball life, this 4-1 Yankees victory over, this 3-0 ALDS sweep complete. He shook hands with Jorge Posada, then let it morph into a hug, a most familiar postgame ritual. Andy Pettitte?
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"I just couldn't stop smiling," Pettitte said. "It's always so . . ."
He smiled, looking for the right word, then found it.
"Sweet," he said. "So, so sweet."
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They are the last portion of the dynasty still wearing pinstripes, a most regal final four, 16 rings spread among them and more memories than they will ever be able to keep track of when their rank is finally reduced to zero. So many have come and gone through the years, and all of them spoke about feeling good for the newbies in the clubhouse, the big-ticket guys and the fill-ins.
"You see how happy they are," Posada said, "and it makes you feel good for them."
But they felt good for themselves, too, because for all the muscle memory that used to rule the day around the Yankees, all the years when they seemed to win on auto-pilot, it had been five years since they had won a postseason series, an endless march through the desert.
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The Red Sox had won two World Series in that time, the White Sox one, after a combined total of 172 years. The Mets had won a postseason series in the interim. The Tampa Bay Rays had won a pennant. Five years can vanish in an eye-blink if you aren't careful, and the world can turn upside-down.
"These guys have been through so much together," said manager Joe Girardi, who put in a lot of time playing alongside the final four and now has a postseason victory to his managerial credit because he is fortunate enough to manage them. "I feel really good about that, and really good for them."
Each of the final four had a say in what happened last night, too. For some it was routine: Rivera getting the last four outs in a save that you would call ho-hum only if you have missed the adventures of Joe Nathan and Jonathan Papelbon this weekend, Jeter serving as the heads-up middle man in play that defined the game, starting a 6-2-5 relay that nailed Nick Punto as the tying run at third and all but stuck a fork in the Metrodome's bubble roof.
For the other two?
Pettitte was remarkable, as good as he has ever been on a night when he would tie John Smoltz for the most wins in the history of the postseason with 15. He was perfect through four innings and merely superb for the balance of his 81-pitch night, allowing a run on three hits.
But it is Posada who barely will need the airplane this morning to fly back to LaGuardia. A year ago he was forced to sit idly by as his teammates missed the postseason for the first time since 1993, more question marks attached to his uniform than the Riddler's. Just three days ago he was benched in favor of Jose Molina, having to answer all the old questions about his defense.
And yet with the Yankees in sight of ending their October skein, Posada hit the go-ahead home run in the sevent h and made the key peg to nail Punto in the eighth. One more time, he embodied everything an admiring Twins manager Ron Gardenhire said he envied about this team as a whole, and the final four as a group.
"I hate it when I play against them," Gardenhire said, "but I do enjoy watching the way they play. They are professionals. They are baseball players."
And they are October winners, again, for the first time since John Kerry's Swift Boaters shared the headlines, and you could see it all over their champagne-streaked faces: This was sweet. So, so sweet.
michael.vaccaro@nypost.com

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