I Grew Up with Derek Jeter: His Role in the Upbringing of an Entire Generation
July 9, 2011 · TheFanManifesto · Jump to comments
Article Source: Bleacher Report - New York Yankees
More than the Toy Story trilogy, Nickelodeon and perhaps Yankee Stadium itself, Derek Jeter was my childhood.
As a New Yorker growing up in the late ’90s and throughout the ’00s, my sports fandom and the Yankee captain’s career are inexorably linked. He was my first connection to professional sports, the superhuman shortstop whose face adorned the walls of my bedroom, whose number was displayed on the back of my Little League jersey, whose patented “jump throw” was imitated to minimal degrees of success.
Of course I was not alone. Jeter is my generation’s Mantle, the Yankee King who held court over the city of New York for the better part of two decades. The player that anyone of a certain age will speak of with a reverence reserved only for close friends and family members. The reliable role model whose presence would could always be counted on.
The lineup shuffled, the role players changed and the Bernie Williamses left. But for as long as I can remember, Derek Jeter defined stability, slapping balls the other way and perennially picking up 200 hits. Every night at 7:05 PM, for more than six months, the scene would be exactly the same: Derek standing at shortstop with Death Valley as his backdrop, waiting to step into the on-deck circle and fulfill his role as the second batter in the Yankees lineup.
He didn’t do it for free. More than $200 million of accrued salary would attest to that. But you always got the feeling that he would have. He may not have had Mantle’s talent or Ruth’s superiority, but the “Jeter Gene” is just as dominant in the DNA of both the New York Yankees and New York City.
Derek Jeter’s status as the most beloved figure in recent sports history has less to do with his inside-out swing or his five world series rings or his numerous celebrity girlfriends than it does to how he managed to obtain those things.
Kids always seem to dream of being Major League ballplayers, but Jeter represented something different. He had actually gotten there. He had grown up telling everyone he was going to be the shortstop for the New York Yankees, and his claims were realized to unimaginable lengths.
His success made you believe you could do the same thing. It made you tell everyone that you were going to be Derek Jeter someday. It made you ask your parents questions like, “When I’m shortstop for the Yankees, will that meanie Steinbrenner still be the owner?”
The question would inevitably become moot, but Jeter’s aura never staled. Every time he appeared destined for a fall off (.292 AVG in ’04, .300 AVG in ’08), he’d make you incredulous all over again (.343 in ’06, .334 in ’09).
Just like a certain cutter-hurling closer, Jeter’s success seemed eternal. He would always be the all-star shortstop of the New York Yankees. Singles driven through the right side were a foregone conclusion. Anything else was unfathomable, if only because you didn’t know what anything else would look like.
Then came the last 220 games and 1,000 or so at-bats, and with them the slow and painful disintegration of Jeter’s Peter Pan-like mystique. So many could-be-a-double-play groundballs to the opposing shortstop. So many slow bouncers to third. So many times watching Jeter bolt down the first baseline, still believing he could reach first base safely when everything pointed to the contrary.
So on July 9, 2011 at 1:58 PM EST, Derek Jeter stepped into the batter’s box following a first-inning double. The shadow of 3,000 had loomed for months, delayed by a hamstring injury and perpetuated by a story-hungry media. But here he was, his statsheet reading 2,999 and one of the game’s most intimidating southpaws trying to forestall a historic celebration. And wait—there it is! GO, GO, GOOOOOO!
YYYYYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!!!
It isn’t too often I jump off my catch when watching the third inning of a summer matinee. But the specter of that at-bat was just too nostalgic and memorable to be treated normally.
As Jeter fought off numerous foul balls and worked the count to 3-2, it was as classic a Jeter moment as we’ve gotten over the past few years. Right up until he uncharacteristically drove a hanging slider into the leftfield stands. Right up until he knocked five hits in five at-bats, something he never did even at his .330-hitting, MVP competing peak.
As Michael Kay said in his usual hackneyed (but in this case, appropriate) manner, the scene was taken directly from a Hollywood script. On a rare no-doubter, the aging star sprints out of the batter’s box even faster than usual. The ball lands in the seats. The crowd goes nuts and the first baseman tips his hat. The star doesn’t break stride until he embraces his two best friends, a smile as long as his illustrious career enveloping his face.
Tears came to my eyes and memories—both sports-infested and sports-agnostic—swirled in my head. Jeter truly was the staple of my childhood, the glue that held it together as it relocated from the city to the suburbs, from elementary school, to high school and college.
He was there when I went to my first Yankee game. He was there when I picked up a baseball bat for the first time and attempted—poorly—to imitate his unique batting stance. He was there in the thousands of conversations I’ve ever had with my family or friends, the impetus for my sports fandom and therefore responsible for all the debates and craziness that ensued.
More importantly, I was there. Say what you want about the arbitrary nature of devoting one’s emotions to the abilities of a group of 25 men you’ve never met. The ties still bind, and well. His John Hancock is still inscribed on various items throughout my room.
His achievements are still ingrained in my memory. I’ve never met the man and quite likely never will. But for as long as I live, I will remember how Derek Jeter’s role in my childhood was paramount, his career as inseparable from my early life as my own parents, every friend I’ve ever made and anywhere I’ve ever been.
For as long as I live, I will remember growing up with Derek Jeter.
This article is part of TheFanManifesto.
Jesse Golomb writes for Baseball Digest and is its All-Time Teams Guru. He is the creator and writer ofThe Fan Manifesto, a website for the educated sports fan. He can be followed on Twitter@TheFanManifesto or contacted by email at JesseGolomb@TheFanManifesto.com.
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