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Joanne Brokaw

freelance writer s columnist

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This Life

life, faith and everything in between

July 4, 2004

When Baseball Hits Home

I get a lot of flak for being a Yankees’ fan. One friend constantly refers to them as "the evil empire". (The fact that he's Canadian allows me to laugh off his comments. What do Canadians know about baseball?)

Weird, but I guess you either love 'em or you hate 'em. (The Yankees, I mean. Not Canadians.)

The truth is that I've loved the Yankees since grade school. Sixth grade, to be exact, when my parents separated for a while and my mother, sister and I moved to Massachusetts to live with my grandparents.

Now, when I say "fan", I don't mean a fanatic, in the sense that I watch all the games or sport the memorabilia. I don't know the stats or starting line up. I've never been to a game, and probably never will go. (confession: I'd rather watch the games on TV because I can see everything that's going on and hear the play by play.)

What I mean is that the Yankees are a part of my history; loving the team is one tiny element of my make up, like the fact that I prefer Coke over Pepsi, and grew up listening to Donny Osmond. It's who I am: a bubble-gum-pop-music-loving, Coke-in-the-glass-bottle-drinking, Yankees fan.

That was the era of Catfish Hunter and Thurman Munson, just before Bucky Dent became the Yankee pinup boy of the late 70s (Derek who?). I remember sitting with my cousin Lynne in the room we shared, making a poster with every team member's name on it and a big NY logo in the middle. Chris Chambliss, Lou Pinella, Craig Nettles, Willie Randolph, Catfish and Thurman, manager Billy Martin. (confession: I couldn't tell you who was on the team before the first game I watched this season, but by the third inning they were as familiar as family.)

You'd think that the Yankees would remind me that my life turned upside down, but there were a lot of fun memories, too.

Like the family - I had cousins coming out my ears while we lived there! Back home in Rochester, there weren't any cousins, but Pittsfield made up for it. I remember dressing up like the Farkle Family for Halloween - six cousins in various hillbilly attire, with our front teeth blackened out. (confession: when my aunt, jokester that she is, sent that picture to us all this Christmas, my eyes welled up with tears. That was the most fun I remember ever having on Halloween.)

And the friends I made while we lived there were special, small town kids who were different than my suburban, ride-the-school-bus, middle class friends. There's something about walking to some tiny school every day in snow and freezing cold that bonds kids together for life. Lots of time to talk, throw snowballs, and enjoy each other's company.

It was during that time that my cousin Lynn introduced me to “General Hospital” (confession: I still check to see what's new. Where are Luke and Laura?) and my grandfather introduced me to professional wrestling - Andre the Giant, Haystack Calhoun and Ivan Putsky. (confession: I gave that up the day we moved back to Rochester, although I recently found out that my cousin Justin is now a wrestler. Who knew?)

And, of course, the Yankees. I never became a rabid Yankee fan, although I was a big Bucky Dent fan in junior high. (confession: years later, I was working in the sales dept. at the hotel where the baseball teams stayed when they came to town, and I'd heard that Bucky Dent, who was managing the Columbus Clippers at the time, was checking in at the front desk. I snuck through the front office to catch peek. I was surprised to see him graying and looking much older, and it hit me that I was aging, too.)

Mostly, the Yankees remind me of a time in my life when both terrible and great things happened in my life at the same time, when I began to become who I am.

Which explains why I'm a Yankees fan.

Or maybe it doesn't. Not that it matters, because whether you think the Yankees are the gods of baseball, or the evil empire, I'll still root for them.

You always root for family.

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