Keidel: In Reality, Jeter's Career Ended That October Night Against Detroit
By Jason Keidel
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About a month ago, I declared the death of the 2014 New York Yankees. And I was met with all manner of fury. It's hard to say it's over.
Now that it's official, the Yankees are adjusting to some new, haunting realities. And so are we. The Bronx Bombers are a bust yet again, their second consecutive season sans an invitation to the playoffs, no run at their ancestral perch, the World Series.
And even more startling is the reality that the Yanks are not only far from No. 1, they are about to lose No. 2.
Derek Jeter, who's spent his career in long sleeves under the brown leaves of the World Series, will play his last game this month. And it turns out his farewell was far more hollow than he hoped. This season was wrapped in retirement gifts, gadgets, and sacred sobriquets, but none of the frosty, moonlit nights of October, which seemed to be his professional birthright.
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And unlike the last 19 seasons, he will not return the following April. So a career that started so white-hot ends in with a cold bat and no pennant fever. Even those of us who didn't worship Jeter realize he deserved a more glittering exit from the sport he graced for two decades. He entered the front door of a dynasty and leaves out the back door of a collapsing franchise.
There will be a chasmal void at shortstop, which can be measured in physical and metaphysical metrics. Jeter is equal parts hitter, fielder, captain and consigliere. His absence will be felt far up the totem pole.
Jeter skipped the three-tier tableau of athletics. He didn't crawl or walk, but just ran the moment he hit the diamond. When we stand back and take the long view of an iconic career, we realize we never prepared for this day. Since we attach teenage romanticism to our athletes, we think it will last forever, just like our childhood.
But he has met the fate of all heroes in repose. Entering Wednesday night's game he had gone hitless in 24 at-bats -- which stretched to 28 -- an appalling streak that began on Sept. 7. Jeter is now officially not Jeter. Instead, he's a .250 hitter who looks every day of his 40 years. And while he broke the epic ofer, he's no longer dynamic essence that put Jeter on the Mt. Rushmore of shortstops, and in Monument Park of Yankees.
The slow decay began before this month, of course. In honest retrospect, the unofficial end of his career came the cold night he snapped his ankle in the ALCS. He had to be helped off the field, and it turns out the trainers took Jeter and the Yankees' dynasty off the diamond that night.
On some abstract level, we know that all stars and All-Stars die, and that someone will replace them on the field. Jeter will retreat to his mansion in Florida, just minutes from where he played last night against the Rays. Off the record, you wonder if Jeter would rather just go back to "St. Jetersburg" than board his nth flight back to New York, to the increasing chill of autumn, and the emptiness of a failed season.
Jeter will return, like the conga line of luminaries that only the Yankees can bring to an Old TImers' Day (which the PC Police has turned to Legends' Day or something similarly muted). But the shared hope and adrenaline rush is gone, and Jeter devotees must now find a new face and place to worship.
There's no fertility in the farm system, no one to whom Jeter may pass the dynastic baton, the way he so nobly took it from Bernie and the old salt from the '90s. So this is a barren winter for almost everyone touched by the Yankees.
But as he said this week, he has two more weeks to raise his average, and your hopes, that things will get better. That's what sports will do, give hope to the hopeless, and the illusion that the good times last forever.
And knowing Derek Jeter, there's probably one more magic trick up his pinstriped sleeve.
Follow Jason on Twitter at @JasonKeidel
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