The Futility Infielder

Coming To Terms

Coverage of Tuesday's disaster continues to dominate the airwaves, but very little of it is breaking news, so I've managed to wean myself away for a better portion of the day. I've spent some time writing up my personal account of Tuesday's events, but I find I can do so only a bit at a time without emotionally exhausting myself.

Like most people in this city, I'm still very raw emotionally, capable of becoming glassy-eyed and teary at certain sights and stories on the TV. But I've taken such emotional responses as a sign that I am processing this horror in an appropriate manner. To quote the words of a Willie Nelson song: "After taking several readings, I'm surprised to find my mind still fairly sound." The deep discussions I've had with loved ones as we've comforted one another are conversations that I will remember forever for their sincerity and their honesty. We are not afraid to show our grief and our fear to one another, and we have come together stronger because of it.

I've been asked by friends and family if I've considered leaving New York City in the wake of this tragedy. My response has been that I've never been more proud to be a New Yorker than I am right now. We've been hit incredibly hard, but time after time, the people of this city have shown compassion towards one another--from our Mayor, Rudy Giuliani, down to even the random strangers we find ourselves next to in elevators, on subways and on the streets. As my girlfriend observed the other day, our value in the stock of human life has increased. For that, despite this tragedy, we are stronger.

Giuliani in particular has been a pillar of strength in these trying times. Historically speaking, I've found many of his administration's policies and decisions reprehensible throughout his reign as the Mayor of New York City. But over the past several days, I've admired his calm, his clarity, and his compassion in handling this crisis. He could have easily, as the horror unfolded, retreated to being "in the rear with the gear," yet he chose to stay as close as possible to the action, and he has shown an incredible grasp not only of the situation, but of the sensitivity required to console the fragile psyche of this city.

In the wake of the decisions to cancel nearly every major sporting event this past week, Herman Edwards, the coach of football's New York Jets, aptly described sports as "the toy deparment of life." As much as we all miss having baseball and football games around to signal the return to some degree of normality in American life--what would I have given to have yawned through a pitching change this week?--the people in charge of the various sports have shown an appropriate degree of sensitivity in postponing our games. I'm continually reminded of the eulogies of former NFL Commissioner Pete Rozelle, who took to his grave a regret that the NFL chose to play games on the weekend following the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. If the greatest of all sports commissioners couldn't respect the decision he was a part of to proceed, then those who have followed in his wake and chosen to postpone our games have done the correct thing at this time.

On Sunday I was supposed to be attending a ballgame at Camden Yards in Baltimore, between the Orioles and the Red Sox. As it so happens, the tickets I'm holding will become tickets to Cal Ripken's final ballgame. I am considering auctioning off those tickets--which would fetch a pretty penny--and donating the money to one of the numerous charities that have sprung up in the wake of this disaster. While nothing would thrill me more than to be at the final ballgame of such a legend, I'm afraid the guilt I would feel over being able to witness this momentous occasion only by a fluke of tragedy would mar my own experience. And I know that the suddenly increased value of the tickets is money that could be more appropriately spent on far more important matters.

We often talk of athletes as our heroes, but the events of this week have made clear once again how ridiculous such a designation is. Not to belittle the sensitive responses of the players, who stood united in their belief that games at this time were inappropriate, or in particular the members of the New York Yankees, who toured the city Saturday night, meeting with the relatives of those missing and touring the rescue areas, offering their consolations to those affected. But the type of people who deserve to be called heroes are the firefighters, policemen, and other emergency services personnel who have come to the city's aid, many of whom gave their lives trying to do so.

This tragic toll hits close to home. Walking by the fire station just around the corner two days ago, I learned that a dozen men from Ladder Company #3 are missing and presumed dead. At other stations I've passed by, the toll is similar--entire squadrons have been wiped out in some cases. Our athletes are admirable entertainers, but the real heroes are the people trying to save lives when all Hell is breaking loose. Let us not forget that once the games resume.