SHUTTING THE DOOR ON 2004, Part 2
Okay: New Year is upon us,
Regis Philbin rocked New Year's Eve, and apprently Dick Clark is still
alive. The ball dropped in Times Square, apparently Osama did not
target NYC on this moment of great crowd concentration, and since this
is not an election year, the administration did not even bother to take
credit for warding off Osama or any of his colleagues and cohorts, yet
again.
This must be the Kerik-aftershock effect. Poor Bernie, er, bad choice
of words, pitiful Bernie, a good man at his job, turned into the butt
of many jokes due to some bad choices and questionable dealings.
The sad thing about all this is that Bernie Kerik probably was the best person for the job.
Moral of the story: don't have affairs, hire illegals, use influence to
get good deals, or have any dealings at all with mob-types . . . if you
want to hold an appointed federal position, subject to much
scrutiny. Or maybe the moral of the story should be aimed at
Rudy: don't have types like Bernie on your team unless you are prepared
for the Rove Squad to use a Bernie-type to quash your future hopes and
put you in your place as soon as you've used up your political capital
and emotional sway with the powers that currently be.
A PAUSE IN THE RECAP - FOR SOME ODDNESS
Today, January 3, 2005, is the oddest day in years. Yes, we can look at today as a particularly odd
one: 01/03/05. There hasn't been a day like this since . .
. yep, 1905. Next year there will be the satisfying March 3rd,
which will look like this: 03/03/06. And this year on May 5th (a
special day in Mexico every year) it will be 05/05/05.
Every 11 months and one day will be that way through 2012.. There's a neat story [1] about these arithmetic numerological (?) occurences in today's New York Daily News [1].
Numbers have always been special to me. I like playing with them,
I like mathematical brain teasers, and there's a school of thought that
Everything is Math, and I might just be swimming with those fish.
After all, I am a Pisces .
BACK TO 2004 and A LOOK AT 2005
Readers of DeanLand are fully aware that Baseball is
another closely watched area hereabouts, every year, every month, every
day. 2004 was The Year of the Unthinkable
so far as Baseball was concerned. The Yankees didn't win it
all. The Cardinals, truly playing like the 2004 Team of Destiny,
lost four in a row to the Red Sox, and blew their big shot in the World
Series.
Death was all over Baseball and The Yankees in particular this past year.
Eddie Layton had retired as Yankee Stadium organist at the of the 2003
season. We missed him in 2004, although the two keyboard men who
replaced him managed to maintain the spirit of Layton's background and
emphasis licks. Still, though, despite two pretty good
replacements, he was sorely missed, conspicuous in his absence.
At the very end of 2004 Eddie Layton passed away. The 86 years of
the Curse of The Babe came to an end, and so did Eddie Layton.
The loss of Eddie Layton, in so many ways, is cause for greater sadness
than the Bosox win. The Yanks can regain the championship, return
to the top. But there's no more chance of regaining or returning
Eddie Layton to the stadium organ.
Known to millions worldwide as a great opera singer, the man who
appeared at the Met, among the most famous voices of the century,
Robert Merrill passes away in 2004. To Yankee fans this is a
particularly tough loss. Opening Day, Old Timer's Day, any number
of special events, the starting game of Championship and World Series
-- were always ushered in with the voice of Robert Merrill. He
was even given an offficial number, like the players. Merrill was
#1Ω. They aren't likely to retire that number, but it is highly
doubtful that anyone will ever get it again. There was something
very New York, very Yankees, very much the city that was Robert
Merrill, Yankee Fan, Opera Singer, famous guy.
Eddie Layton and Robert Merrill, two men of music, so closely
associated with the Yankees and Yankee Stadium, gone in 2004.
Somehow these passings and the Red Sox winning the World Series make
for a somber baseball retrospective in 2004.
Very glad the year is over.
Former Texas Rangers Manager Johnny Oates died at the end of
2004. Oates was a Yankee in the end of his career, in the role
of second catcher and bench jockey. Always a welcome
clubhouse presence and a man of great baseball insight, the Yanks gave
Oates a coaching job as soon as he retired from playing.
Oates went on to manage in Baltimore, where he'd had many years playing
as an Oriole, and then the Rangers. A brain tumor was
diagnosed, and he outlived all diagnoses and predictions. Oates
had retired after the Rnagers signed A-Rod, but had a horrid record to
start A-Rod's initial season. He left the position, went out with
class, and remained a strong presence in the Rangers organization.
Oates was one of a small and special crew of baseball players, coaches,
and managers. Anyone who didn't like and respect Johnny Oates might as
well either be an alien, or some sort of mental case. This was a
universally beloved man. One of my clients from a good many years
back was a friend of Oates, and he could never say enough good things
about the man. Over 400 people showed up at Oates' memorial
service.
A major loss for Baseball, the death of Johnny Oates in 2004.
2004, the year a lot of joy went out of Baseball. Except in
Boston. And in Boston it was the year the fans had to cope with
learning how to deal with not
losing. Of course, this is something they will forget about and
quickly re-adapt to their comfy and well-honed tradition of losing. To
The Yankees.
Of course, because now it is 2005, and Boston begins the next 86 years
of The Curse. The Curse Lives. Long live The Curse.
Deep Thought Suffers a Loss
A mind so brilliant and the ability
to communicate such as were embodied by Susan Sontag come along very
rarely. The tail end of 2004 saw Susan Sontag succomb to a
20-year bout with cancer. In this past Sunday's New York Times
Week In review section, whereone can find the Sunday Op-Ed page, a
touching piece by Pete Hamill mourns the loss of Sontag and New York
City actor Jerry Orbach. Hamill manages to combine that certain
New York sense they both had (very different individually and
respectively, but a New York thing they shared just the same) in his
eulogy/memoir/appreciation.