Confessions of a She-Fan (31 page)

Everybody chuckles. The new Joe makes jokes, like the old Joe.

“It just really puts it in perspective,” he goes on, “because that's someone who we've all looked up to over the years. Yogi Berra called me at home on Halloween! It was really amazing!”

“Joe, you had a successful year in 2006 managing the Marlins,” comes the next question. “And you voluntarily took a year off. Was there a concern to manage this year somewhere?”

“We had kind of made a commitment as a family that I was going to spend time with my father. And ultimately this is where we wanted to end up. We didn't know when it would happen, but it was a dream of ours. Was I worried? No. Because of our faith, I believe that if you're meant to manage, you're going to manage.”

Our
faith
. There is that word again.

Baseball is just a game. But like religion, it has rituals. I need rituals. I need traditions. traditions. I need something to believe in,whether I worship in a church or a stadium. I believed in the Yankees and then divorced them and came all the way back to believing in them again, and what I have learned, if anything, is this: My belief—my faith—transcends individual players and is deeper than the outcome of any game, any season. It is unshakable.

“Last month hasn't been an easy one for the Yankees,” says Sweeny Murti, posing the next question. “There's been a lot of upheaval.”

“In every organization there is going to be change from time to time,” Joe says. “That's just the nature of the business. But this is the New York Yankees.
It's not going anywhere. It's going to be here long after we're all gone.
This is the
New York Yankees
.”

I sit up straighter in my chair.

I have no idea if Joe Girardi will be a great manager or even a good one. But he has me in his corner.

A-Rod's eyes narrow
.
He looks very sharp in his open-collared white shirt and dark blazer and slacks, very Master of the Universe. He is the picture of success, in fact—a man in total control of himself. And yet his mouth twitches.

“Are you worth it?” I ask again about the mammoth 10-year deal he signed with the Yankees in November. He will be paid $27.5 million per year and earn $6 million for reaching the home-run totals of Willie Mays, Babe Ruth, Hank Aaron, and Barry Bonds, plus another $6 million for breaking Bonds's record. These are not incentives; they are revenue sharing in “historic events.” The deal came about after he finally had a face-to-face meeting with the Steinbrenner boys—without Scott Boras in the room. He and C-Rod persuaded Hank and Hal that his clumsy opt-out during the World Series was all a misunderstanding, that they really do love New York.

“I'm not sure,” he says. “I mean, that's not my job to evaluate or appraise players. I love to play baseball.”

“But if you love the game, why did you opt out of your contract on baseball's biggest night? Can you understand why so many people found that incredibly offensive?”

His mouth twitches again. We are sitting directly across from each other. I can see his every movement, even the bobbing of his Adam's apple when he swallows. “Absolutely. If I was a sportswriter, if I was a fan, I would have been very, very, very upset.”

“That's a lot of
very
s.”

“Well, it was very, very, very difficult. I was in my living room watching the game. game. I got white like a ghost.”

“You got hammered by the press. A number of respected writers called you, among other things, Pay-Rod in Pinstripes. My husband, Michael, called you a big phony jerk.”

“Please apologize to Michael and tell him that what happened was unacceptable. And inappropriate.”

“Thank goodness Warren Buffet set you straight, billionaire to billionaire, and you ditched Boras,” I say. “You did ditch him, right?”

A-Rod takes even more time answering this one, so I turn to C-Rod, who is next to him.

“Cynthia, do you think Alex has changed as a result of this?”

“He wasn't used to having to take such initiative.” She is not wearing a “Fuck You” tank top. She is dressed in a chic little black sleeveless number. “He actually had to pick up the phone, make the calls, make some decisions, and stand behind them. It was a huge growing experience.”

“What about your marriage, though? How did you weather the tabloid reports about an alleged extramarital affair?”

I expect the question to anger A-Rod, but he says very calmly and resolutely, “It was a challenging time. And, you know, we've learned from it. We've regrouped. We've stood up. And now I think we've become much closer because of the whole situation.”

I move on to what everybody in the country is talking about: yesterday's Congressional hearings. Last month, George Mitchell released his investigation into what he termed “the steroids era” in Major League Baseball. The report named names, including those of Roger Clemens and Andy Pettitte.

“Who do you believe?” I ask. “Roger or Andy?”

“Jane, you're putting me in a tough spot. I mean, these are guys that I played with. Andy is still my teammate.”

“For the record, have you ever used steroids, human growth hormone, or any other performance-enhancing substance?”

“No.”

“You never felt like ‘This guy's doing it. Maybe I should look into this, too? He's getting better numbers, playing better ball'?”

“I've never felt overmatched on the baseball field.”

I clear my throat and look him dead in the eye. “Just one more thing before I let you go.”

He wipes a bead of sweat from his glossy upper lip. “Sure.”

“Are you a true Yankee?”

Another bead of sweat begins to form. His mouth does a double twitch.

“Jane! Jane! Come on. Wake up.”

Someone is tugging at my arm. I open my eyes. Michael stands over me, the morning sun streaming in from the window behind him.

“Time to get up. You have a book to write.”

“What?”

“You were having another Yankee dream.”

I sit up and shake off my grogginess. “I got an exclusive with A-Rod.”

“Don't you ever just sleep?” Michael smiles. “Do you know what today is?”

“Spring training. Pitchers and catchers report.”

He wraps me in his arms. “Happy Valentine's Day.”