Like Clockwork: 602

There are very few players who have clearly distinguished themselves as the greatest of all time at his or her respective position. The level of both regular and post-season greatness needed to achieve such an elite title is almost unheard of. Mariano Rivera took over the Yankees closer position with big shoes to fill. His illustrious career from that point on made John Wetteland’s 50 saves in 1996 (7 of which were in their championship playoff run) one of the greatest personal seasons to be quickly forgotten. The numbers don’t lie with Mo; his 2.22 ERA through over 1200 innings has left hitters in a state of complete and utter confusion for fifteen strong seasons. Putting Rivera’s career into perspective is no easy feat, but no one has to. In this case, in depth appreciation will do.

Mariano’s weapon of choice has been a product of his machine-like delivery and production. His cutter has the ability to saw an opposing bat in half, and moves in on left handed batters so violently that many switch hitters have opted to bat right handed against him. Right handers don’t have much luck either as the cutter runs away from them. The consistent success and effectiveness of using just one pitch doesn’t make much sense; a batter who knows what’s coming should have the advantage. But Mo suspends logic by finding the loop hole in an MLB swing. While his velocity has taken a slight hit in his later years, his delivery and precision are unlike anyone else in baseball. Consistency is the one word to describe Rivera and how he has been unaffected by the wear and tear of a long pitching career. As a result of this gift, Yankee fans are exceptionally spoiled when it comes to their team’s 9^th innings. I am as good an example as any, it never occurred to me that 9^th inning leads aren’t safe at all. The few saves that Rivera blows every year are devastating because the game is assumed to be over. For many, Metallica is the opener to the post game show. As Mo’s career inches closer and closer to its final trick, I have become more and more awestruck by what he brings to our team. Even more importantly, I no longer take it for granted because it has become clear that what he has done is not normal or routine; it is extraordinary.

Mariano embodies what it means to be a New York Yankee. From his performance to his overall demeanor, he is a true professional. The image of Jorge Posada literally pushing Mo back into the center of the diamond symbolizes the mystery behind how one can remain so humble despite such consistent dominance. I would note that his unassuming and gracious personality is unlike the majority of five time champions who carry a sub-1 ERA in the post-season, but I’m in no mood to search for another guy who possesses those numbers. No man has ever slammed so many doors shut, all while holding one open to keep his team’s championship hopes alive for years. When he finally does retire he will be as missed as any to have played the game of baseball. While they will breathe a much needed sigh of relief, even fans of other teams will miss Rivera. It is not every day that a fan of any given sport can watch the greatest of all time take the field and do what he does best. Mo will be missed one day, but not yet. After all, who knows the age at which that cutter becomes ineffective? Either way, I am happy the last man to ever sport a 42 jersey every day in baseball has done the honor such justice.

But let me clear up one misunderstanding. Mo did not just become the greatest closer of all time. Truthfully, the greatest closer of all time now has the most saves. To sum it all up, Mariano is the closer of all closers. He is the exclamation point on the thrilling sentence that is a Yankee game. After watching a star studded and powerful lineup battle through eight innings, the crowd’s excitement begins to grow as they anticipate the most predictable yet still awesome ending in sports. The call to the bullpen. The crowd stands up. And then…enter sandman. That goofy rocker guy with the long hair in the crowd goes up on the big screen. A roar of applause greets the man himself. Then comes business as usual. Cutters painting corners; the ump basically uses them to check how his strike zone was throughout the game. A broken bat or two later, the crowd stands again for the final strike. Whether by swing or just window shopping, the final batter takes a seat. Cue music as Frank Sinatra fills the stands and the fans make their way home. And just like that, like clockwork, the sandman strikes again.