Exit Sandman

"It's not too easy when you come to a decision like this," Mariano Rivera said, "After this year, I will be retired. ... Now you're hearing it from me. It's official now..... but I would love to say that it has been a privilege and honor to wear the pinstriped uniform that I have proudly worn for so many years in good times, great times. It has been wonderful…..Now is the time. I have given everything and the time is almost ending. The thing that I have, the little gas I have left is everything for this year. After that, I'll empty everything. There's nothing left. I did everything and I'm proud of it. That's why it's time."

Endings are…hard. As I watched the ever classy Mariano Rivera announce this would be his last year as a pitcher in Major League Baseball, many memories ran through my mind. The earliest recollection was witnessing one of his 10 career starts at the stadium. “Who’s this guy?” was everyone’s thought. Little did we know, 18 years later, we would be reminiscing about the greatest closer the game has ever seen. In 1996 Mo entering the game in the 7th inning meant a victory, all the way to the first New York Yankees World Series Championship of my lifetime. Rivera would be lights out for two innings and John Wetteland would cause every Yankee fan’s heart to bounce from their stomach to their throat as he walked a tightrope to close out the victory. The following year Rivera became the closer for the New York Yankees and the franchise never looked back.

608 regular season saves with a 2.21 career ERA, he rewrote the history books by becoming undoubtedly the best closer of all time. Oh you want clutch stats? How does 42 saves with a 0.70 ERA in playoffs strike you? How about being the anchor of the bullpen for 5 World Series Championships? Often the numbers don’t fully coincide with the story, in Rivera’s case, they do.

Endings are…hard. When you love sports as much as I do, you tend to build a one-sided relationship with the athletes you root for. They have no idea who you are, yet they play an integral part in your life. My admiration for Mariano Rivera takes that to a whole different level. It’s quite possible that I will never hold this type of esteem for another baseball player. You see, when Rivera broke into the major leagues I was a 12 year old little leaguer. 18 years later, I am a 30 year old grown man whose baseball highlights are long behind him. I grew up with Mariano Rivera, rooting for him for the majority of my life. Imagining life without rooting for Rivera is nearly impossible, baseball will never be the same. The recollection of begging my father to go meet Rivera and get his autograph in 1996 down in Nanuet, NY is still very fresh in my mind. That memory includes my father balking and reluctantly paying $20 for Rivera’s autograph. We kid all the time about this; how do you feel about that now Dad? I don’t need Mo to be gone for me to appreciate him, I am grateful I was able to cheer for him all these years. However, the finality of this announcement leaves me with a heavy heart.

Ironically enough, my most prevalent memory of Mariano Rivera may also be the most unpleasant. Luis Gonzalez’s bottom of the 9th inning bases loaded bloop single to win the 2001 World Series for the Arizona Diamondbacks, showing that Rivera was actually human. I was crushed, I had been spoiled. The New York Yankees had won four of the previous five World Series and it felt as if an annual championship was the norm. Seeing the clips of this still hurts me to this day, but it also invokes memories of something greater. A great baseball player showing he that he was also a great man. Rivera stood tall after his biggest career failure and answered every single redundant question pertaining to a topic that would make even the strongest man shrink into obscurity. And that will be Mariano Rivera’s legacy, a resume that could only be matched by his unblemished character.

It’s not often greatness can transcend simple pettiness. Pettiness in the sports world is especially palpable. With Rivera, this is not the case. Ask any Boston Red Sox fan how they feel about Mariano Rivera and the only thing that would indicate their Red Sox allegiance would be the red B etched into their dark blue ball cap. Mariano is not admired and respected by many; he is admired and respected by ALL. That’s the treatment you get when your greatness transcends rational thought, yet you continue to be humble. When ultimately asked about his place as the greatest closer of all time, Rivera displayed this, "I don't feel myself, the greatest of all time. I'm a team player; I would love to be remembered as a player who was always there for others."

Rivera’s retirement is not just the end of his career, but also the end of an era. He will be the last player in Major League Baseball to ever don the number 42, a number that someday will have two plaques in Yankee Stadium’s monument park. In 1997, the number 42 was retired universally by Major League Baseball in honor of the late Jackie Robinson, MLB's first black ballplayer. Another man who will be remembered just as much for his strength of character as his accomplishments on the field. Rachel Robinson, Robinson’s widow said of Rivera, "He carried himself with dignity and grace, and that made carrying the number a tribute to Jack." Rivera is the last player left that was grandfathered in to continue wearing the number 42. Furthermore, Rachel Robinson poignantly captured my thoughts by saying "Mariano is a wonderful player, and he's taken his place on the team in serious ways but also in graceful ways. I'm very pleased with what he's done, and I'm always a little sad when someone who's accomplished so much retires."

Indeed Mrs. Robinson, endings are…hard.