Pedro Martinez Still Calls The Yankees His Daddy

Ever have a hard time coming up with a title for some creative project – a book, a song, a painting? Or maybe a name for your small business?

Well, don’t worry about it. Just keep doing the work. That title or company name will soon come to you, often in a most unusual way.

Such was the case with my third book, Call the Yankees My Daddy.

And for that I have to thank Pedro Martinez, who is scheduled to start World Series Game 2 at Yankee Stadium tomorrow night.

The frustration that had long simmered inside Pedro Martinez finally came rushing to the surface on September 24, 2004. The one baseball team the future Hall of Fame pitcher could not dominate – the New York Yankees – had beaten him again on this night, for the second time in six days, leaving him at a loss to explain why.

In a small interview area at Boston’s Fenway Park, the right-hander tried to speak through the pain about those Yankees, the team against whom he failed to protect a 4-0 lead in the ultimate game of the American League Championship Series at Yankee Stadium.

Because of his failure that night, the Yankees, and not the Red Sox, advanced to the World Series. The Yankees had stung Martinez yet again.

Could the Dominican Diva find the words to express such anguish?

“What can I say?” he began with a shrug. “I just tip my hat and call the Yankees my daddy.”

Words that will always bring a smile to the face of a Yankee fan, including this one. I pledged allegiance to the Yankees decades ago, when they were as anguished as Martinez, an erstwhile dynasty left in ruin.

So frequent were the Yankee losses, so constant the teasing from others, including my own father and brother who rooted for other teams, that I could relate to Joe Hardy, the long-suffering fan from Damn Yankees, who sold his soul to the devil to see his team beat the Yankees and win the championship just once.

The only difference was I wanted to see the Yankees win just once.

Fortunately, without having to sell my soul, I saw the Yankees of the mid-1970s become champions again, and also-rans a decade later, and champions yet again in 1996 – this time with me in a front-row seat as a newspaper reporter covering their renaissance – and then a dynasty no more.

The Yankees have taken me on an emotional rollercoaster ride for decades, allowing me to experience a gamut of emotions – from the exultation of the overachieving 1996 team from which Major League Baseball’s last dynasty was spawned to the heartbreak of the 2004 team that squandered a 3-0 ALCS lead (to the Red Sox, of all teams) and ended up historic losers.

Yet there was never any doubt that I would come back for another ride. A baseball fan always does.

Baseball is the best friend that goes away every winter but returns right on time every spring.

Baseball is the constant that endures while so much of life changes.

Baseball is what formed an unbreakable bond between father and sons and between brothers in my Brooklyn, New York household.

And baseball became a needful diversion that helped me endure the losses of those closest to me. Baseball isn’t perfect, far from it, but thankfully it is always there.

Over the years I have spent more time with baseball and the Yankees than just about anything or anyone else, and I’ve learned quite a few things – about what’s good in the game and what isn’t, about myself and my family, about life and death.

Those are the things I share with readers in Call the Yankees My Daddy. But I don’t do it in chronological order, not in the typical way.

Instead, I share these things with you the way Lola, the temptress from Damn Yankees, might have done it: I’ll give you a little bit of this and a little bit of that, with an emphasis on the latter.

Oh, by the way, Yankees over Phillies in 6. And it will be fun to watch Pedro try to get my boys out tomorrow night.