It ain't ours any more to win

Some of my time living in the Bronx coincided with a George Steinbrenner suspension (the second one, I believe), so it almost goes without saying that the Yankees were fairly bad those times I took the 4 train about 5 stops in mostly sit in the bleachers.

My relationship with George was a love/hate one for sure.

I loved how he resurrected the team in the mid- to-late 70s. In fact, the ’78 season stands as one of my fondest sports (and maybe otherwise) memories. I loved his will to win, his almost Lombardi-like commitment to excellence.

But I hated his buffoonish ways: interfering on what seemed like a weekly basis, the Billy Martin ongoing circus, the aforementioned embarrassing suspensions, the outlandish faked story about getting in a fight with a Dodgers fan.

What a polar opposite Bob Sheppard was to the often oft-cartoonish Steinbrenner. The PA announcer for Yankees and Giants games was often described as “the voice of God,” which was apt, but what I enjoyed most was the way he exemplified class in an area that is increasingly the home for bombastic, over-the-top exhibitionists.

You know, the kind of announcer Steinbrenner would have been had that been his vocation.

I never went to a Yankees or Giants game without Sheppard’s eloquent words and erudite tone echoing around the stadium. I’ve often thought of Yankee Stadium as a sort of cathedral, so maybe any references to God are not so far-fetched.

The deaths of Steinbrenner and Sheppard, just several days apart, mark the end of an era. There will be more Steinbrenner-type figures (Jerry Jones, anyone?).

But I fear we've seen the last Bob Sheppard.

A tribute to Bob Sheppard