The Journey Home

by Jorge Posada

  Eventually, though, none of those target numbers mattered to me. I missed my family, I seemed to have misplaced the passion that I had for the game, and I knew that I wasn’t likely to ever wear a Yankees uniform again. Once again I turned to my dad, the voice I’d trusted all those years ago when I was first drafted. He pointed out that maybe if I was in a better situation, one that made me happier, I’d change my mind. But when I thought about it, I knew that what made me happiest was being a Yankee and being behind the plate. I could have settled for less, but that’s not who I am.

  During the final game of the Division Series against Detroit, I led off the eighth inning with us trailing 3–2. I grounded out, and as I crossed the first-base bag and turned toward the dugout, I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This could be it. This could be the last time. When we lost and all the guys filed into the clubhouse, I needed to be alone. I went into the empty weight room. I’d had no idea how heavy finality can be.

  I thought I did. Losing games to end a series had felt final, but you always had thoughts of next year to support you.

  Now I didn’t.

  I went down on my knees as if something incredibly heavy was crushing me. I put my head on the ground and wailed, shoulder-heaving sobs tearing at me. I don’t know how long I was down in that position, like a catcher recovering from a foul tip that has bitten him, when I felt a hand on my back like an umpire checking to be sure I was okay. With his hand on my shoulder, Kevin Long, our hitting instructor, said, “You had a great series. You were a true warrior.” I nodded and thanked him.

  Later, when I faced the media, I said that I’d have to see what happened. I didn’t want to be one of those guys, then or even months later, who said they were done and didn’t follow through. You had to keep your word. I spent a few weeks in the off-season recovering, considering a few offers, still hearing what my dad had to say about keeping at it and not giving up when it was clear that I could still do it. I had hit .429 against Detroit, my best average in the postseason ever, but I hadn’t driven in a run and we had lost. If I couldn’t be productive, if I couldn’t help us win, then hanging around just to raise meaningless numbers for personal gain wasn’t what I wanted to do, or who I wanted to be, or what my father had taught me.

  I’d sit there in the off-season thinking about how much things had changed, how fast time had passed. One instant you’re a young kid eager to make the club and looking at those old guys hanging around, taking up spots on the 40-man roster. Don’t they know it’s time to move on? The next instant you’re wondering if you’re one of those old guys. I didn’t want to be that guy, the last one to figure it out. Then, as the off-season progressed, another sign came to me. Normally, I would have started to work out in preparation for the next season, and I hadn’t.

  In November I attended a Joe Torre Foundation dinner in New York. Don Mattingly was there too, and we spoke briefly. I always considered him a mentor and a man I trusted.

  “You still want to play?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “If you have any doubt, then don’t. Stay a Yankee.”

  Shortly after that, I decided it was time to announce my retirement. I had no idea how to do that. I had some experience with guys talking about retiring, but not with the logistics of it. Bernie hadn’t made a formal announcement. Derek, Andy, Mo, and I hadn’t ever had any kind of discussions about the subject of retiring, let alone how we planned to go out. I didn’t like the feeling of not being prepared for something, but the Yankees organization stepped up for me. I contacted Jason Zillo, our head PR guy, and he set things up for me. As a result, there I was on January 24, sitting in a car waiting to make that turn. Once I did, there was no turning back.

  At the press conference, after I’d said my tearful thanks, I was happy that several people told me that, based on how the year ended, it was clear that I still had gas in the tank. That meant a lot to me. That meant that I was still in control, that the decision was mine, not one that was being made for me by my body or my skills failing me or someone in a front office somewhere. I could go out on my terms and as a Yankee. The Yankees continued to be good to me during my retirement, and I just recently learned that they are going to retire my number on August 22 this year. It will be an amazing honor, and I’m not sure that the reality of it has sunk in yet, or if it ever will.

  As I had predicted while answering questions after my announcement, I did feel strange when camps opened and I was still home. I was antsy and adjusting to a new schedule and routine. Laura was suffering the most, telling me when I was too much underfoot, like a little kid, “Go see one of your friends. Go out and play.” My work for so long had been playing, and now this added to my slight confusion. The more time passed, though, the less confused I felt.

  As I said, making the decision to retire was never going to be easy—my emotions, once again, could get in the way as much as they could contribute to my success—but just as it’s always been, the organization was great to me. I was thrilled that the Yankees invited me to throw out the first pitch to open the 2012 season. Being one of only 11 Yankees who have been invited back to throw out the first pitch on opening day put me in pretty exclusive company, and I thank everyone involved for that. My family and I attended the Welcome Home Dinner, and I was enormously grateful that the Yankees presented me with the Pride of the Yankees Award. Pride. Yankees. Those weren’t just words to me. The family understood.

  The plan was for me to throw that pitch to Mariano. Getting to the ballpark with my family and having my mom and dad with me made me realize that I could do things a little differently, make a meaningful moment even more special. I didn’t want to embarrass myself with a bad throw, so I warmed up a bit before the game underneath the stands. My dad was standing there, watching me, and I thought of all the times the two of us had played catch when I was back home in Puerto Rico.

  I took a break and said to Mo, “Do you mind if I throw it to my dad instead?”

  Mo smiled. If anybody understood about family, it was him. “That’s perfect.”

  I told my dad, and we got him a glove. I hadn’t picked up a ball since that final Detroit game, and I didn’t know how long it had been since he’d caught a ball. I threw one to him. He caught it, but he stared me down and said, “Don’t fire one in there like that. Toss it. Toss it.”

  I knew that he didn’t want to go out there in front of all those fans and not catch it. He’s a proud man.

  I’m his son, so I did what he told me.

  Surrounded by my family and members of the Yankees representing all the guys I’d played with for those 17 seasons, I stood on the mound. I looked in, and things seemed so different from that perspective, but I liked it.

  Even with 50,000 people there, something felt familiar to me. I needed to focus. In that moment, things were back to how they had been—just my dad and me, tossing a ball around, both of us sharing a dream.

  Acknowledgments

  Even though I only played for one team in my entire career, I have a few teams to thank for making this book possible.

  First, I have to thank my parents, Jorge and Tamara, for all their support and for everything they did to make me the man I am today. My sister, Michelle, has always provided me with support and unconditional love. My lovely wife, Laura, has always pushed me to become a better player and a better person. And I thank my beautiful kids, Jorge Luis and Paulina, for teaching me what true love really is. I love you all.

  I’d also like to thank my agents, Sam and Seth Levinson, for making my life easier. To Michele Tronolone for always answering the phone when I needed her the most. To my attorney, Luis Espinel, for being my friend above everything.

  I’d also like to thank Gary Brozek for his help in telling my story. Behind the scenes at HarperCollins, my editor Matt Harper was passionate about the book from the very beginning, as was Lisa Sharkey. It’s great to have people in your corner supporting you, and I know that we all benefitted from the efforts
of Matt’s assistant, Daniella Valladares, to get the book complete. Thanks also to my publicist Danielle Bartlett for her hard work.

  Lastly, I would like to thank the Steinbrenner family and the Yankees organization for supporting me and encouraging me through every part of my career. And to all my Yankees teammates and to all the fans, thank you for everything you have given me. Your help and support through the years made this whole journey possible.

  Photo Section

  Sitting with my mother, Tamara, at about age four in Puerto Rico. She was always there to take care of me.

  A school photo from my early days in the American Military Academy.

  With my dad at age five. When I was little, my dad wanted my swing to be quick, so he didn’t have me bat with anything heavier until I was seven.

  Riding Big Wheels with my neighbor and best friend growing up, Manuel.

  My friend Ernesto’s dad would sometimes take us to a field near our houses to play ball. Here I am with another friend Che, Ernesto, and Manuel, ready to go.

  With my first Casa Cuba team, when I was eight years old. I’m standing in the top row on the left next to my coach. Back then I was always one of the smallest kids.

  Me, Michelle, and our cousin Melissa visiting Papí Fello in the Dominican Republic.

  Practicing judo for class at the American Military Academy.

  In 1983, my dad took me with his softball team on a trip to Elizabeth, New Jersey, as their bat boy. That trip to the states was the first time I laid eyes on Yankee Stadium and decided that one day I would play on that same field.

  Spring training, 1987, when my dad was working for the Braves. It was the first time I got to attend their spring training in West Palm Beach in person.

  Dale Murphy of the Braves helping me pick up balls from the batting cages right after he said those two life-changing words: “nice swing.”

  On the field at Calhoun Community College. Behind me, you can see the small airport that stood between our residential cabanas and the field, the same one I was caught jumping the fence to cut through.

  With Yankees scout Leon Wurth, finally signing my contract in 1991.

  I was fortunate to have my father (pictured here with my mother) and his years of experience as a scout to help me negotiate my contract.

  Me and my sister, Michelle, in the old Yankee Stadium in 1996.

  Laura and me in 1998, eating at our favorite Cuban restaurant in New York, Victor’s Café.

  This was taken during one of Derek’s trips out to visit me in Puerto Rico. My father and I were being interviewed that day by David Colon (second from the left).

  At a family gathering with Laura’s parents, Ninette and Manuel; my grandmother Mamí Upe; Laura; my mother; Michelle; and her husband, Migue.

  Laura and me celebrating our World Series win in 1998.

  With my mom and Laura (who was pregnant with Jorge at the time) following our win in 1999.

  With my sister, mother, and father at our wedding celebration in Puerto Rico, January 21, 2000.

  My dad gathered a few guys and all the bats in his trunk to give us this great sendoff.

  Jorge’s first birthday party. This is actually the last photo we have of Mamí Upe. She passed away just a month later.

  With Laura in New York. After Jorge was born with craniosynostosis, we promised we would remain strong for him and for each other.

  On my first All-Star team in 2000 with two players I’ve really looked up to, Iván Rodríguez (left) and Edgar Martínez (right).

  Jorge back in the locker room before going on the field during my 2002 All-Star game. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  Jorge and me heading out to the batting cages during spring training. After the team was done practicing, Jorge loved getting a few swings in the batting cage himself. (AP Photo/Tom DiPace)

  You can see Jorge making eyes at Matsui. Jorge always liked Matsui because his nickname was “Godzilla.” (AP Photo/Mark Duncan)

  Joe Torre was like a father to me on the team. His support during Jorge’s surgeries helped me survive one of the hardest seasons of my life. (AP Photo/Brian Kersey)

  Yogi Berra was always great to have at our games. The wisdom he shared was invaluable. (AP Photo/Kathy Willens)

  Me, Jorge, Laura, and Paulina at a Jorge Posada Foundation dinner event in 2005 or 2006.

  On vacation, swimming with the kids.

  The whole family, including our dog, Mimi, celebrating Jorge’s birthday. Look at Paulina blowing out his candles!

  Laura and I were seated right next to Barack Obama at an event before he was elected president.

  Attending Family Day at the old Yankee Stadium. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  The Core Four—me, Mariano, Derek, and Andy—together in 2008. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  As a pitcher and a catcher, Mariano and I made a great team for so many years. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  My locker in the old Yankee Stadium.

  I loved bringing Jorge out for early hitting before games, like this day back in 2009 after we moved to the new stadium. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  Thurman Munson’s locker in Yankee Stadium, which is kept empty in his honor. When we moved to the new stadium, the locker was moved in one piece with us.

  Derek and me having a great time on the field after winning Game 6. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  The whole team lifting up our trophy in 2009, our fifth win throughout my career. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  Celebrating with Mariano after our 2009 World Series win. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  Jorge taking a picture of me as I leave the field after our 2009 win. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  Top row from left to right: My five World Series rings, a special World Series ring gifted to the players by Roger Clemens in 2000, an American League Champions ring, and an All-Star team ring.

  Bottom row from left to right: A perfect game ring gifted to me by David Wells (one of only two in existence), three All-Star team rings, an International League Champions ring, an All-Star team ring, and an American League Champions ring.

  Congratulating Derek on his last game at Yankee Stadium. I couldn’t have written a better way for my friend to go out. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  The family posing for a recent Puerto Rican magazine cover.

  During Women’s Fantasy Camp 2015, Laura was assigned number 2 instead of 20! Had a talk with Derek after that one . . .

  With my parents and sister during a recent trip to Puerto Rico.

  Throwing out the first pitch on opening day to my father after Mo agreed to give the spot to him. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  My dad hadn’t caught a ball in front of that many people in a long time, but as always he was ready. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  Three generations of Jorge Posadas sharing our favorite pastime, baseball. (Courtesy of the New York Yankees. All Rights Reserved.)

  About the Author

  JORGE POSADA made his major league debut in 1995. He was a five-time All-Star and won five Silver Slugger Awards and five World Series with the New York Yankees. He retired at the end of the 2011 season. Jorge and his wife, Laura Posada, have two children, Jorge Luis and Paulina, and live in Florida.

  GARY BROZEK is a freelance writer and the author of more than 20 books, including 6 New York Times bestsellers. He lives in Colorado.

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  Credits

  Cover design by Amanda Kain

  Front cover photograph © by NEW YORK YANKEES.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  All photographs are courtesy of the author unless otherwise indicated.

&n
bsp; Copyright

  THE JOURNEY HOME. Copyright © 2015 by Jorge Posada. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN 978-0-06-237962-7

  EPUB Edition MAY 2015 ISBN 9780062379641

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