Core Four: The Heart and Soul of the Yankees Dynasty

by Phil Pepe

Derek Jeter was going to have to get used to hearing the name Pete Rose, reading it alongside his own name, answering questions that would include that name. He was destined to be compared with him, chasing him, surpassing him for the remainder of his career, however long that would be.

  In the 2012 season, Jeter had passed Dave Winfield, Tony Gwynn, Robin Yount, Paul Waner, George Brett, Cal Ripken Jr., Nap Lajoie, Eddie Murray, and Willie Mays.

  Still ahead of him—the only ones ahead of him—were Eddie Collins, Paul Molitor, Carl Yastrzemski, Honus Wagner, Cap Anson (who got his last hit 115 years ago), Tris Speaker, Stan Musial, Henry Aaron, Ty Cobb, and Pete Rose.

  The mind boggles!

  A Rose Is a Rose Is a….

  Don’t call Pete Rose egotistical, even though he does have an ego—a large one.

  Don’t call Pete Rose arrogant, even though he has a high opinion of his place in baseball history.

  Don’t call Pete Rose envious, even though he is protective of his record 4,256 hits.

  What you can call Pete Rose is a baseball pragmatist and a records realist.

  In assessing Derek Jeter and his chances of catching and passing the all-time hit record, Rose, in an exclusive interview with journalist Joe Posnanski, was complimentary but analytical as he addressed the possibility of Jeter breaking his record with logic, statistics, and probabilities.

  “I like Jeter,” Rose emphasized. “I admire him. What’s not to like? He comes to the ballpark and busts his hump every day. He gets his uniform dirty. Do you ever see Derek Jeter not run out a ground ball?”

  But break the hit record? That’s another story.

  “What does he have now? What, 3,303 hits? (Actually, 3,304. Rose had failed to include a hit in Jeter’s last game of the 2012 season.)

  “I don’t think he will break the record. First of all, I don’t think he wants to leave the Yankees. (Rose left the Cincinnati Reds and played five years with the Philadelphia Phillies and one with the Montreal Expos before returning to the Reds.) And the Yankees, they’re about winning. Jeter had a great year this year, but he’s what? Thirty-eight years old? And he’s a shortstop? How many 40-year-old shortstops you see walking around? Not too many, right? And they can’t put him at third base because A-Rod’s there. They can’t put him at second base ’cause Cano’s there. He don’t help them in left field—he’s got to be in the center of things, you know what I mean? What are they going to do? Put him at first base?”

  Sounding more like an actuary or a member in good standing of SABR (Society for American Baseball Research) than a former ballplayer with the numbers seemingly at his fingertips or etched indelibly in his mind, Rose continued:

  “He still needs 950 (actually 952) hits, right? He had a great year this year, but you think he can do that again? At 39? A shortstop? Let’s say he does it again. Let’s say he gets 200 more hits next year. And let’s say he gets 200 more hits when he’s 40, though I don’t think he can. Okay, can he get 200 more hits when he’s 41? You think he can?

  “I don’t think he can get 200 more hits at 41, but let’s say he does. Okay, now he’s 42. He’s going to get 200 more hits then? At 42? Let me tell you, I’ve been there, the body locks up. Jeter’s a great hitter. I’d say he hits like I did. But he’s gonna get 200 hits when he’s 42? I don’t think he will. And even if he does all that, he’s still 150 hits short.

  “I’d say Jeter will probably end up in batting average about where I was. We’re about the same—me, Derek, Hank [Aaron],

  Willie [Mays]. We were all hitting about .311 or .312 or .313 when we got into our late thirties, maybe Willie was a little lower [through their age-38 season, Jeter was hitting .313, Rose .312, Aaron .311, Mays .307], and we all ended up around .303 or .305 [Aaron .305, Rose .303, Mays .302]. Jeter will probably end up where I did, right around there. So if his average is around the same as mine, he has to get about as many at-bats as I did. I got 14,053 at-bats. What’s he got? Ten thousand? Eleven thousand? [Through the 2012 season, Jeter had 10,551 at-bats.] He’s a great hitter. How’s he going to get 3,500 more at-bats? I think time’s running out.”

  Informed of Rose’s comments, Jeter as usual refused to be drawn into any kind of controversy and seemed to be amused, but baffled, by the subject.

  “Why would you think about something that’s 1,000 hits away?” Jeter replied. “I don’t think about that, really. That’s the least of my concerns right now is the best way to put it. I didn’t think about 3,000 hits. I’m trying to win, that’s it. You do it long enough, I guess, good things happen. But I’m not thinking about that.

  “It’s hard to get 3,000 hits. You have to get 200 hits for 15 years, man. That’s a lot of hits. Four thousand is 20 years of it so, really, I don’t know why we’re talking about it. Can I catch him today? Then it’s not a story.”

  Jeter did admit that there is one record on his mind—and it’s not Rose’s.

  “The only one I’m thinking about catching is Yogi [Berra, who has earned 10 World Series–championship rings]. I always tell Yogi he’s really only got five because they went straight to the World Series. [In Berra’s day there was no division playoff, no league championship series, and no wild-card; to reach the World Series you merely finished first in the eight- or ten-team American League or National League.) I always cut it in half. He just laughs.”

  Epilogue

  And then there was one….

  Jorge Posada was two years into retirement, now an urbane, graying, sophisticated elder statesman free to be a Yankee Stadium presence at Old Timers Day and various other team celebrations, his pinstriped uniform replaced by a meticulously tailored pinstriped suit.

  True to his word, Mariano Rivera, who had originally planned to retire after the 2012 season but who moved his retirement up a year after missing most of ’12 with a torn ACL and a torn meniscus in his right knee, had announced that the 2013 major league season, his 19th, would be his last. He held to that oath, setting off a magical mystery farewell tour in cities throughout the American League.

  Almost as an afterthought, Andy Pettitte came to the realization in the final days of the 2013 season that he could no longer endure the stress, strain, and physical agony he would surely suffer getting his almost 42-year-old body ready for another season and he, too, announced his retirement—and this time he meant it.

  They had broken up the old gang, the Core Four. We had seen the last of a special breed, Buck Showalter told New York Post columnist Joel Sherman as the 2013 season and the careers of two members of the Core were winding down.

  Showalter was manager of the Yankees in 1995 when Mariano Rivera, Andy Pettitte, Jorge Posada, and Derek Jeter showed up in the Bronx to be fitted for pinstripes. Now it was time to begin saying goodbye, and time for nostalgic reflection.

  “You won’t see anything like this happen again,” Showalter said, meaning four players playing together with one team for so long and with such great success.

  “There are too many variables for that to ever happen again. What you have to remember is the makeup of those guys. The common thread was their agenda. They didn’t branch off. They didn’t want to disappoint each other. They were guys who never wanted to let their teammates down.

  “You know how hard it is to make as many good decisions on and off the field that those guys made for as long as they made them while playing in New York? They all had grips on reality at a young age in New York City. We just won’t see that again.”

  They came, they stayed, they played, and now it was time to say goodbye. Only Derek Jeter was left. He was Paul without John, George, and Ringo; Jerry without George, Elaine, and Kramer. He was Theodore Roosevelt alone on Mount Rushmore.

  For Rivera, the season-long festivities and the gift-giving began on April 7 in Detroit, when the Tigers honored him by bidding him adieu in a pregame ceremony at which they presented him with a plaque containing photos o
f Rivera pitching and bottles of dirt from the pitcher’s mound of both the old (Tiger Stadium) and new (Comerica Park) Tigers’ homes where Rivera had pitched.

  Perhaps it was Rivera himself who had inadvertently planted the seed that would become his farewell tour when he asked Yankees officials for their help in arranging in each opponents’ ballpark he visited in his final season a series of informal talks with selected small groups of invited guests, not team or city dignitaries, but average people, faithful fans, longtime team and stadium employees, old people and children, and the handicapped. He would hold these fan fests and in turn be feted in 16 cities in addition to New York.

  In Cleveland, home of the Rock ’n’ Roll Hall of Fame, he was presented with a gold record of the song “Enter Sandman” by the heavy metal group Metallica. Since 1999, the song had accompanied Rivera’s entrance into a game at Yankee Stadium. (While it has been suggested that the song was selected for Rivera because according to legend the Sandman puts children to sleep, and Rivera’s cutter puts batters to sleep, the connection with the name of the song is merely coincidental; “Enter Sandman” was chosen to accompany Rivera’s entrance because of its rhythm and its intensity.)

  And the gifts, some elaborate, some imaginative, just kept on coming. In Minnesota, Rivera received a rocking chair constructed with broken bats (a Rivera trademark and the brainchild of Twins’ manager Ron Gardenhire). In Los Angeles, the Dodgers, noting that Rivera’s father was a fisherman in his native Panama, presented him with a custom fishing rod. In Boston, the Red Sox gave him the bullpen pitching rubber and the placard No. 42 used to identify Mariano on the ancient manually operated Fenway Park scoreboard. In most cities he was presented with a generous check for the Mariano Rivera Foundation.

  A highlight for Mariano in his final season would come on July 16, during the All-Star Game in Citi Field, home of the neighboring New York Mets. Rivera had been named to his 13th—and last—All-Star team. Before the game, several veteran American League All-Stars gave a dressing-room pep talk to their AL teammates. Rivera was among those that spoke.

  “His speech was just about appreciation, how being a part of this game has meant so much” said Texas Rangers’ closer Joe Nathan, Rivera’s teammate for a day. “It was very respectful, very classy. He could have talked about peanut butter and jelly and we would have all been like, ‘Yeah, that’s pretty cool.’ It was sweet.”

  It was hoped (expected?) that Rivera would be on the mound in the ninth inning to save the game for the American League as he had done four times before.

  “I wanted to hear ‘Enter Sandman’ in the ninth,” said Joe Nathan.

  But Detroit Tigers manager Jim Leyland, managing the American League, had other ideas. He did not want to take any chances. He wanted to be certain Rivera got into the game so that he could receive an appropriate farewell. The AL scored a run in the top of the eighth inning to take a 3–0 lead, but Leyland feared that if the NL scored four runs in the bottom of the eighth, there would be no save situation in the ninth inning and no Mo. So as the National League prepared to bat in the bottom of the eighth, the strains of “Enter Sandman” could be heard throughout the stadium as Mo Rivera trotted in from the bullpen and into an eerie situation.

  The crowd was on its feet giving him a warm and sustained reception. Rivera tipped his cap and then realized there were no American League teammates manning their positions behind him and no National League batters getting ready to step up to the plate. Players from both teams were on their feet in front of their respective dugouts applauding along with the fans. Both bullpens emptied and pitchers joined in the applause from the warning track. Rivera was taken aback.

  “I wanted to come in and do my job,” Rivera said. “When I got to the mound, I saw each team out of the dugout, cheering and applauding. It was amazing. It felt so weird. Basically, I was there alone with my catcher. I didn’t know how to act. At that moment I didn’t know what to do. Keep throwing the ball, I guess. It was so weird, but at the same time I appreciate what they did for me.”

  Rivera retired the National League in order in the eighth.

  “It would have been better in the ninth, but we got him in the game, we got him his moment,” said Nathan. “He was enjoying the moment, getting a chance to kind of reflect and look around and that was pretty cool.”

  The American League took its 3–0 lead into the bottom of the ninth as Leyland called on Nathan to save the game.

  “My heart has never beat so fast,” Nathan said. “I didn’t know I was getting the ninth until the ninth.”

  He struck out Matt Carpenter and Andrew McCutchen, gave up a double to Paul Goldschmidt, and then nailed down the victory by getting Pedro Alvarez on a pop fly to second base.

  Nathan has saved 341 major league games and he has the last ball from each of them. He had never before saved an All-Star game and this was a baseball he would cherish. But he knew the ball didn’t belong to him. He gave it to Rivera.

  “No brainer,” Nathan said. “I wanted it, but I wanted to give it to him more. Outstanding. To be able to hand the ball over to him was pretty cool. It’s no secret how much I look up to him and to be able to do that for him was awesome.”

  To Rivera, the whole night was “Amazing. I have no words. It was a wonderful night.”

  There would be many more wonderful nights, and days, for this man who had earned universal respect, admiration, and affection from teammates and opponents alike for his artistry on the field and his comportment off of it.

  No night—or day—would be as wonderful as Sunday, September 22, “Mariano Rivera Day” at Yankee Stadium. A crowd of 49,197 came to pay homage to the Yankees’ peerless closer, as did several of his former teammates, a former trainer, manager, and general manager.

  Rachel and Sharon Robinson, the wife and daughter of the late Jackie Robinson, were there to witness Rivera’s Yankees uniform No. 42 be permanently retired. (When Major League Baseball ordered all teams to retire uniform No. 42, those already wearing the number were grandfathered in to continue wearing No. 42 until they retired; Rivera was the last to do so.)

  The Yankees presented Rivera with a rocking chair made of baseball bats, a framed replica of his retired number, a Waterford Crystal replica of his 2013 glove, and a $100,000 check for his foundation.

  And to close out the 50-minute celebration, the guest of honor stepped to the microphone to address the multitude.

  Directing his remarks to the fans, he said, “It has been a great run, guys. You guys have been amazing. You always have been here for me and for the organization. I will never forget that. You guys will have part of my heart here in New York.”

  Four days later, the Yankees met the Tampa Bay Rays in their final home game of the season and the final game at Yankee Stadium in Mariano Rivera’s career. When the Rays scored two runs in the top of the eighth to take a 4–0 lead and had runners on first and second with one out, manager Joe Girardi signaled to the bullpen and trotting into the game for the last time at Yankee Stadium came Mariano Rivera, who extinguished the rally without further scoring—no surprise—and returned to the mound for the ninth, the final inning of his career at Yankee Stadium.

  Rivera retired the first two batters and was preparing to face his third batter when he was startled to see Derek Jeter and Andy Pettitte, two of his Core Fore compatriots, headed his way. It was a considerate gesture carefully planned by manager Joe Girardi, who wanted to give Mariano one final raucous ovation from a capacity Yankee Stadium crowd.

  Girardi had to be aware of the historic nature of removing Rivera from the last game he would ever pitch in Yankee Stadium and he could have arranged to be the one to make that change. His decision to send Jeter and Pettitte to the mound to remove Rivera was not only theatric, it was inspired and selfless. Soon, Rivera could be seen embracing Pettitte tightly as the tears flowed from the eyes of both men, and from the eyes of thousands of
others in the huge ballpark.

  There were three games still on the Yankees schedule, all in Houston. Girardi said he was leaving it “up to Mo to pitch or not pitch; it’s his call.”

  Rivera thought about it, decided it best to let the last pitch of his career come not in Houston, but in Yankee Stadium, the Bronx, New York, and pronounced himself all in.

  “I’ve had enough,” he said.

  In truth, he had done more than enough.

  In his final season, at age 43, he had a record of 6–2, 44 saves in 50 save opportunities, an earned run average of 2.11, 54 strikeouts and 17 walks in 64 innings and continued throughout the season to raise the question: “Why is this man retiring?”

  Through it all, Rivera stuck to his guns. He was retiring to spend time with his family, to devote more time to his Foundation.

  He had, indeed, had enough, unless you think 82 wins, 652 saves, a 2.21 earned run average, 1,173 strikeouts, and 286 walks in 1,2832/3 innings, are not enough for one career.

  As the days dwindled down in the 2013 baseball season, Andy Pettitte found himself with a dilemma. He had known since spring training that the 2013 season would be his last, but he planned on waiting until the end of the season to make an announcement that would stamp his retirement as official. He realized, however, that by doing so, it might seem to some that he was raining on Rivera’s parade or, in the least, hitching himself to Mariano’s wagon. Neither was the truth, but he felt the need to make that clear to the one person that mattered, so four days before the big celebration, with the Yankees in Toronto, Pettitte invited Rivera to lunch.

  “Mo was one of the guys that has known for a while that I was done and I was retiring,” Pettitte said. “He all along has told me, ‘You’ve got to announce it. You need to say something.’ That’s just not how I wanted to do it. I had planned on just announcing it at the end of the season.”

  But the thought that he might be intruding on Rivera’s celebration or encroaching on Mo’s spotlight haunted Pettitte and he unburdened himself by revealing his dilemma to Rivera over lunch in Toronto. Typically, Mariano put his friend at ease.