Of course I remember the game. Everyone at the Stadium the night of Thurman Munson’s funeral remembers Bobby Murcer’s three-run homer in the seventh and two-run single in the ninth that gave the Yankees a 5-4 win over the Orioles.

But it’s the people who lined the streets of Canton leading from the cemetery to the airport that I shall never forget. The kids in their Little League uniforms waving, the moms and dads, the citizens of Munson’s hometown, all of them waving at the pair of buses carrying the Yankee players on their sad and solemn ride that would eventually bring the team back to The Bronx; the fans paying their last respects to the man the team had just laid to rest, and to the World Champions, themselves.

No, it was not a procession for a U.S. Senator or presidential candidate; it was just for a ballplayer. But just as folks had lined the railway tracks to pay respects to the train that carried Robert F. Kennedy from New York to Arlington in 1968, 11 years later folks in Canton lined the streets the same way to say goodbye to the Yankee captain, to say goodbye to the Yankees.

And I watched through my bus window to that world, on my way back home with the team.

The day had begun where it would end. At the Stadium. We boarded buses there that took us to Newark for the charter flight to Canton, to the airport just miles away from the crash in which Munson had lost his life on Aug. 2, four days earlier. From there to the funeral home, where Munson’s great friends Murcer and Lou Piniella had delivered eulogies, both barely able to complete them.

I remember Mickey Rivers outside the funeral home. Rivers had recently been traded to Texas. I remember him nearly collapsing in despair as he mingled with his former teammates. I remember the ashen faces, the choked sobs. I remember feeling as if I didn’t belong there, as if I was nothing more than an intruder. I remember a sense of grief and of loss that was overwhelming. It was a day, quite obviously, on which there was crying in baseball.

The Yankees returned home from the funeral, returned home to play a game; to overcome a 4-0 deficit and win 5-4, all the runs driven in by Murcer, so drained he could barely make it off the field after the deciding run crossed the plate. I remember that.

I remember the people.

“Our captain and leader has not left us today, tomorrow, this year, next … our endeavors will reflect our love and admiration for him.”

Munson’s plaque in Monument Park