THERE was sunshine, and angst, and anticipation, and trepidation, and a strange voice behind the public-address microphone for the first time since 1950, and booing, and cheering, and chanting, and “Enter Sandman,” and a game-winning home run by the 11-year veteran whom the manager still calls “kid,” and two runs from the incoming center fielder and a key hit from the outgoing center fielder, and Sinatra wanting to be a part of it in old New York.
There was, at last, a sickly line drive off the bat of Doug Mientkiewicz that fluttered and died in the glove of Mariano Rivera, and a 9-7 victory by the Yankees over an outmatched gaggle of patsies from Kansas City. And at the end it was as full and as complete an Opening Day as anyone could have possibly drawn up.
“It’s terrific to win one like this at Yankee Stadium anyway,” Joe Torre would say later, “but winning like that on Opening Day is extra special.”
For three hours and change, the 54,698 who blew off work and made the pilgrimage to The Bronx got an eyeful of all the things that will delight them about the Yankees this season, all the things that will discourage them, all the wonder and worry that will accompany this team on what promises to be one of its craziest journeys in years.
“It’s an unpredictable game to begin with,” Johnny Damon said with an impish grin. “And the way we’ve been so far this year, we make it even more unpredictable.”
For long stretches of the afternoon, that was of little consolation to the people who filled the Stadium, whose impatience with the Yankees was manifested in loud pockets of boos raining down from the upper deck, specifically when the Royals scored six unanswered runs and turned what was a 4-1 cakewalk into a 7-4 plank walk.
Bernie Williams was exempt from this, of course, and likely will be forever, despite suffering a basepath brain cramp in the fourth inning that slaughtered a rally and could have ruined the day. Nothing can cause the faithful to turn on Williams – he is New York’s diametric emotional answer to Carlos Beltran – and he rewarded that loyalty with a critical RBI single that extended the fateful eighth inning long enough for Derek Jeter to deliver the knockout blow.
“They’ve both been at this so long, they’ve played so many big games here, you expect the two of them to give you a lift,” said Jason Giambi, whose own contributions (a three-run homer early, a kick-starting walk late) were just as invaluable.
The Yankees will hit, and they will score runs, and they will make the eighth and ninth innings hell for teams all season long, especially teams that are only quasi-competitive, like the Royals. They also will send a parade of shaky pitchers to the mound far too often to make anybody comfortable, and there will be a lot of 9-7 games like this one, meaning the best acquisition the Yankees could make in July might be adding Adam Vinatieri for the stretch run.
It is going to be a hell of a thing to see, baseballs flying everywhere, crooked numbers galore on the scoreboard, baseball played the way Jerry Tarkanian might have coached it back at UNLV, baseball given a run-and-shoot flair. If you get weepy at the sight of pitcher’s duels, you can take your Kleenex and go somewhere else. You won’t find many 2-1 games here.
Maybe you can’t win championships that way. Maybe the age-old axiom of pitching and defense winning World Series will be proven as gospel, and if that’s the case, then the Yankees, who right now throw the ball and catch the ball with equally unfortunate results, will have a terrible time staying out of their own way five and six months from now.
But man, oh man, can they hit the ball. Fifteen runs on Opening Night. Ten the other day in Anaheim. Nine yesterday, when they easily could have had four or five more. If you favor small ball, you may want to keep changing the channel. Otherwise, it’ll be impossible to look away. For better or for worse.
michael.vaccaro@nypost.com
