The Sound of 50,000 People Exhaling

That was the sound of 50,000 people exhaling. The thought of a season, which began with such soaring hopes and then settled into long stretches of mediocrity, ending in one cruel slap across the face, had been avoided. 

And now the seemingly inevitable dance awaits. Nirvana or desolation knocking at the gate, our arch enemy, Lex Luthor to our Superman, poised to do battle to the death. Can we wipe the smile off their face, the swagger from their step, the painful memories of the recent past from our minds? Can we teach those boys from Beantown why we really deserve the moniker Bronx Bombers?

For this night, Aaron Boone looked every part the genius. Sacrificing the safety of Happ for the possibility of Severino, the offensive fireworks of Andujar for the defensive wizardry of one who leaped into the heavens to pull down a line drive and justify his manager's decision.

And then there was our Judge, the one who did not need to gain approval of a committee to demonstrate this was a man well suited for his chosen field of endeavor. His first inning laser an exclamation point that calmed us down and revved us up into a frenzy at one and the same moment.

It was but a single evening, yet it embraced a much larger meaning, giving us a chance to watch the sunrise in all its glory, allowing us to bask in the warmth of a glorious early October night, permitting the dream of champagne and championships to persist.

No matter the swirl of insanity that grips our nation, at least for these nine innings, in this Stadium, sitting in our seats and standing in unison and in appreciation, all was right in the world.