I've been to Yankee Stadium in all kinds of weather, rain, sun, freezing wind, heat waves, and for all kinds of games, pennant race duels with the Red Sox, meaningless romps on the Kansas City Royals, Yankee holidays like Old Timers' Day and Whitey Ford Day. But I'd never been to a postseason game in my life until this year.

I somehow missed the announcements of when tickets for the American League Division Series were going on sale, and so when I went to Ticketmaster.com to check the on-sale date, it turned out tickets had gone on sale a few hours before. By that time, Games 1 and 2 were sold out, but I was able to get seats in the far wing of the left field upper deck for Game 5--a game I hoped wouldn't happen, because if it did, it would mean the Oakland A's had taken two games from the Yankees. On the other hand, I figured, if the series did go to five games, as it did last year, then I would absolutely want to be at that game.

My first choice, though, would have been to see Game One or Two at the Stadium, if I could get tickets. Thank goodness for dedicated Yankees fans and email. I got an email a few days later saying that some more tickets had been released through Ticketmaster (thanks, Sandman!) and was able to snag my favorite seats for Game Two!

A quick call to a baseball fanatic friend of mine (Rich the Red Sox Fan) confirmed that, sure, he'd be crazy enough to split the driving with me, I clicked to buy two tickets, and our plans were set. We'd drive two hundred miles, see the game, and then drive back, all in one day. Rich had never been to Yankee Stadium before, and I always figured that it would be a Red Sox game that would get him there, but the enticement of seeing a Division Series game turned out to be enough.

I always expected Yankee Stadium to be at its best and loudest in the postseason. But in the back of my mind was the fact that it was my first trip to New York since the events of September 11th, and I really wasn't sure what to expect. In fact, the game took place exactly one month after the attacks. The phrase "everything's different now" is on many people's lips these days, and with good reason.

The first change we encountered was the increased security at the Stadium, which we expected. For weeks the radio announcers had been saying that coolers, backpacks and large bags were not going to be allowed. What they were NOT saying, perhaps because they were trying to downplay the seriousness of the security changes, is that pocket knives, umbrellas, and other "potential weapons" were not allowed either. They even had men with bullhorns positioned around the stadium announcing that backpacks, coolers, and large bags would not be allowed. These guys also mentioned umbrellas, and new signs were put up around the Stadium replacing the old "no bottles, no cans" signs with "no bottles, cans, large bags, umbrellas, coolers" signs.

Note that at no point were knives, scissors, nail files, Leatherman tools, or other things with blades mentioned in the prohibited list. Well, we figured, you can't hijack a stadium--they must be more worried about bombs in people's bags and coolers. It never dawned on us that utilitarian blades like Swiss army knives or Leatherman tools, which are legal to carry, would be an issue.

But they were. After being screened outside the gates by the first group of security guards who looked in our bags and repeated the prohibitions, we went through the turnstiles and had our tickets torn. As anyone who has ever been to the stadium before knows, once your ticket is taken, you can't go out and come back in. We then came to more security guards who looked in our bags a second time. And then we were passed to a THIRD group of guards, these with handheld metal detectors, who searched us. Among the things their detectors found: the foil wrapper on a piece of gum in my pocket and Rich's Swiss Army knife. (Among the things they did NOT find: the penknife attached to my keys and the Leatherman tool on Rich's belt.) They wouldn't allow Rich to take the Swiss into the stadium, but they wouldn't let him go out to put it in the car, either. They wouldn't allow him to check it somewhere and pick it up later. The only choice they gave him was to either throw it away (they claimed they would put it in the trash after taking it from him) or leave the stadium with it and not come back.

Now, if the purpose of taking Rich's and other random people's knives away was to make the stadium safer, I have to say that it didn't serve that purpose. As I mentioned, we actually had two other utilitarian "knives" on our persons that they didn't even find, and several other fans I talked to said the guards didn't find what they were carrying either. Anyone who PLANNED to make mayhem or do harm with a knife could have easily snuck one in. So the increased security didn't end up making me feel safer--it just made me feel that the fear running through the city since September 11th has really caused a lot of stupidity. I could go on for a couple of pages with the stupid stadium security guard stories people have sent me since the game, but I'd rather get to some baseball. But for example some women came up to the door carrying plastic bottles of Pepsi, which have always been allowed previously . A guard stopped them. When they argued, a supervisor came and told the guard, no, plastic bottles are okay, and always have been. How about the guard who tried to tell me I couldn't bring my binoculars or camera in because they were each in a small Velcro case? She thought the small cases counted as "bags" and since she was told "no bags" she wanted me to throw them away. Eventually her supervisor came over and asked her what the heck she was thinking, those are NOT "bags," and let me in. Too many people are grasping for anything to make them feel more "secure" without any actual regard for the facts or common sense--I'd rather see the money and human effort that was invested in tripling the security force at the door spent on something that might actually deter or stop a criminal with deadly intent. I leave it up to the experts to determine what exactly that is, but having undertrained and badly-briefed minimum wage workers doing security wasn't effective in the airports and so what makes us think it will be effective in the stadiums? I was pretty upset and frightened by the treatment we received at the door, not only because the whole scene with them throwing Rich's $35 knife away could have been avoided if only the search had been conducted OUTSIDE the turnstile instead of inside, but because I was scared that if this is the best, most intelligent response we can muster against terrorism, there's no way we're going to win this "war."

The feeling that we were under siege did not lift as the pregame ceremonies -- I can't call them "festivities" -- began. At 8pm, when we thought the first pitch was imminent, we found ourselves instead watching President George W. Bush address the nation for a half hour. The Bleacher Creatures stood, turned around, and craned their necks to see the DiamondVision screen above and behind their seats. The entire stadium fell silent, like we were in a church. After the address came the Battle Hymn of the Republic, and the first pitch was thrown by the one former Yankee they could find who was now a New York City firefighter, Frank Tepedino. A giant American flag was unfurled in the outfield during the National Anthem, and everywhere you looked you saw people wearing NYPD and FDNY hats.

So even when the crowd began cheering, even when Andy Pettitte struck out Eric Chavez to end A's threats in the 1st and 3rd, the game felt less like a party and more like a wake. (See my recap of the whole game, here, for more details.) It's hard to have your heart in it when your heart is sore or broken by the memories of what happened on September 11th.

Apparently, that's the way the Yankee hitters were feeling, too. The night before they had mustered only three runs off Mark Mulder while squandering numerous scoring chances. In Game two, it got worse: the Yankees looked fatigued by the heartbreaking ceremonies and the gravity of the President's address. As a result, they were held scoreless the entire game, and there was very little for the crowd to cheer about. When Paul O'Neill came to bat with men on and two out, everyone felt one of those magic Yankees moments should be coming. But it did not come. After a long at bat, Paulie popped up. Jorge, Brosius, Justice... the result was the same several times in the game. Long at bat with men on, but nothing to show for it.

The worst was when they were down 2-0 in the bottom of the ninth. The Yankees got two men on with no out, and again the crowd tried and tried to scream life into the Yankees. But the intensity was not quite there. Hopelessness was in those voices. Jason Isringhausen got three quick outs to shut the door on our hopes--and you felt the crowd and the Yankees slump in resignation. So many bad things have happened to the city, would this be the next one? What a weird coincidence that it was National Depression Screening Day.

I talked to my brother on the phone the next day, and, in tears, described to him how I had felt like I was at a wake. An occasionally raucous, rowdy wake, but a wake nonetheless. I hadn't cried at the stadium, but I cried a lot the next day--not for the Yankees so much as for New York. For us native New Yorkers who don't live there anymore, the tragedy feels a lot like it happened to a member of the family, as if the city itself is like a relative. I had cried a lot in the week after the attacks, but the tears had abated recently, until I took that trip to the stadium. I didn't go to Ground Zero--I didn't have to, because I could see it and feel it on everyone's faces in the stands that night. I came home frightened because of the display of idiocy that was "security," saddened by the state of the city and the world, worried about the war, and depressed by the complete lack of hitting by the Yankees.

My brother is great. Julian told me he thought going to Oakland would be good for them. The Yankees need to get away, he said, get some distance from the tragedy. California will lift their spirits. Plus he told me the losses were partly his fault for forgetting to wear his cap. He lives in Colorado now, and works a white collar office job, and went straight from work to try to find a sports bar to watch the game. He didn't want to watch it alone at home, but didn't find anyone at the bar interested in the game. He ended up watching a few innings at a "New York style" pizzeria and feeling even more homesick than before. (There's no pizza in the world like the pizza you get in New York.) "Jules, come on, just put the hat in your car!" I admonished him. We got off the phone after promising each other that we'd both do all our good luck things, and that everything would get better.

Well, as anyone who wasn't hidden under a rock knows, things DID get better. A lot better.

Mike Mussina gave the Yankees exactly what he was capable of, shutting out the A's hitters, Jorge Posada finally connected a Yankee bat with an Oakland ball and sent it sailing over the wall, and Derek Jeter made a play that was so heads-up that the word heads-up itself seems inadequate to describe it. Every other baseball writer on the planet has written about the Jeter play now, so I won't rehash it. Something finally went right for the Yankees, is the thought that went through my mind. It was a close call and they got it. Now if only the bats could wake up...

The next day they did, exploding for nine runs while El Duque never lost his resolve on the mound, getting out of a bases loaded jam in the first and never looking weak for a moment. They said it was impossible for the Yankees to win two in a row in Oakland, where the A's had won 17 straight and had swept the Yankees this season. But the Yankees have done the impossible before.

So it was that when I went to New York for Game Five, the atmosphere was different. Hopes were kindled--there was not a shred of hopelessness anywhere. This time the crowd was not going to let anything drag them down, just the way that the Yankees wouldn't let themselves be dragged down by losing those first two games.

corwin could not come with me to the game because he was having a CT scan and he felt it was bad luck to reschedule a medical procedure like that. When I had realized it was scheduled for the same night, I had offered to stay home and stay with him, but he told me to go. A CT scan isn't that big a deal, he said, it's not scary and he didn't need me there. Go to the game.

So I gave the other ticket to my mother. I met her in the bar at Ballpark Lanes on River Ave. at 6:15 pm, and the place was packed, wall to wall fans. I had to shoulder and shove my way through the pinstriped throng to get to her. Seattle was in their own game five, and they were winning, despite having been walloped and downright embarrassed in their two playoff losses. Heck, if Seattle can beat the Indians, we can beat the A's, eh? I helped Mom drink the cold Corona she'd just ordered to keep her seat at the bar, and by seven o'clock we were climbing the stairs of the upper deck to our seats.

This time there was no Presidential address, just a quick clip of Rudy Giuliani giving the thumbs up and saying "Go Yankees!" The wife and family of Todd Beamer, one of the flight 93 heroes, was in the audience but did not step on the field. Instead, Yogi and Scooter threw out the first pitches -- Rizzuto doing his best imitation of the "Jeter play" with an extra ball he had hidden in this pocket! The crowd was delighted. A New York city policeman sang a rousing rendition of the Star Spangled banner. The solemnity of the previous game's ceremonies was replaced by an energy, a resolve, an ineffable feeling that no matter how down we may get, we will bounce back. We being the Yankees, Yankees fans, New York, and the whole country.

There was very little the A's could do to turn such a tide, and in fact they ended up helping the cause with errors and misplays and some choke at bats. But let's not forget the rookie Soriano coming to bat with the bases loaded in the second, when we were down two runs, and hitting a two-run single. That's right, we were down two runs after the A's half of the second. The fans in our section, where we had a superb view of the Yankees bullpen, kept looking over to see if Pettitte was warming up, because it was obvious Clemens was having trouble with his command. And yet, two runs -- in game two that had been enough for the A's to win it. But tonight it just felt like those two runs were insignificant. The A's scored first but we wouldn't let that deflate us. Soriano tied things up, and confidence in the crowd swelled.

It was loud. Yes, it was loud in game two at times too, but this was louder. I remember a moment from the 2000 season, a late May game, the ESPN game, Roger versus Pedro, when Carl Everett reached base and then Clemens picked him off--the roar of the crowd at that moment shook the stadium like a stampede of elephants. Well, it was like that for long sustained periods in game five of the ALDS, like after Jeter flew into the stands to catch that foul pop off Terrence Long's bat, and flipped himself over the wall and disappeared from view, but held into the ball. The chanting and cheering for him went on well into the break between innings. How about when Mariano Rivera entered in the eighth inning to his customary Metallica intro music? Fifty thousand people sang along to "Enter Sandman." You know, I don't think I ever knew any of the words before, but now I do... "sleep with one eye open..."

We got to hear all the happy songs at the stadium that night, all the "we just scored a run" music, and thanks to David Justice suddenly snapping his slump, even the home run music. Actually, I take that back. When Justice's ball left the yard, it was so loud that you couldn't actually hear the sirens and music and stuff that the scoreboard department plays in those situations! Where we were, which was very close to the speaker tower, you really could not hear it at all. The slumping Justice hadn't has an RBI since September 5th. His homer was, for us, more evidence that the magic was back, that it was possible for everything to be right again.

The sense of destiny swelled in the ninth as Mo continued his mastery of the A's. Giambi got a hit. So what? It was a single, not a homer, and we were up by two anyway. Mo didn't pay Giambi much mind and neither did the crowd. People were already tearing up paper to throw for confetti and readying their cameras for the final pitch/fly out/grounder/whatever it might be. When Eric Byrnes, a name the crowd did not recognize and did not fear, pinch hit with two out, people began to sing "Na na na na -- na na na na -- hey hey -- goodbye!"

Byrnes struck out--I was squeezing my camera's shutter button at the moment and will add the photo here as soon as I get my film back--and bedlam broke loose. People threw their popcorn in the air, papers went flying, people high fived their neighbors and hugged total strangers, and the Yankees began to make their customary pile at the pitcher's mound. And we sang. Fifty thousand plus people stood in their seats and sang along with Frank Sinatra's rendition of "New York, New York" holding their fingers in the air ("A-number one!") and belting it out.

We were still singing as we made our way down the ramp toward ground level. People were chanting Let's Go Yankees and singing God Bless America and high fiving one another -- I called my brother so he could hear it, too.

As we made our way to the car, people still cheering and honking and waving flags and Yankees bandannas and anything they could find, I thought: okay, now THIS is what Yankee Stadium in October should feel like.

The next day I had business to do in the city. As it turned out, my meetings took me to Central Park, and to Times Square, and to Grand Central Station. The headlines were about the Yankee victory and the latest case of anthrax exposure. But people did not have the beaten, downcast look I had seen the week before. Musicians were jazzing it up on the subway platforms, busking for a buck or two, and Times Square bustled. In Grand Central I came to a makeshift wall, erected for people to post photos and posters of their missing loved ones. Many commuters and passerby were stopping to look them over, to read the descriptions, study the photos. A week ago I would have expected to see tears in some of their eyes. Heck, I would have expected to cry myself. But instead I saw something else in their eyes: resolve. I found my own hand had curled into a fist. Sadness is being replaced by determination. Last month there were days when I, and a lot of people, weren't sure we had the will to get out of bed. Now, it seems, people are mustering the will to fight.

I can't say which came first, of course, the resurgence of the city's will to fight, or the Yankees comeback -- which one spurred the other? It's a chicken-and-egg problem. Maybe the two things are just intertwined, linked in some ineffable way. But there it is, the Yankees broke out of their funk, and the city is emerging as well.

I am sure there will still be dark days. And we know that some day the current Yankee run will come to an end, one way or another. But I don't fear that day. I know no matter how bad things may get, better days will always follow, so long as we persevere.