On a podium at the meet-and-greet sits the World Series trophy, primed for a photo op. Jeter catches sight of the thing, and you can almost see a Gollum-like glimmer in his eye as he drifts over to peer at it.
This is only the third baseball game that Jeter has been to this season. The others were the All-Star Game and a game at Yankee Stadium commemorating his induction into the National Baseball Hall of Fame. His abrupt resignation in Miami came after four seasons there; he says he needed a break.
A line forms to take photos. Jeter takes his position next to the trophy; a handler makes sure his head isn’t covering the Capital One logo behind him.
“Do I really have to pose with all these Phillies fans?” he jokes.
“You don’t have to smile,” says his handler.
But smile he does, until the last person has come through, some of them barely daring to look him in the eye. This is, of course, a business obligation, and, as with everything Jeter, there’s a deliberateness to all his gestures, a bit of Dale Carnegie. But he is nevertheless endearing, and, frankly, it’s a little confusing. Because, right up until the unfortunate, complicating circumstance of meeting the man, I would have told you, without hesitation, that I hated Derek Jeter.
“Such a strong word!” he says, when I tell him so. “I never looked at it as people hated me as a person. They don’t know me. And I think if they knew me, they wouldn’t hate me. They just strongly disliked the team I played for.”
Oh, but I beg to differ. To dislike implies a real, personal, human animus. That’s way more serious than the beautiful, unencumbered, irresponsible hatred that is one of the great joys of sports, just as is unquestioning, unconditional love.
It comes almost as a relief when I finally catch the faintest glimpse of the Imperial Stormtrooper that I thought I knew from years of watching him play.
“Are you a baseball fan?” he asks.
“I’m a Mets fan,” I tell him.
He waits a beat. Gives a little cluck.
“Mets were pretty optimistic this year,” he says.
“Yes,” I say, as evenly as possible. The Mets led the National League East for nearly the entire season before characteristically stalling down the stretch and being summarily ousted in the playoffs. “Yes, they were.”
