by Derek Jeter
Zim was the kind of guy, who, at seventy-two, would go out on the field and get into an altercation, which is exactly what happened in the 2003 ALCS when Pedro Martinez threw him to the ground after Zim got in his face. Zim had a fiery attitude and demeanor, so to think that he would do that didn’t surprise me. Still . . . seeing it actually happen? Now that surprised me.
The Core Five
Bernie was the first player to come up through the Yankees organization in my era to have great success. The Yankees were known for trading the younger players, but Bernie changed that and paved the way for the rest of us to have that opportunity. Without him, the Core Four might not have been allowed to happen.
He doesn’t get grouped in with the rest of us, and there are a few reasons for that. First of all, our first year was when the team started winning, and Bernie had already been there. Also, he retired before we won our fifth championship. But even though he doesn’t get mentioned when people talk about the Core Four, Bernie is without a doubt the reason why we had the opportunity to take Yankees baseball to the highest level of play.
Mr. October
When I was growing up, everybody knew Reggie Jackson: Mr. October. I’ve been lucky enough to know him personally since I was eighteen. Reggie is one of the best storytellers I’ve ever met. He is fun to be around. He’s very honest. He’s very open, and he knows how to relate stories from his own life when he’s talking to people about their lives. I always enjoy being around him, because Reggie is one of those players with a lot of knowledge, and I like to take his wisdom and apply it to my own life. He really has been a mentor to me.
Reggie played the game for a long time and with a lot of success, and obviously he’s in the Hall of Fame. But Reggie is great to learn from, because along with his success he also had failures. Some people assume that if you were a great player and are in the Hall of Fame, you never failed. Reggie will be the first to point out that he had plenty of failures but he never let them hold him back. When he failed, he just kept pushing through. Reggie hit home runs, but Reggie also struck out.
Brother Tino
Tino was playing first base when I got my first major-league hit in Seattle. I didn’t know him at all, and he came up to me and said, “Congratulations, it’s just the first of many.” He and I have grown extremely close. He lives in Tampa as well, so we hang out a lot. Tino is like family to me. I’ve watched his children grow up. He lives a few houses down from me, so we will take the boat out, go out to dinner, or he and his wife and kids will come over.
Tino is the kind of guy I admire. He played hard, he’s intense, he was part of those championship teams. He’s like a brother to me—we won four championships together and that lends itself to a relationship you can’t have with just anybody.
Mr. November
I told President Bush to make sure he threw the first pitch from the mound and didn’t bounce it before it crossed home plate, because if it did, people would boo him. They don’t care who you are or what the situation is. If you don’t throw a strike, you’re going to hear about it.
It was cool to be named Mr. November, but it was a unique set of circumstances that came from unfortunate circumstances. We were only playing in November because of the September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks. The World Series had never been played in November, and I don’t think it ever will be again.
The One and Only
Yogi is like a cartoon character. I’ve never met anyone like him, and I doubt I ever will. He always finds his way to my locker when he comes in. Ever positive, he always has good things to say. I love asking him questions about ex-players and situations. Yogi would always brag about having ten rings and me only having five. To which I liked to point out that there were no playoffs when he played—the best teams went straight to the World Series. So the way I figured it, he really had only five rings himself. To that he always said, “Well, you can come count them if you want.”
A History of Tradition
We get spoiled in our organization, because so many of the greats come back. That’s what makes Old Timers’ Day so special. Other teams may invite back former players, but Old Timers’ Day really is a Yankees tradition. The fans learn the history and the tradition not only of the team but of the sport itself. It’s great for players like me, too, because we get the chance to meet these guys—one of the many privileges that come with being a New York Yankee. I haven’t even thought whether or not I’ll ever play in an Old Timers’ Game. I can’t even imagine that at the moment.
There Will Never Be Another
The day George Steinbrenner died was a rough one for Yankee fans, particularly because the Boss and public address announcer Bob Sheppard passed away one right after the other. Bob played as big a part in the experience at Yankee Stadium as any player ever did. I was so happy that I’d thought to have Bob’s voice recorded so that he would always introduce me at the plate. His was the only voice I’d ever heard at Yankee Stadium, and I wanted to preserve that as best I could.
The first time I met the Boss, I was eighteen and I had just signed with the team. He was intimidating—he’d walk around with his turtleneck and his sport coat, hands in his pockets, in hundred-degree Florida heat. He knew everything about the organization from the ground up, and when we met he kept saying, “We expect big things from you.” All I could do was nod and say, “Okay, okay.” Our relationship grew into a friendship, because we had the same goals. The Boss expected perfection, he wanted to win, and he was a fierce competitor—in that sense our attitudes aligned. I wanted the same things and cared about them as much as he did, so I never had a problem with his expectations.
We would get together during the off-season, and all I can say about him is that he was unique. He was tough, and if you couldn’t take it he would beat you down. Like Yogi, he was one of a kind—there was no one like him, and I don’t think there ever will be.
The Greatest Stage in Professional Sports, or What I Like to Call “The Office”
The night before the last game at the old stadium, the Yankees organization asked me if I would speak afterward. I’m not one for prepared speeches, because if I prepare a speech and practice it and then forget something when I recite it, that one mistake will throw the whole thing off. So I always speak off the top of my head. I came out of the game with one or two outs in the top of the ninth, and that’s when I realized I had to figure out what I was going to say, and do it pretty quickly.
It wasn’t hard. I just thought about both stadiums and what they meant to me, but most of all to the fans, with all their memories and baseball history. When I was younger I dreaded speaking in front of people. I really hated it, to the point that I nearly couldn’t do it. For weeks I’d be nervous when I knew I had an oral report to do in class. For me, to end up standing there on the pitcher’s mound in Yankee Stadium speaking to fifty-six-thousand-plus people, I’d say I’ve come a long way.
THE POSTSEASON
I had butterfiles going into my first postseason but I was more excited than nervous. I really like those times when I know there are more eyes on us. And that’s what the postseason is. I tell the younger guys heading into their first one to treat every game the same way they would in the regular season. It’s the same game, there are just more people watching.
Mr. T
Joe Torre, or Mr. T, was a father figure to me. I learned a lot from him but, most important, I learned how to deal with people and how to treat people. You have to take the time to get to know everybody’s personalities—I learned that from Joe Torre. He was a wonderful people person.
There’s an old adage that says you should always treat everyone the same: I don’t necessarily agree with that. I think you should treat everyone fairly but not the same. He was tremendous at dealing with people’s personalities, and that is one of the reasons why he was a great leader. If you’re going to lead a group, you have to get to know everyone you’re leading.
I Earned It
I hit my firs
t postseason home run in the eighth inning of Game 1 of the American League Championship Series versus Baltimore in 1996. There was some controversy about it because of the kid pictured here, who leaned over the wall and caught it. The kid may have reached, but I played with Tony Tarasco and told him that he should have jumped—and that he would have missed it anyway.
We Are the Champions
The team hadn’t won a World Series since 1978, so it was wild in Yankee Stadium when we won in 1996—you can feel it just by looking at this image. The old stadium was much louder because of the way it was designed—more stacked and less spread out, with several thousand more seats than the new one. It felt as though the fans were always right on top of you, closer to the field. The new stadium has underground restaurants and bars and tunnels to occupy fans while they’re watching the game, whereas in the old stadium, you had to be in your seat to see the game. It was intimidating to play there, believe me—even as a member of the home team.
Party Time
These photos were taken after we beat the Braves in 1999, our third Series win in four years. I was always the one who poured champagne on the Boss. He was a very stern, intimidating leader, but he and I had a great relationship, so I’d always look for him and be the guy who poured champagne on him. I’m lucky to say that we were pretty close. I think it all started with that age-old Ohio State/Michigan rivalry—the Boss was a big Ohio State guy.
He was a perfectionist in every single way. When he and I filmed a Visa commercial in 2003, he wanted it to be perfect. He didn’t want them to edit at all, he wanted to do it until he delivered his lines perfectly. So we did it until he was satisfied. If you’ve seen the commercial, you’ll know that I’m one of the few people on this earth who can say that they danced in a conga line with George Steinbrenner. That was the only part of the commercial he wasn’t concerned about getting right. After two takes, he said, “Okay, that’s it, I’m only doing this one more time!”
Subway Series
When I think of the five World Series we won, the Subway Series in 2000 was the one we had to win. If we hadn’t, I don’t think I would have stayed in New York City. I was living in Manhattan, and everywhere you went for two or three weeks before we even got into the Series, the Yankees-Mets rivalry was all that anyone talked about—I think most Yankee fans felt that if we didn’t win, we could have thrown those three rings that came before out the window. So that was a big showdown for us, and a very important victory.
Don’t Let Defeat Beat You
Losing to the Diamondbacks in the 2001 World Series was one of the toughest losses of my career. We were three outs away from our fourth championship in a row. We’d won in situations like that ninety-nine times out of a hundred, but this was the one time that it wasn’t meant to be. To get that far in the season and have it be so close made it so tough to take. All you can do after something like that is pick yourself up and use it as motivation to work harder next year.
I believe that it’s important to remember the tough times, as it makes experiencing the good times better; it also makes you work harder for them. Every year you have to assess how you played—especially when you win. That’s when you should take the time to look in the mirror and figure out how to do better and what you can improve.
Mind Over Matter
I have fun in clutch situations—I really enjoy them. The key to achieving in a clutch situation is to not be afraid to fail. I’ve always thought to myself, “What’s the worst I can do? Strikeout?” Then I try to think about the times that I’ve had success in similar situations. It’s a case of mind over matter. Baseball is a game of failure—and I’ve failed a lot—but I think the biggest key is remembering success. A lot of guys get so excited and amped up in clutch situations that the game speeds up for them, but I try to slow it down as much as I can and enjoy it. I’ll say to myself, “You’ve done it before. Do it again.”
Boyhood Dreams
This was the moment I dreamed of when I was playing ball in the backyard as a boy. Every kid who plays baseball dreams of hitting a home run in the World Series. But for that home run to be a walk-off to win the game? This photo is of a childhood dream exceeded.
I was so happy, I jumped as high as I could when I came into home—so high that I almost broke my ankle landing on the plate. I’m not kidding. If you watch highlights from the last two games of that World Series you’ll notice that I can’t run at all. I was lucky—a guy playing for the Los Angeles Angels did the same thing in 2010 and broke his leg. If I got the chance to do it over I wouldn’t have jumped, but I was living out that backyard dream. What can I say?
If You Can Make It Here . . .
Being the toast of the town when that town is New York City—it doesn’t get any better than that. I wouldn’t know, but I can’t imagine that there’s a better place to win than New York.
A BANNER YEAR, 2009
We were in four Series during my first five years in Major League Baseball, and six in my first eight years. Then we didn’t go back for eight years. So the Series in 2009 felt really good. And it was our first year in the new stadium, so it was really gratifying. I felt we were going to win that year, I really did!
Passing the Iron Horse
Hit number 2,722: Passing Lou Gehrig’s record was incredible for me, because any time you’re mentioned in the same breath as Gehrig it’s very special. A few years before, I’d noticed that no player had reached 3,000 hits with the Yankees. I almost didn’t believe it, given the history of the team and all the great players who have worn the pinstripes.
I was well aware that Gehrig had the most hits, but I tried to keep all of that “history-making” stuff out of my mind. If you play long enough, if you’re consistent, and if you stay healthy, good things may happen. I never set out to pass Gehrig in hits; it was never a goal of mine. I must say, though, that as soon as I got close I was reminded of it constantly, because that was all that anyone wanted to talk to me about.
I’m very grateful that it happened at home, because you want moments like those in your career to happen before your hometown crowd. I’m not saying other cities wouldn’t have appreciated that achievement with me, but the Yankees are big on tradition and history, so it was all the more special for me to do it in New York.
Hello, Mr. President
It’s always shocking when you meet someone and they know who you are, let alone call you by name—even more so when it’s the President of the United States. When I first met President Obama and he spoke to me and knew all about me, it was hard for me to grasp what was happening.
Sportsman of the Year
When I was recognized as Sports Illustrated’s Sportsman of the Year in 2009, I learned that I was the first Yankee to be granted the honor, which was hard to believe because there have been so many Yankees legends who have made major impacts on and off the field. My parents have always stressed the importance of teamwork, character, and leadership, so this felt like an honor we all shared. It was a huge one, and I’m glad my family was able to go to the ceremony.
You’ve Got to Be Hot
The best teams make the playoffs, but the hottest team wins. That’s just how it is. All the teams that go to the playoffs can win the World Series, but you have to be hot to win it. And that’s not something you can plan or teach.
There were a lot of years I felt we should have won. I felt we should have beaten Arizona, and the Marlins, too. I felt we should have won the pennant against Boston the year we blew a 3–0 lead. Then again, every team says that when they lose: “We had a better team than they did, we just didn’t play well enough.” I’m not so sure it’s that simple, because I don’t believe in chemistry as much as other people do. When you win, they say your team has good chemistry, and when you lose, they say something is wrong with your chemistry. I don’t think chemistry has anything to do with it. I think good fortune plays a bigger role in winning it all than people are willing to admit.
A Jeter Tradition
3,000
If you go back through the history of the game, you’ll notice that the number of players getting 200 or more hits remains about the same each year—it’s always just a handful of guys putting up those numbers. To make it to 3,000 hits in your career, you have to get 200 hits for fifteen straight years. The key to that is simple: consistency and longevity. You can’t do it if you don’t stay healthy.
#3000
My 3000th hit, I just wanted to hit the ball hard. I was joking around with one of my teammates before the game, saying I was going to hit a home run. I was just joking because at that point in the year, I only had two home runs. I wasn’t really trying for one, but I did hit it hard. I knew it was going to be a milestone, replayed for years to come, especially with the way the Yankees keep tradition and history alive, so I didn’t want it to be an average or boring hit. That was a special day; everything seemed to go right. I didn’t give it much thought at the time, even after I hit it; I wasn’t thinking that I had to get that ball. It was only afterward that I heard that Christian Lopez wanted to give it back, and I really appreciated it.