The Red Sox end up gaining their fifth run, putting them three runs ahead, and then there’s the seventh-inning stretch, where the stadium sings “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” and “God Bless America” in unison. I don’t join in, mostly because I’m not in the mood to, but Snake and Tyler have absolutely no apprehension whatsoever when it comes to getting on their feet and singing alongside everyone else.
The Yankees’ performance in their half of the seventh inning is a pathetic excuse for baseball, but by the eighth, something clicks. They gain three runs while the Red Sox gain none, and when Derek Jeter is up to bat, my heart pounds faster than usual. Each time he swings, I get this strange sort of flipping sensation in my stomach that makes me feel like I might hurl. The nervous excitement that’s consuming me is so overwhelming that I fear I might just pass out from it, my knuckles paling from how hard I’m gripping the edge of my seat. Tyler is calm the entire time, only ever groaning and shaking his head when Jeter’s home run never seems to happen, and as the game draws nearer and nearer to a close my excitement turns to panic. By the ninth and final inning, it’s 5–5. Derek Jeter still hasn’t hit a homer.
The Red Sox have the top half of the inning again, but they totally blow it. I wonder if it’s because they can feel the tension around the stadium or if they’ve just genuinely turned to crap as the game has progressed, but either way, they have three strikeouts before any of the players even get the chance to leave home plate. And when the Yankees move to offense for the bottom half of the inning, the Red Sox fans are definitely worried. Snake’s cursing under his breath while he anxiously squeezes his cap in his hands.
The Yankees, however, aren’t much better. They do progress at one point, only when Mark Teixeira makes it to second base, and he lingers there while Derek Jeter comes up to bat. That’s when I start paying more attention. It seems as though it’s his last turn at batting for the game, which means there’s not much hope left for my deal with Tyler. Our deal only stands if Derek Jeter gets a home run, and so far all he’s managed to achieve during this game is reaching third base.
He saunters over the dirt to take up his position at home plate and my heart starts to race. He’s wearing an ankle support, but it doesn’t seem to stop him from kicking at the plate as he adjusts his helmet. Everyone around us suddenly gets to their feet—all but the Red Sox fans, of course—and Tyler reaches for my arm and gently pulls me up. He flashes me a knowing grin, a hopeful one. We both turn back to the field, and I’m not sure about Tyler, but I’m definitely holding my breath. Jeter swings a couple times before nodding and raising the bat, hovering it just by his shoulder, his stance strong, eyes narrowed. The pitcher hurls the ball toward him, but he doesn’t swing, only shakes his head. This happens again on the second pitch. In a last-ditch attempt at keeping the spirit up, the stadium starts to chant, the noise echoing all around me at once. Derek Jeter’s name is called over and over again, with applause in between, and I join in with the rhythm. I can hear Tyler chanting too, and there’s nothing to be heard except for the yelling of Derek Jeter’s name. Everyone is focused on him and nothing else.
The Red Sox pitcher lines up once more. Raising his leg, he draws back the ball, and in one fast jerk of his arm, he propels the ball toward Jeter. I stop chanting. I stop chanting because I stop breathing, because I’m squeezing my hands into fists so tight I think my fingers might snap.
And then, in the space of a split second, there’s a thunderous crack.
The entire stadium stops yelling. Even the Red Sox fans get to their feet, everyone’s eyes wide as the ball soars across the field. I keep my eyes trained on it as it moves, backspinning toward left center field. It’s almost in slow motion and I part my lips as Tyler presses his hands to his head. The ball flies over the Yankee Stadium letters, over the video board. It’s out of the park.
More importantly, it’s a home run.