Confessions of a She-Fan (7 page)

The players are back
from the All-Star game in San Francisco, and publishers are back from vacation. Ellen says she has interest in the book! I should know very soon whether I will be packing a suitcase.

On Thursday the Yankees open a series against the Devil Rays at Tropicana Field. I really do like the Rays, as I wrote in my first
Times
essay. With guys like Crawford and Upton and Pena and Kazmir, they are no pushovers. And yet I feel sorry for them. Hardly anyone comes to their games, and the ones that do cheer for the Yankees, who win tonight 7–3.

Game two is Kazmir's night. He gives up only one run in Tampa Bay's 6–4 win over the Yankees and Clemens.

Wang pitches six solid innings for a 6–4 win on Saturday. There is a lot of first-pitch swinging by the Yankees, which makes me nuts. But what annoys me the most is Farnsworth, who relieves in the eighth and gives up a homer. I stand right in front of the TV and curse him out.

“I could hear you ranting from the garage,” says Michael, who walks in armed with bags of groceries. “Bad news about the book?”

“Just Farnsworth again.” I help him put away the coffee filters and the paper towels and all the rest. “Sorry I've been so checked out lately. How about a movie tonight?”

“I still have work to do.”

“Oh.”

He gives me a hug before he goes to his office. I love his hugs. He never scrimps on them. He pulls me in tight and folds me in his arms and squeezes me. He doesn't do phony hugs, in other words. They are as sincere as he is.

In the Sunday game, the Yankees are ahead of the Devil Rays 7–5 when Joe summons Farnsworth in the bottom of the eighth. Kyle gives up a run. It is now 7–6, which becomes a final, thanks to Mo's 13th save.

On Monday the Yankees are home
for the first of four games against the Blue Jays. We win the opener 6–4, and A-Rod hits his 496th homer. It will be beyond exciting if I get the book deal and am right there when he hits the big 500.

Game two is a fantastic matchup of Pettitte versus Halladay. The score is deadlocked until Joe brings in Farnsworth in the eighth. Kyle gives up a leadoff single to the Big Hurt, then tries this lame pickoff move to first, allowing the go-ahead run to cross the plate. What a loser. I switch over to HBO, where Gary Sheffield is essentially calling Torre a racist on
Real Sports
. He is wearing matching diamond earrings and looks like a transvestite. The Yankees win 3–2 in the bottom of the 10th.

The Yanks and Jays split the final two games. Clemens has a good outing on Wednesday night and gets run support. Wang has a good outing on Thursday night and does not.

On Friday Ellen calls with the news that the book is a done deal! I am definitely going on the road to write about the Yankees! That is the good news. The bad
news is that I need to figure out how to pull the trip together in about a week. I am talking about flights and hotels and all the details that go with being away from home from the end of July to—I am not sure when the trip will end. If the Yankees make the postseason, I could be gone until the end of October. That is a long time not to sleep in my own bed. But I am not complaining! I am getting paid to watch baseball games! Well, the publisher's advance will not be on my doorstep right away, so I will have to lay out my own traveling expenses. Lay out our traveling expenses. Michael and I decide to embark on this journey together.

We acknowledge that we have coexisted in parallel universes lately, and our marriage is stale. A trip is exactly the way to rejuvenate us, to put the spark back. Thanks to all those movie options on my novels, we have enough in the bank for him to take the time off from his freelance work—if we budget correctly. The only hitch is that it poses a health risk for him to come along; he has no immune system and is prone to infection if he so much as catches a cold. Stadium crowds and airplane passengers could be perilous, and I am nervous that he will get sick while we are in some strange city. But he is unfazed.

“Going to all the games with you is an adventure I'm not passing up.”

“You have serious medical problems.” I am always the one who worries, and he is always the one who waves me off.

“Remember the broken ankle when I was 13? I didn't let that stop me from watching Maris hit number 60.”

“You have Crohn's, not a broken ankle.”

“I'll pack a lot of Imodium.”

I give up. He is coming with me, and that is that. The truth is, I am thrilled that he wants to come. This trip is the solution to everything. I can prove what a true fan I am
and
have a second honeymoon with my husband. What could be better?

I print out the Yankees' schedule and mull it over. Michael and I will join the team in Baltimore on July 27. But that is all we agree on because I am suddenly paralyzed by the logistics of this trip. Which do I arrange first: the flights or the hotels? And how the hell do I get access to the Yankees, to the clubhouse, to the games? I told my publisher that access was a no-brainer, that I would meet the players and persuade them to spill their guts, but I have no clue how to make any of that happen.

I call my friend Marty Bell, a successful Broadway theater producer who used to be an editor of
Sport
magazine back in the '70s. He is my go-to person when I have crises large and small. He tells me I must contact the Yankees' media relations director and ask for a press pass to all the games. I hop on the Yankees Web site and find the name of the media guy. It is Jason Zillo. I e-mail him right away, introducing myself as the author of 13 published novels so he gets that I am not some kid writing for my high school paper. I tell him I have a contract for a nonfiction book about being a Yankee fan and would like press passes. I also mention the divorce article that ran in the
Times
and make sure to explain it was meant to be tongue in cheek. I get a quick reply.

“Thanks for your inquiry,” Jason writes. “Unfortunately we receive scores of similar requests throughout the season, and because of the overwhelming demand of media coverage, this is simply not something we can pursue.”

Oh, God. He is blowing me off. Now what? If I don't get access, my publisher will dump the book—and me. I call Marty again.

“You can find a way around this Zillo guy,” he says. “Just go to Baltimore and the other cities, buy tickets for the first week of games, start hanging out at the hotels where the team is staying, in the bar and the lobby, wherever they are. You'll find a player who will talk to you. There's always one. You are beautiful and charming and funny. You will pull this off.”

Now you know why Marty is my go-to person. He not only says flattering, reassuring things, but he reminds me not to take no for an answer. He adds that I should reach out to any other contacts I can think of—people with a relationship to the Yankees or Major League Baseball who may be able to help with access to the players and the games. He also gives me the contact information for his friend Lisa, who gets discounted hotel room rates for the actors traveling with his touring productions.

I e-mail Lisa. Within 24 hours she has Michael and me booked at all the hotels at very reasonable rates. One crisis resolved.

I compile a list of everybody I know who might conceivably have a connection to theYankees. the Yankees. The list comes to a staggering three people.

The first person is Jane Heller. No, that is not a misprint. Michael and I refer to her as the Other Jane Heller. In the spring of 2000, I wrote a novel called
Name Dropping
about two women with the same name whose identities get mixed up. The Other Jane Heller e-mailed my Web site to tell me that she had
my same name. She said she was the largest private banker in the country and that her clients included Martha Stewart as well as
George Steinbrenner and the
New York Yankees
. She invited me to a Yankees game if I was ever in New York and added that she had the best seats in the house. Fast-forward to the fall of 2000 as the Yankees and Mets were about to begin the Subway Series. I took her up on her offer. Michael and I flew to New York and joined the Other Jane Heller and her husband for game two. She did, indeed, have the best seats in the house—in the first row next to the Yankee dugout—and watching the Yankees win was the greatest night ever. I e-mail her now, hoping she will help me bypass Jason Zillo and gain access to the Yankees' inner sanctum.

Next is Sandy McCartney, the Santa Barbara woman who wrote to me after the divorce essay was published in the
Times
—the one whose husband is the best friend of John Sterling. I tell her my problem and ask if she thinks John might be willing to open doors for me.

I e-mail Larry Brooks, the much-respected sports columnist for the New York Post. Over 30 years ago, Larry and I were counselors at a day camp in Mamaroneck. We have stayed in touch sporadically ever since. I ask if he knows Jason Zillo and could offer any advice about how to infiltrate the Yankees.

I e-mail my mother. She lives in Westchester. I ask if Michael and I can stay with her during the Yankees' first home stand. She is 90, but you would never guess it. She walks 5 miles a day on her treadmill and drives around in her little Subaru with the spoiler and leads a monthly book group whose selections are by authors like Proust and Balzac. She has a boyfriend named Cy. He is in his eighties. They watch Yankees games together.

I make progress on the travel front. Dorothy Darr, my friend and neighbor, is an artist and filmmaker who is also the wife of Charles Lloyd, the jazz legend. She is experienced at setting up complicated itineraries because Charles performs with his group all over the world. She suggests I call Charles DE L'Arbre of Santa Barbara Travel Bureau and let him solve the puzzle.

So. Flights are booked. Hotel rooms are reserved. All that remains is for me to get press passes from the Yankees.

I hear back from Sandy McCartney, who gives me John Sterling's phone numbers and tells me he is happy to speak to me. I thank her profusely and call John. When he answers in his deep baritone that is as familiar to me as a family member's, given all my years listening to him on the radio, I half expect him to launch into his trademark “Theeeeee Yankees win!”

“How can I be of help?” he asks.

“Jason Zillo won't give me access to the press box,” I say.

“Of course you should be in the press box,” he booms. “I'll put in a good word for you.”

“That would be great.” What a nice guy!

“While you're waiting for Jason,” he adds, “I would contact the media relations directors at all the teams the Yankees will be playing. It may be easier to go through them.”

“Good idea.”

He also says I should stay at the hotels where he and the Yankees stay in each city and gives me the names. I gulp when I see that there are Ritz-Carltons and similarly upscale spots on the list. The Yankees and I don't have the same budget.

I hear back from Larry Brooks, who says he is excited for me about the book but warns that the Yankees are harder to deal with than any other organization in any other sport. He says he wishes he could help me with Zillo but doesn't know how.

I hear back from my mother, who is delighted that Michael and I are coming to stay with her and assures me we will not cramp her style.

I hear nothing from the Other Jane Heller.

I research the names of Jason Zillo's counterparts at some of the other teams. I fire off e-mails to Jay Stenhouse of the Blue Jays, Brian Britten of the Tigers, Bill Stetka of the Orioles, Jeff Sibel of the Indians, Nancy Mazmanian of the Angels, and John Blake of the Red Sox.

Here are their responses.

Jay Stenhouse of the Blue Jays writes, “As your interest is specifically regarding the Yankees I would ask that you run your request through them first.”

Brian Britten of the Tigers writes, “After consulting with the Yankees Media Relations department, we will not be in a position to credential you for the games at Comerica Park against the Yankees this season.”

Bill Stetka of the Orioles writes, “The Yankees have informed us that they are not cooperating on the book, and therefore I will not be able to provide a credential for you.”

Jeff Sibel of the Indians writes, “After speaking with Jason Zillo of the Yankees, we will not be able to credential you.”

Jennifer Hoyer in the Angels' media relations department writes, “We
received your request for credentials for the Angels/Yankees series in August. However, this series is one of the busiest series of the year and unfortunately we only have space to accommodate our regular media who attend throughout the season. So we are not able to provide a press pass for you for any of the Angels/ Yankees games. Sorry about that and best of luck in your endeavors.”

As for John Blake of the Red Sox, he does not have the decency to reply at all.

I am about to call Marty and report that the Yankees are blackballing me when my phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Jane Heller, please,” says a male voice.

“This is she,” I say.

“Hi, Jane. It's Jason Zillo.”

He has changed his mind! John Sterling must have spoken to him! I am getting access to the Yankees after all!

“I've been hearing from the other media relations directors,” he says. “I need to let you know that nobody will be granting you a press pass.”

My shoulders sag. “Why not?”

“It's nothing personal. I recognize that you've written all those novels, but we don't credential authors of books about the Yankees unless they're authorized biographies of one of the players. John Feinstein is writing a book about Tom Glavine and Mike Mussina, so he has access to Mike. But that's it. So good luck.”

I don't sit around feeling sorry for myself. I e-mail Matt Silverman, the president of the Devil Rays. I tell him about the book and ask if he would be willing to comp me for tickets to both the series against the Rays at Yankee Stadium and the games at the Trop. He writes back that he would be glad to and will put me in touch with his director of VIP relations. The Rays
are
worthy of affection, because look at how well they treat people. To them I am not an undesirable to be kept out at all costs. I am a VIP.