One year ago today, we could run through airports like O.J. without being tackled.
In the seventh inning, we sang proudly about the old ballgame, instead of Old Glory.
As for reservations, no one had any about flying to New Orleans for the Super Bowl. And you could still make them at Windows on the World.
One year ago today, Rudy Giuliani was mayor of New York, not America. Few worshiped him or put him on par with the pope. He certainly wasn’t considered a saint. Hell, Mets fans gave Hizzoner a good amount of grief whenever he showed up at Shea Stadium wearing a Yankee grin. Yes, hard to believe now but it’s true: People used to boo Rudy around here.
We lived more innocent and compassionate lives. “Let’s roll,” for example, was once a famous command given by the president to kids who gathered on the White House lawn for the annual Easter egg contest.
It was also the response from Dale Earnhardt Jr. once he decided to continue racing in the wake of his father’s fatal accident.
And what Retief Goosen mumbled to his golf ball on the 72nd hole of the 2001 U.S. Open.
Sorry. Goosen meant “less roll.”
Do you remember folks turning misty-eyed and developing lumpy throats whenever they mentioned how New Yorkers were courageously “bouncing back?” A year ago today, you figured they were talking about the Knicks‘ Willis Reed in 1970, or the Jets‘ Dennis Byrd in ‘92 or the Yankees at the ‘96 World Series.
Some would even throw Darryl Strawberry in there. Seriously.
You might recall that the man accused by the entire country of being cunning and ruthless and the brains behind a sinister and elusive operation was Tony Soprano. And the one responsible for spreading fear from coast to coast was Hannibal Lecter. We all thought this a year ago today. We did.
All you needed to enter a football stadium or basketball arena was a ticket and a program, too. You could drive into the parking garage next to Yankee Stadium without being asked to pop open the trunk. There were no folding tables waiting at the entrance or ushers with electronic paddles preparing to poke through all belongings. Why would anyone want to rummage inside your backpack to inspect a few bags of chips for the kids? Once inside the gates, nothing stood between you and your seat. No sniffing German shepherds being nosy, no undercover officers eyeballing you suspiciously, no yellow-jacketed security guards blocking the view of the infield.
“Heightened security measures?” There was no such thing a year ago, although the Rangers did have a plan in place for Eric Lindros, because a guy with multiple concussions could use extra protection from the goons.
You got another form of ID? You didn’t need to show it constantly a year ago. Nobody demanded to know your name in hotel lobbies, office buildings, at the museum or seven times before you boarded a flight.
Before, when old ladies were carded for anything, they found it flattering, actually.
Remember how folks tossed the word “hero” around so easily? Derek Jeter was a hero. Scott Brosius was a hero. For winning a few gold medals, Marion Jones was a hero. Lennox Lewis was a hero. Vin Diesel was training to be a hero. So was Michael Jordan, for the third time around. Shane Battier was a hero. Lance Armstrong was a hero. Shaq was a hero. A sandwich was a hero. It sounds so silly now. But still, things were different then.
The country wasn’t gripped by widespread panic. In the sports pages a year ago, the paranoid only worked for Daniel Snyder or did public relations for Mike Tyson or pitched to Barry Bonds with the bases loaded or held a one-stroke lead on Tiger Woods or looked at their draw and saw the names Venus and Serena.
We weren’t so overwhelmed by reality, either. Most of us attended ballgames, movies or went for a 5-mile run just for the sheer pleasure of doing so, not to escape from a terrible tragedy or anything like that. President George W. Bush, the former owner of the Texas Rangers and a big sports fan, studied the defense of his beloved baseball team as much as he did the defense of our armed forces.
A year ago today was Sept. 10, 2001. It was calm, peaceful and the last perfect day I ever had. It was also the final full day for thousands of innocent people who worked at the World Trade Center and the Pentagon, including my brother Scott. Since this is the one-year anniversary I’d rather remember, today demands some warm reflection and maybe a smile or two.
I won’t be in the mood tomorrow.
