Was it Okay to Boo Derek Jeter at my Son’s College Graduation?

I have always been a booer.

Booing is something a crowd does to express its disapproval at something. I believe it is a good and appropriate and peaceful way for civilized societies to express their displeasure. With the exception of cheering athletes named Cruz (i.e., “Cruuuz”), there is very little ambiguity about how a crowd feels when it boos.

In recent years, I have noticed that booing has seemingly become less popular, especially to the extent that it has been replaced by shrieking, screaming, charging, and the hurling of epithets and objects.

For myself, perhaps in an effort to keep the booing tradition alive, I tend to go overboard in my booing and am not afraid to be the only one doing it. I admit that I sometimes boo at inopportune moments – at the referees at my kids’ flag football games, for example, at certain speakers at company-wide presentations (like HR), and at honest bar owners trying to comply with local laws relating to hours of operation (turn those damn house lights off!). Despite these overreaches, I take immense pride in the fact that I often lead the crowd in booing someone or something. I believe I would have made quite a contribution to civic life during the dark hours of the French Revolution and the subsequent Reign of Terror. Maybe a hearty boo or two could have even saved a few heads.

In this day and age, public sporting events provide the most socially appropriate venue for booing. The easiest targets here are the game officials, who – deserving or undeserving – present as the most natural objects of disapprobation. (Query why it is socially acceptable to boo an umpire during a game, but not a presiding judge during a trial.) Sporting events also provide the most satisfying targets for booing, namely players from the teams we hate. In that regard, there is no team that I hate as much as the New York Yankees.

Which takes me to my proudest boo.

In 2013, the Mets home stadium, Citi Field, hosted Major League Baseball’s All-Star Game. I sat in the right field bleachers with my two older sons, who were about 10 and 9 years old at the time. The crowd was well-represented by avid Mets fans like us, which was cool, as we were able to collectively express our approval or discontent with the current stars of the game, so-called. We cheered our Mets, for sure, even our former Mets, but we also got in a lot of solid boos. For example, St. Louis Cardinals Yadier Molina and Adam Wainwright were both heartily booed for the crime of beating us fair and square in the 2006 playoffs, as were all Yankees. Because, in case you didn’t realize this, F the Yankees.

Some of you might need more by way of explanation, but, sadly, I don’t have any to offer. Not because it’s not well-supported, but because it would take too long. Red Sox fans and Mets fans understand this right away. It’s nothing personal, except that it is.

Here’s a short history. From the beginning of time until 1995, the Yankees won 22 World Series. There were only like five teams in the league for most of this epoch, but Yankee fans are nonetheless very proud of all those trophies. During this time, the Mets had two all-time magical seasons, the 1969 Miracle Mets and the 1986 Mets, which Mets fans would not trade for 1,000 championships.

Enter the 1990s, and the Yankees, genetically motivated by an insatiable quest to seize the success to which they believe themselves entitled by birthright, never miss a chance to ruin someone else’s good time. With this in mind, they had quite an imposing run of success during this period. They won it all in 1996, 1998, and 1999, and then capped off their run by beating the Mets in the 2000 “Subway” World Series. By this point, it had become so intolerable, their fans so insufferable, that two of my most satisfying sports memories of all time were the result of Yankees losses. Petty? Of course, but there was no other choice. Justice could not abide another Yankees championship.

Back to 2013, my boys and I were at the All-Star Game. One of the Yankees on the team was the long-time Yankees relief pitcher Mariano Rivera. The 43-year-old Rivera had already announced that he would be retiring at the end of the season, so the whole year was one long masturbatory tour-de-force of self-indulgence. Despite blowing the lead in the bottom of the 9th inning in Game 7 of the 2001 World Series, costing the Yankees the title, Rivera had an impressive Hall of Fame career and was widely respected among his peers and by many baseball fans.

With this backdrop, and because most people blindly adhere to the primal id of any crowd in which they find themselves, everyone made a big deal when Rivera came out of the bullpen to pitch in that game. His signature Metallica music blared as he jogged out to the mound. Everyone oohed and aahed and had their cameras outs and flashes went off all around. The crowd was on its feet and respectfully applauded the aged man – a man who looked 43 when was 23 and 83 when he was 43. Even the opposing players stood outside each dugout and gave him a standing ovation, assuming, I suspect, that he had mere hours to live. But the accolades were by no means unanimous. Somewhere in the stadium, emanating from the general location of the right field bleachers, three loud boos could be heard, a reminder that the flame of Justice, whilst oft dimmed by the whims of folly and fate, can never be fully extinguished.

Did Mariano Rivera deserve to get booed by an adult man and his children that night? In the words of Clint Eastwood, “Deserve’s got nothing to do with it.”

Fast forward to last weekend when I was in Ann Arbor, Michigan to attend my son’s college graduation. Guess who was there to receive an honorary degree and deliver the keynote address: none other than retired Yankees Hall of Fame shortstop, Derek Jeter. Jeter was the most high-profile player from those Yankees teams, and, like Rivera, was widely respected among players and fans alike. I’ve never heard anyone say a negative word about Derek Jeter’s character – I have no problem acknowledging that he’s probably a good dude – and he was no-doubt a great player. There is also no doubt that Jeter was overrated, if only because no player in the history of organized sports has ever been as good as Yankees fans think he was.

Jeter grew up in Michigan and was drafted to play baseball for the University of Michigan but ended up signing with the Yankees instead. Despite his ties to my son’s school, I readily admit that I booed him last year when he showed up on the screen during the National Championship football game, even though we were rooting for the same team. I therefore knew this graduation speech was going to present some issues for me personally, so I started to socialize my thinking in advance. The whole family was packed into the rented minivan on the way to a celebratory dinner and I floated the question: “So . . . what are we thinking? Are we going to boo Jeter tomorrow?”

Before awaiting a response from the graduate or anyone else, my wife pounced. I’m paraphrasing, but she effectively said that the graduation was not a baseball game, that the idea of booing the keynote speaker at the graduation was repugnant and, if I was actually thinking about doing it – because, as I’ve mentioned in these pages several times, she knows me better than I know myself – it would be completely unacceptable.

My son the graduate, who had joined me in booing Mariano Rivera over a decade earlier, chimed in, agreeing with his mother. He reasoned that it would be wrong to invite a guy to give a speech at your school and then boo him.

Well, when you put it like that!

With these opinions duly on the record, I slept on it.

The next morning, I dropped off the family at the graduation, which was taking place at the football stadium, and I went off by myself to park the car. During the long solitary walk back, I was struck by the unfairness of it all: how can you tell a man he can’t boo and then throw him into the middle of a football stadium? It’s like sitting a kid down at an ice cream shop and telling him he can’t have any ice cream. I still wasn’t sure what I was going to do.

The weather was cold and gray by the time the speeches started. There is not much to share about the event itself. It was a nice graduation – if you’ve seen one you’ve seen them all. When it came time for the honorary degrees to be awarded, my Spidey-senses started to activate. The first degree went to an academic leader and acclaimed astrophysicist. The second went to a distinguished physician and medical researcher. The third to an entrepreneur and philanthropist. The fourth went to an overrated shortstop with a high school diploma. You might have heard of him.

My family was correct. It wasn’t right to boo, so I didn’t. But when the presenter announced Jeter as the shortstop who won five World Series for the New York Yankees, I couldn’t bring myself to applaud, lest my claps be cosmically regarded as an endorsement of the Yankees. In fact, I couldn’t remain silent, and some combination of my Id, Ego, Superego and the Holy Spirit forced my mouth to yell “Let’s go Mets!”

Sure, I received some side-eyes, but in the context of the stadium setting, and in my own biased opinion, it was fine. Even my wife didn’t flinch.

With his new Doctor of Laws in hand, Jeter sidled up to the microphone. If you had secured your tickets expecting Jeter to deliver oratory fireworks, you perhaps never watched him sit for an interview during the 20-plus years he was in the public eye. The guy was strictly business. To his credit, during his playing career Jeter understood that baseball is a team sport and in all those years he never did anything involving words to cause a distraction or otherwise make things interesting. Yankees fans would be glad to know he kept the streak alive in Ann Arbor.

The most personal story he told was about the time back in high school when he was offered a chance to go on a fishing trip with his friends. But he also had baseball practice that day. His dad told him it was up to him. Oh, the conundrum. What did Young Jetes do?

You know what he did. He went to baseball practice. Great story, Jetes. I would have infinitely preferred a lie about catching a fish to a true story about going to baseball practice.

I know I’m being a dick. The truth is that Jeter stood in front of tens of thousands of people and delivered a fine speech. It was organized and held everyone’s attention, and he kept his wits about him the whole time. Not bad for someone who spent his life practicing sports. But the speech only confirmed what I always knew: that there is one word to describe Jeter, both the player and the speaker, and it happens to be the same word that describes the team for which he played during those infamous two-decades, and one of the million reasons we all hate the Yankees. That word is “corporate.”

Was Lee Iacocca not available?

Having resigned to sit back and politely hear the man out, there was one moment that nonetheless tested my resolve. Like any reliable corporate stooge, Jeter was obliged to tout the company that not only paid his salary all those years but was the thing in life that comprises the lion’s share of his personal identity. He thus could not help gushing about how his “lifelong dream was to play baseball for the New York Yankees.”

At this point he stopped to allow the crowd to react. Perhaps he forgot that he was no longer in Yankee Stadium. I sat there expressionless, lips slightly parted, eyes lowered. I figured the door had been opened. Did I miss my calling as a ventriloquist? A deep loud groan rang out. Is that the roar of the helicopter overhead? Feedback from the sound system? Or, wait, is that someone booing?

Did Doctor Jeter deserve to get booed on that chilly overcast morning in Ann Arbor? Again, deserve’s got nothing to do with it.