The entire family came into the home during the World Series.
Your home. My home. Everybody's home. One day Joe Torre was just
another name out there on the broad sports landscape. Used to be
a catcher, right? Used to manage the St. Louis Cardinals, right?
Now, as the manager of the New York Yankees, he was sitting at
the dinner table every night.
You're 56 years old, and you have a little baby, Joe?
"No problem. I have to get up three times a night to go to the
bathroom. The baby and I are on the same schedule."
And you have a brother, Frank, who needs a heart transplant?
"Needs it badly, I'm afraid."
And your older brother, Rocco, died?
And your oldest sister is a nun?
"Right here in New York City. Sister Marguerite. Principal of
the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary elementary school in
And you've never won a World Series?
"Never even been in one before."
This was a pause in the technobabble, relief from the glossy
production values of sports in the 1990s. Real people suddenly
were involved. There was someone to care about, to root for. As
the Yanks chugged along to their improbable Series win in six
games over the omnipotent Atlanta Braves, as Frank received a
heart and Sister Marguerite prayed, there was a chance to plug
into the drama on a fine human level.
You enjoy yourself at the celebration, Joe. We'll be waving to
"I'll wave back."