September 17, 2007 -- BOSTON - He's officially entered that portion of his career where it's more fashionable for folks to focus on the things he can't do, on the narrowing width of his range at shortstop, on the way he's become the fifth- or sixth-most dangerous weapon in the Yankees lineup.
The vast brigade of Yankee haters across the country have long sung that stupid song, the one that talks about Derek Jeter being a creation of the great New York hype machine. They have long blanched at the notion of the intangibles Jeter brings to the Yankees. They have conveniently overlooked one of the great bodies of work in baseball history.
And will no doubt try to overlook what happened at Fenway Park last night, when Jeter single-handedly reached down the throats of 36,533 denizens of Red Sox Nation and ripped out their voice boxes, same as he's taken anvils to their hearts so many times in the past.
"It's always good," he would say, "to do something special here."
The score was tied, 1-1, and there were runners on second and third, and Curt Schilling had that old, familiar look in his eye. It was almost six years ago that Schilling and Roger Clemens had met in the desert on another Sunday night, another Emmy Awards night. That was Game 7 of the World Series.
That game was also a 1-1 tie into the eighth inning, before Alfonso Soriano got his bat on a Schilling splitter just as it was about to dive into the dirt, lifted it over the fence at what was then called Bank One Ballpark. Schilling was rescued that night by karma and by a weak flare off the bat of Luis Gonzalez.
This time, looking to put Jeter away, Schilling tried to sneak a splitter past the Yankee captain, and Jeter's eyes grew wide as he laid a stickball hack on the ball. The moment it left the bat you could see the life leave Schilling's shoulders, and you could hear the buzz escape from Fenway Park.
"You're just trying to do something positive there," Jeter said. "Just get the ball into a hole somewhere and get the lead."
If it was far less surprising a blow than the one another Yankee shortstop had launched over the very same wall two weeks shy of 29 years ago, it was no less important. The home run, and the 4-3 victory it ultimately delivered, didn't topple the Sox from atop the AL East, nor is it likely to ignite a chain of events that'll allow that to happen. It didn't wrap up a wild card berth for the Yankees, who still have a three-game loss-column bulge over the Tigers with two weeks to play.
But it did send a message. For old-time's sake, let's even say it sent an intangible message to the Sox, to the Tigers, and to everyone else in baseball, that the Yankees are whole again, that their heart beats loudly again, that in addition to the career-year thumpers like Alex Rodriguez and Jorge Posada and the consistent rakers like Robby Cano and Bobby Abreu there remains, as always, Jeter, still ever capable of walking up to the plate and delivering a Moment.
"He took care of us, didn't he?" Joe Torre asked with wonder frosting his voice. "I've been here 12 years. He's been here all 12 of those years. At first, when he was younger, I used to marvel at what he was capable of. But after a couple of years, it's not a shock anymore."
That does sound familiar, doesn't it? And it's clear why the subject of Jeter has long been a favorite theme for Torre, because they have had similar arcs to their careers here. From 1996 until around 2003 or so, both were untouchable and bulletproof, the object of almost universal appreciation. They remain the co-faces of what these Yankees are, and what they've been.
It's just not so unanimous any more. It's clear there will be no rioting in the streets whenever Torre's tenure comes to an end. And there are a growing number of No. 13 jerseys spotted among the faithful now.
For a night, for a Moment, none of that mattered. For a night, for a moment, Derek Jeter reminded us who he is, and who he's been.
michael.vaccaro@nypost.com
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