My dinner with Hal

Imagine my surprise when the email arrived, inviting me to dinner at a secret Tampa location with the most powerful man in the Yankiverse, Harold "Hal" Steinbrenner, himself.  

I've been a critic of "Food Stamps Hal" for more than 20 years, going back to the days of Carl Pavano. Friends warned me about going. “He’s the Yankee Antichrist," they said. "He’s Syd Thrift. He's 'Halligator Arms.' He approved the trade for Lance Berkman. He let Robbie walk. He cheaped-out with Bryce Harper. He lost Juan Soto!” Still, after long contemplation, I decided that hate gets us nowhere - we must talk to Ownership, even if it has committed unspeakable crimes against Yankeehood. 

Soon after, I found myself entering an opulent living room, where several of Hal's lieutenants had gathered. I saw Brian "Cooperstown" Cashman, Michael Kay, Randy Levine and most of the YES team. We small-talked about Clay Bellinger. But conversation ended at the sound of slippers coming down the hallway. Everyone rose as Hal entered the room.

He wore a tan jump suit with NY insignia and gave me an enthusiastic hug, which, frankly, caught me off guard. It was a warmer greeting than I normally get from Alphonso, and it came with a disarming slap on my back. I joked, awkwardly, that I was surprised to see him in tan, a color I associated with Milwaukee. He laughed boisterously. Suddenly, he seemed so kind, so human. Here I was, poised to meet the monster who brought us Jacoby Ellsbury, yet this warm, adorable man in his sweat suit was clearly something different.

He led us into the dining room and gestured for me to sit next to him. Levine quickly grabbed a large slice of gouda cheese, prompting Hal to whisper, with an eye-roll, “He’ll be bound-up and shitting like the last paying fan on Jazz Chisholm Basketball Jersey Night." That got me. I nearly had potato chips coming out of my nose. Levine, chewing, asked what was so funny? Hal said, “I was just reminded of Jesus Montero's love of ice cream sandwiches." That got the biggest laugh of the night — and believe me, there were lots.

But it wasn’t just a succession of hilarious one-liners. Hal was inquisitive, asking me many questions about myself. Was I happy? Was I sad? Was I "cool" with what was "going down?" I expressed my fears about Devon Williams blowing saves, while Clay Holmes starts for the Mets. Hal said he could "grok " it. “When the ninth inning comes, I just switch to the Weather Channel," he said, mirthfully. That's when I realized: If only our IT IS HIGH commenters could see this warm and lovable side, they might have a different opinion of the man.

Two hours later, dinner was over, and Hal escorted me to the door. “Sir," I gushed, "You're not the cheap-ass monster I thought you were." 

"Indeed," he said, wisely. "We disagree on trade and spending, but we can still like each other.” With that, he presented me with a ball autographed by Zolio Almonte. We hugged. Barely holding back tears of gratitude, I walked out into the night. From deep in the house, I could hear the Weather Channel.