For the last seventeen years, Derek Jeter, Jorge Posada, and Mariano Rivera have worn pinstripes for the New York Yankees.
Seventeen years - longer than any other threesome in the history of sports. That's a whole lot of backhand jump throws, barehanded at-bats, and Enter Sandman's. That's also a whole lot of wins.
Since 1994, these three have been teammates. Colleagues. Coworkers. Friends? Maybe. Or maybe they can't stand each other. Maybe they wake up every morning and dread walking into that clubhouse and seeing the faces of the other two. It's possible.
Posada may resent Jeter for being so publicly named team captain. And maybe Jeter is jealous of Rivera for serving as the focal point of nearly every nail-biting Yankee victory. Or perhaps Rivera gets irritated by Posada's pitch calling - cutter, cutter, cutter... We get it, Jorge - let's mix it up.
Energy, enthusiasm, a little showmanship, and an adequate grasp on lyrics- that's all we ask. Put all of these together, and you've got yourself a memorable Greyhound Lounge performance. The crowd goes crazy, you're bombarded with atta-boy's and high-5's, and you proudly strut your way back to your seat, relieved and ready to enjoy the rest of the show.
Fail to put forth your best effort? You won't like where you're headed.
During my four years of college ball, Greyhound Lounge was annually one of our most anticipated team traditions. As the event drew nearer, we'd analyze which freshmen we thought would shine, and, of course, which ones would tank- which ones would think they were better than they actually were, and which guy would use his time behind the mic to finally bust out of his shell.
It was hazing in its most innocent form- and every year the stage was set for a new crop of singers to have their moment.
The day of the event is usually arranged for the first long bus ride of the season. The team loads onto the bus- the upperclassmen loose and excited, the freshman and newcomers looking more like they're walking into a final exam- and then, it begins.
