He should have started Mussina in Game 1 and stuck Spencer in the outfield.

I mean, what was Torre trying to be with his loyalty to the veterans? A hero? Thanks, Joe, but we've got plenty of those these days. What we need is a chance, some hits, a win. And we still don't have it.

Game 2 has come and gone. We waited like soccer fans for that score, that release. Instead we got Jorge staring at a strike three, Brosius popping up, O'Neill doing zilch once again. We could have used Giambi. Jason, of course. "Come play for us, Jason! Play for a winner!" someone yelled. And he should. Forget Nick Johnson. Let's get back to playing late into October. Giambi can even wear number 7 or 16. Mickey and Whitey won't mind.

Let's get back to the way it used to be. I remember the days of Donnie Baseball, which means I remember Espinoza and Pags as much as Rickey and Dave. I remember unemployment and sitting in a lonely upper deck for day games. I remember Sterling-Johnstone.

I remember the better stuff too. Game 6 against Cleveland in '98, when Jim Thome almost hit the ball out of the stadium. The Yanks held on of course. The Padres can tell you all about it. I remember Boston showing up and looking for blood in Game 1 the following year, and Bernie going yard in a walk-off. Hell, I remember Jeffrey Maier. I just couldn't see the catch from the upper deck.

This night was different though. Mind you, there were vintage moments that defined time and place so much you could taste it down the tunnel and in the concourses. Moments that screamed October, the Bronx, New York. As the A's stepped to bat, a fan behind me offered this: "Damon! You were 4-for-4 last night. So was your mother!" And when Eric Chavez backed out and called time, the fan added a cordial request: "Get back in the box, b----!"

You bring out your best stuff for the playoffs. Which means you bring out the T-shirts, Yankee T-shirts. It was like an early June evening. Warm enough for the ubiquitous Williams 51s and Jeter 2s mixed in with an inexplicable Knoblauch sans the "a" and number 34? Nothing beat one I spied in the first inning though: Pasqua 21. That's the shirt. I mean we're talking pre-Paulie here.

Alas, it soon seems we'll be talking post-Paulie and post-Tino and post-Yankees three-peat. Does it matter?

Yes.

After the game, I walked the streets of my neighborhood. I stared at the "Missing" posters that cover a wall of St. Vincent's hospital. Our dead friends and loved ones have left us dazed and bewildered. Now we're down 0-2.

That baseball in the Stadium is likely over for this year shouldn't mean much. But it does. More than another championship, what we really could have used was one more win in the Bronx. Something to help us remember who we are.

Because you don't have to stare downtown to realize there's a big hole in our lives right now. Not even a 27th banner can fill that. But a win in New York would be frickin' awesome.

See you Monday night.

E-mail John Gustafson at john.gustafson@espnmag.com.