Steinbrenner’s Act Is a Familiar One

A Marilyn Monroe was to be delivered from the heavens to center field from a helicopter. A George Bush was to arrive at the gate in a limousine.

And while everyone was scrambling the other way, Steinbrenner in bearded disguise was going to return from exile to his throne. He is a master of misdirection.

And he was going to laugh and laugh, this new Steinbrenner.

You know, as he always says: fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me. As if he could remake himself at this late date, or even wanted to.

Well, just before he got into his company jet with the pinstripe interior in Tampa, Fla., early Monday morning, he called the whole thing off, canceled the limo and the helicopter and sent the lookalikes back to Hollywood.

He told his publicity agents he didn’t think it was right to be playing to laughs while New York was agonizing with dead and injured from a bomb blast, while Texas police were mourning the effects of a shootout, while parts of the world were in flames. And you know he had to let all those suffering know that he was suffering with them.

“New York will be back,” he said in admiration. “Those people are battlers. They’re tough-minded.” It was as if he was talking about himself.

The whole thing was a mighty demonstration of the man who took the Yankees to the heights in the 1970s and skidded on the declining graph the last 11 seasons.

But back to the Cessna Citation that flew him from Tampa to Executive Airport, a 10-minute walk to Fort Lauderdale Stadium: two pilots, Tampa Tribune columnist Tom McEwen, an old friend and Tampa booster, and Steinbrenner. And a box of donuts. “I thought he looked like a cowboy, which he would like to be,” McEwen said.

And the donuts. “He said he wished they were Krispy Kreme,” McEwen said.

And there we have the unbearding and unmasking. They were the wrong donuts, as were the fresh flowers on the secretaries desks the first year he owned the team, as were the decisions all those managers and general managers and secretaries made across these many years.

This was the heralded return from 2 1/2 years of suspension by Fay Vincent. That commissioner is gone, and Steinbrenner is here again, but he wouldn’t gloat, wouldn’t cry vindication. He wanted that in the eye of the beholder.

This is the owner who made himself the point of the advertising campagn, ahead of his players or his manager. He would steal the eye of New York. And, sure enough, he does.

There were nearly 300 requests for interviews in the last weeks. Yesterday media access required a special stick-on pass proclaiming, “The Boss is back!,” to be mounted on a garment like a billboard. About 200 were distributed.

And when Steinbrenner walked up to the ball park at 10:30 it was like, it was like ... Well, the closest thing I’ve ever seen was the time my wife and I were sitting in a waterfront restaurant in France and Brigitte Bardot got off a boat. She was a vision of loveliness in flowing pink surrounded by a mass of people and cameras stumbling and falling and trampling each other for a photo, a peek.

Steinbrenner, not nearly as lovely, stopped to answer questions with catchphrases of the hundred and one interviews he gave when the date drew close.

He told the story of the late Barney Nagler, a columnist for the Daily Racing Form and genuinely liked man, who died at 78 during Steinbrenner’s suspension. Barney, in his non-racing columns, had been a strong critic. While he was hospitalized for an earlier illness, Steinbrenner visited Barney, just to make him feel better, and eventually won the man over.

“He used to come to Yankee Stadium and visit with me,” Steinbrenner said. Then Steinbrenner was suspended and Barney passed away. “I don’t know that it might have hastened his demise,” Steinbrenner said.

You may have heard 200 pairs of eyes rolling.

Steinbrenner made his way toward the field. On the overhead walkway an elderly, portly woman shouted her welcome. It was Mary, a waitress from Stouffer’s Hotel here many years ago.

“She used to take care of me and my kids,” he said. “Mary -- oh, God -- I love you,” he shouted. He told the guard to let Mary in.

You can’t make this stuff up.

Now the man is back and Reggie Jackson, Tommy John, Ron Guidry and Willie Randolph, the icons of when the Yankees were Steinbrenner’s Yankees, appear destined to follow. For now he says he’s delighted with what son-in-law Joe Molloy, Gene Michael and Buck Showalter have wrought.

He’s said the nicest things about people whose feet he was holding to the fire.

“I’m going to be different,” he said. “You’ll see.”

He has improved his team for his return. “Now if they stay healthy, they can win everything,” he said. “This team can win it. I really believe that.”

That’s frightening. This is a team without a single outstanding player. It should be competitive, but expectations can be damning. Maybe Steinbrenner has learned to accept spring training , but what if they don’t come together in April or May?

That’s always been a flashpoint; stability, continuity and growth were destroyed by impatience. Now the man is his own advertising slogan, and does that obligate him to do something -- anything -- and to do it now? It was ever thus.

“I’m not going to do anything dramatic,” he said. “I’ve only been here 15 minutes.”

From the edge of the grandstand there was this small but strong chant, “George must go! George must go!”

The man came back declaring his slate is fresh and clean, and he should be judged on that. But, better not mess up on the donuts again.