One writer's perspective on Game 6 of the World Series

As 55,000 fans stood in frenzied anticipation of the next pitch, the decibel level in the stadium climbed from thunderous to ear splitting. And when the umpire signaled strike three, the sound in the stadium soared to downright deafening.

It was just the first inning, but no one in the crowd was pacing himself. After all, without a win, there would be no tomorrow.

Welcome to the World Series.

When a friend in New York emailed me Thursday morning and told me he had an extra ticket to Game 6, I happily postponed my trip home for fall break.

Sure, I'm a diehard Cubs fan still nursing my wounds. I even vowed to boycott the Fall Classic after the NLCS debacle, but that was when boycotting meant not watching TV. If Sammy Sosa couldn't be there, at least my Cubs hat and I would be.

There were small issues, of course, like the question of whom to root for. I'm typically ambivalent towards the Yankees — I respect their success, but despise the way they buy it. In this case, however, I decided I would root for them, if for no better reason than a deep concern for my personal safety.

New Yorkers take their baseball seriously. Accuse Yankee fans of being spoiled and greedy, but don't claim that they lack passion. Their paltry three-year title dry spell is incomparable to the epic droughts experienced by Cubs and Red Sox fans, but their hunger is the same.

During my train ride into the city, I spotted numerous fans clearly headed to the game, dressed from head-to-toe in team apparel. On the subway in New York, it was more of the same. The occupants of the packed D-train to the Bronx exchanged fiercely resolute looks appropriate for soldiers heading into battle. Apparently wanting to practice for the seventh-inning stretch, they harmonized for a rousing rendition of "America the Beautiful," followed by vehement chants of "Let's Go Yankees!"

It wasn't just the fans who were ready. What seemed like the entire NYPD was in the vicinity of the stadium, and many of them had even been kind enough to bring horses. The vendors were in top form too, having marked up programs from five dollars to fifteen.

We made it to our seats just in time to see the dark sky lit up by thousand of flashbulbs exploding simultaneously with the first pitch. Everyone knew that this, the one hundreth World Series game played in "The House That Ruth Built," would be a game to remember.

After Yankee pitcher Andy Pettitte retired the Marlins in order in the first, nearly the entire crowd — Marlins fans were few and far between — seemed to expect the Yankees to jump out to an early lead and run away with the game.

But, a fearsome fish was atop the mound — flame-throwing 23-year-old Josh Beckett. When he retired the Yankees without much trouble, a pitcher's duel was brewing.

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As goose eggs began filling the scoreboard, the once raucous Yankee crowd began to quiet in disbelief. And, when the Marlins scored first thanks to a nifty slide from Alex Gonzalez in the fifth, the stadium was eerily silent.

Silent, that is, except for a small but plucky group of Marlins supporters sitting about 25 rows above us. Emboldened by their lead, they began to make some noise and perhaps talk some trash.

Whatever they did, some of the New Yorkers didn't take so kindly to it, and responded with a quick barrage of beer and peanuts. Within an instant, most of the NYPD, sans the horses, had descended upon our section to prevent the situation from getting out of hand.

Meanwhile, the Yankees' tenuous grasp on life was slipping. The Marlins added another run in the sixth, thanks to an error by the normally infallible Derek Jeter. The 2-0 lead would be more than enough for Beckett. The young Texan turned in a performance for the ages, hurling a complete game shutout that earned him the series MVP.

When the final out was recorded, the crowd sat in stunned silence, watching as the gleeful Marlins piled on top of each other. Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York," played over the loud speakers as it is after every game, never seemed so inappropriate.

Yankees fans, after a lifetime of getting the last laugh, aren't accustomed to losing. As one fan mumbled a sarcastic comment about 180 million dollars only buying second place, another loudly chanted "1918," as if to say, "at least we're not Red Sox fans."

Perhaps that sense of privilege — love it or hate it — is the ultimate theme of life for the Yankees. They'll be back soon enough, even if George Steinbrenner has to bump the payroll over $ 200 million.

But, at least for a day, Yankees fans knew what it's like to root for the Cubs or the Red Sox. In the end, there's only one thing you can say:

"Wait till next year."