For Rays, raising of banners buries bad old days

ST. PETERSBURG

The white cloth with the blue lettering inched toward the ceiling, shiny and new, and for a moment, it was like watching the first raising of the flag of a new country.

Certainly, the symbolism was much the same. There was some celebration woven in there, and some hope. Some memories, and some moments. Some pride, and some possibilities. In the eternal search for change, there was the sweet chill of success.

If it was a keeper of a moment for you, and it should have been, then you should have seen it through the eyes of the 49-year-old man standing in leftfield with his son at his side.

The first banner, the one that announced the Rays had won the AL East title, had been raised. Stuart Sternberg had just placed a clip on the second banner, the one that declared the Rays to be the 2008 American League champion. He stood back to take in the moment, and as the cloth lifted slowly toward the top of Tropicana Field, his emotions were a jumble.

This is permanent, he thought.

This is forever.

Standing there, Sternberg thought of old photos he had seen of teams of the '50s and '60s raising their banners. He thought of the future. At one point, he looked at his son Sandy, named after former Dodger great Sandy Koufax, and he thought that when Sandy reached his age, those banners would fly still.

Given the cynicism of the day, it has become easy to scoff at symbolism. Perhaps there are people who will scoff at all the excitement over a couple of swatches of cloth, as if they are little more than glorified beach towels.

That said, there was something decidedly cool about the Rays' raising of two banners Monday night at the Trop with the visiting Yankees — who have been raising banners back since Betsy Ross was sewing them — looking on.

If you don't think so, you should have been there … for the last 11 years.

Did you ever expect to see such a celebration? Three years ago —heck, last year — you would have expected to have seen ghosts in the bullpen or the landing of a spaceship before you would have seen the raising of a pennant.

This was beyond comprehension. Worse, it was beyond hope. This was an elephant's graveyard of a franchise.

And now, everything has changed.

As much as anything, that is what those two pieces of cloth represent.

"It's a symbol," Sternberg said. "They can't take it away from us. Look, it's not going to be all fun and roses for the next five to 10 years. People are always going to be able to look and say, 'I was there' or 'My daughter saw Game Seven' or 'That's the year I became a Rays' fan.' "

He is a fan of banners, Sternberg. He talks about going to Madison Square Garden and reading the rafters, perusing through the championship years and the retired numbers.

"It is way, way, way more meaningful than a ring or a trophy," Sternberg said. "To have something that large that the fans, the players and I are going to see every single day. … This is clearly the most visible sign of just how special last year was."

How could you help but remember? A new season has begun, but this was the final glance in the rear-view mirror at last season's terrific ride. Remember all the comebacks? Remember the walkoff victories? Remember the playoffs? Remember the year that baseball finally mattered?

Perhaps you thought about the future. Vice president Andrew Friedman did. He noticed, he said, all the excess space available for more banners. Perhaps your thought on these two banners was, "It's a good start."

Perhaps you thought about the past. Perhaps you remembered the wretched Opening Decade of this franchise, all of the bad teams and the bad decisions and the bad finishes. All in all, it was the longest sentence any scullery maid ever served on her way to the ball.

As the banner rose, maybe you thought about Lou Piniella. Or Wade Boggs. Or Fred Mc­Griff. Or the rest of the victims of a disaster that was just too much to overcome.

Tom Foley, the Rays' third-base coach who has been here since 1995, said before the game that he would "remember a lot of moments, and a lot of men who have had their handprint in this." Perhaps that is what he meant.

In a way, you can consider the banners as the flags on the coffin of the bad days. They are gone now. They can safely be buried.

In their minds, new memories are being born.