For much of the past year, too much of the talk around here has been about what Derek Jeter no longer can do:
Can’t get to enough balls to his left.
Can’t hit like he did in the clutch anymore.
Can’t hit more than .270 anymore.
Yes, he plays for the Winning-Isn’t-Everything-It’s-The-Only-Thing Yankees, for whom the future is forever now, who will inevitably find themselves in the position of detesting Alex Rodriguez’s opt-in contract as much as they reveled in a modicum of payback for The Captain for his prodigious previous bounty even as they reap the marketing benefits of his run to 3,000 hits. Every single one of them as a Yankee.
I ask:
Why are we so eager to show this guy the door?
Why are we so eager to shove him off shortstop?
Why are we so eager to shove him off leadoff?
This is no washed-up bum who ever has cheated his team, teammates or fans we are talking about here.
I plead:
Any and all rushes to judgment on Derek Jeter must cease and desist immediately.
Because trust me, we will miss him more than we know when he’s gone.
In case you have forgotten:
On and off the field, he has been The Pride of the Yankees, a five-time champion of grace and elegance and class who has drawn comparisons with Joe DiMaggio, minus the 56-game hitting streak, the home runs, and Marilyn Monroe.
The Captain of New York baseball.
He is not the only reason why the Yankees own 27 championships, why George Steinbrenner could build a palace and fill it with four million fans.
But he absolutely is one of the biggest reasons.
The Little League boys who wear No. 2 will tell you as much. The teeny-boppers who still shriek for him will tell you as much. Old-timers who prefer substance over style will tell you as much.
And yet the new game in town is measuring his faltering greatness from at-bat to at-bat, from game to game.
Teammates who have been lucky enough to play a long time with him and those who have come over from other teams to play with him have come to realize that the only way to truly appreciate Jeter is to watch his relentless consistency day after day after day.
Or big game after big game: The Flip to get Jeremy Giambi at the plate . . . Mr. November . . . so on and so forth.
Not to mention that desperate, fearless, face-first dive for a Trot Nixon foul pop into the third-base stands at the old Stadium that left him bloodied but unbowed — he wasn’t missing the following night’s game at Shea against the Mets, no way.
Perhaps we celebrated him too much at times, even worshipped him, simply because we knew he was the last bastion of purity and integrity during the steroid-fueled era of swelled heads and home run totals. But it meant something to us nevertheless that we always could trust Derek Jeter, and that was more important to us than his reluctance to take a stand and lend his influential voice to the urgency of drug testing.
As hard as the tabloids tried, they could never capture him cavorting with a stripper who was not his wife — in no small part because he has been married only to the Yankees, in large part because no one, in any sport, has done a better job of dodging the omnipresent New York microscope as he lived this life he loves inside a pinstriped bubble.
Father Time, of course, can make the past seem like an eternity ago, because he doesn’t care if you are Derek Jeter, or Willie Mays, or Kareem Abdul-Jabbar. Once he gets you in his death grip, he shows no mercy, and first you are diminished, and inevitably you are finished, and waving goodbye.
Jeter is being paid handsomely to help the Yankees win another championship or three, less than a month now from his 37th birthday. Not as handsomely as he wanted, but handsomely enough for him to sign on, recognizing that being a Yankee all these years — an iconic Yankee — has given him fame and fortune. Nobody passed a law that says you can’t boo Derek Jeter. Anyone and everyone always has been fair game — especially now, at these prices.
But if there is one guy who deserves to be cut some slack, it is this guy. If there is one guy we should never count out, it is this guy. If there is one guy who will go deep in the hole to try to beat Father Time to first base with a jump throw from memory, it is this guy. Who never wanted to be anything other than shortstop, New York Yankees.
The batting average was .254 when last night’s game against the Mariners began. He isn’t the young Derek Jeter. You still want him on your side anyway.
It will be another generation before we see the likes of another Derek Jeter. Let’s not be so quick to show him the door. Because when he’s gone, Yankees fans will be asking themselves this sobering question:
Who do we Turn 2 now?
steve.serby@nypost.com