It’s good to be Derek Jeter.
No. It’s great.
Two million of my fellow New Yorkers and I mobbed the downtown streets at dawn, cramming our bodies onto rickety trucks, climbing on scaffolding or claiming a grate, lobbing entire rolls of toilet paper giddily into the air. Screaming.
But there was just one man capable of transforming New Yorkers of all religions, races and orientations into this shivering, jabbering, drooling, hysterical mob:
Derek Jeter.
De-rek! De-rek! I was lucky enough, dumb enough or kooky enough yesterday to withstand early-morning temperatures that hovered around the digits of Paris Hilton’s IQ to board the back of a truck after dawn. Upon arrival, I was asked whom I wanted to stalk. Don’t you know?
Then my man Derek boarded the float directly behind me. He was close enough to touch, but I studiously refrained.
In shades and a Yankee jacket, the man who’s stopped the hearts of many a lady and more than a few men looked rested and chipper, sexy and humble, as he waved, it seemed, to all 4 million hands that reached out to him — pawing, pleading, begging for love. And he gave his love back.
Within seconds of Derek’s arrival in the Canyon of Heroes, the amazing Yankees faded from view. The show became The Derek Jeter Hour.
De-rek Je-ter! Two million voices in unison chanted into the air. The overcaffeinated crowd was already excited as he came into view. As Derek rode by, I swear they started speaking in tongues.
A woman who stood before me began to hyperventilate. “Oh my God!” she shouted. “OH! MY! GOD!”
She was ready to swoon. Fortunately, the bodies were lined up too thickly to let her crack her head.
“Will you marry me?” cried a female, I think it was a female, who risked life and liberty to run into the street with her arms outstretched.
“I want your babies!!” Easy now.
Just then, Derek winked and smiled in my direction. Or was I dreaming?
PHOTOS: SEXIEST YANKEES IN WORLD SERIES SNAPS
And then, Derek passed Ground Zero. The last time he did this slow drive past this place, in 2000, the Twin Towers still stood. He paused for a moment, as if to acknowledge that some things are bigger even than baseball.
Derek carried the World Series trophy to a podium in front of City Hall, looking oddly embarrassed at the attention.
“I’m just a spokesman for the team,” he said. It was not about him. “This is for the fans.”
“Two years ago, I was standing in the streets of Baghdad. Now I’m standing in the streets of New York, celebrating the Yankees,” said Army Sgt. 1st Class Tony Gonzalez, in uniform. He’s been to hell and back, and it’s Jeter who inspires him.
This one’s for you, Derek. You deserve it.