Endings. And beginnings.I met some of my friends in an Irish bar in Midtown. Over beers we'd gone through all the usual topics: the Mets, the NHL playoffs, women, politics (I always excuse myself for that one), music, women again, the Yankees - and as always we told some of the (same) old stories. Finally it was quiet. I don't like when it gets quiet so I volunteered the fact that I'd happen to catch the Seinfeld finale on TV the other evening - and wasn't it the best finale of a TV series ever?
Well - you'd have thought I'd have attacked the pitching ability of Johan Santana. Or announce that I'd suddenly started rooting for the Yankees. (Something like that.) My statement came under immediate attack. Everyone else criticized the last show. It wasn't funny (the Seinfeld characters allowing someone to be mugged as they'd watched); the characters were so damn...mean. Or...they all went to jail, what really happened to them? Didn't Jerry ever marry? Would Elaine find up with Puddy? Wouldn't George ever straighten out?
These were guys offering these opinions by-the-way. I was much more comfortable with their opinions on sports, women, politics, etc. The conversation, however, did get me to start thinking about endings - and how the media (specifically television) has worked to shape expectations.
"Closing Time...every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end."
From "Closing Time" by Semisonic. (Whatever happened to Semisonic?)
The next day I was still thinking about endings (and beginnings) - I have nothing better to do with my time - (that's a line from my song "The Avenger of Edenn") - when I read that Jamie Moyer, the 49 year-old pitcher who came back from arm surgery to pitch this season for the Colorado Rockies, had been released. Moyer had improbably won 2 games for the Rockies (but lost 5 - with an earned run average of 5.70) and clearly the Rockies had lost confidence in his ability to be an effective pitcher for them.
I hadn't thought much about Moyer over the years. He had mostly pitched for a number of teams in the American league, coming to the Mets' arch-rival Philadelphia Phillies in his forties. He pitched well for the Phillies - at exactly the time the Phillies were becoming an National League East powerhouse and the Mets 2006 dreams were crumbling into chaos. But I felt badly when I read about Moyer's release. The man is a "boomer" after all - born in 1963.
His first year in the major leagues...1986...Buckner...Mookie...Game Six. 1986! How many major leaguers who played in 1996 were even still active?
I played the scenario out in my head...the manager (or general manager) asking Moyer to come to his office. (Well, who knows? These days bad news can be delivered via text or email...but I would like to think the Colorado Rockies have more class). Moyer receiving the bad news. Coming to the Rockies' stadium the following morning, taking all of his belongings, shaking hands with the few (now ex) teammates who might be there. And disappearing out the door, headed to whatever new beginning life has in store for him.
All-in-all, a rather low key ending. Somehow...it's disappointing.
But isn't that the way it is in the real world? Things just...happen. No fanfare. No big finish. When the Mets lost the services of "The Franchise" (Tom Seaver) for the second time after the 1983 season (Seaver had been drafted off the Mets' roster by the Chicago White Sox) the fans never had the opportunity to say goodbye. (That didn't happen until the Mets gave him a "day" in 1987. ) When Mike Piazza finished his final season with the Mets, the season ended and he...left. (Piazza may have received an ovation from the fans on the occasion of his last Mets home game. I don't recall. But there was certainly little drama inherent in the situation.) When Gary Carter and Keith Hernandez left the Mets there was no big finale. No ceremony. Maybe some applause by those fans who recognized the end of their contribution to the Mets. The season ended - and then the two players were traded or (in the case of Hernandez) not re-signed.
Two personal examples: In early February we were closing my parent's apartment. I sat and watched as all of their possessions were carried out of the apartment. I grabbed the one beer I'd kept in the refrigerator, sat on a box and - when it was over - took the scene in, shut the lights, locked the door, and returned the keys into the management office. And drove back to my hotel. When I retired from my "day job" two years ago...on the afternoon of my final workday...I shook hands with those employees whose contribution I had valued (maybe about half), left my keys on top of my office desk, walked out the front door - and climbed into the car. Then drove off to my next activity (whatever that may have been - I don't recall). No drama, no applause, and certainly no background soundtrack playing uplifting music. Just...the end.
Television.
We have been conditioned by television to expect big endings. The big, dramatic finish. Boomers hate to let go. Trapped in my apartment by a severe sinus infection I recently watched the final episode of the 1980s show Magnum pi. (Thank God for Netflix.) A dramatic resolution for the title character, who showed up at the end in full naval attire (he'd re-enlisted) for his friend's wedding. (There was also a reunion with his young daughter, whom he had thought perished in a fiery explosion earlier in the season.) Other examples: the big cry and hug during the Mary Tyler Moore finale, everyone exits singing (that happens frequently in real life, doesn't it?) - and then Mary shutting the light on her way out and - taking in the newsroom one last time - flashing the audience an impish grin as she flicks off the switch. (With the studio audience wildly applauding.) Or - one of my favorite shows, Barney Miller...the police precinct closing, the detectives transferred out to different locations, a few promotions - including one for Barney himself. A quick goodbye with his subordinates, the door to the squad room closing - and suddenly the detectives returning for a sentimental and heartfelt ending (complete with a sentimental speech given by one of the heretofore more inarticulate characters). Barney - spending his final moments in the room thinking of those detectives who had left the show in years past - wearing a particularly wistful expression when thinking about Detective Yamana (the actor who played him died midway through the show's run) - finally picking up his possessions, grabbing the chalk with which the detectives signed in - and also shutting the light. (Again to the wild applause of the studio audience. "Canned" applause in this case. Barney Miller was not filmed in front of a live studio audience.)
Shutting the lights seeming to be a running theme in these finales.
Most notably, there was the two-hour finale to M*A*S*H (with no live audience involved). All of the characters left with neatly defined destinations, leaving one-at a time so that the audience has the opportunity to say goodbye to the characters slowly and individually. (One at a time?)
Television.
I realize of course that since the purpose of television is to entertain (and earn big advertising dollars) there has to be some kind of dramatic and/or comedic exaggeration to help the audience achieve some kind of catharsis and closure. If the audience can experience a truly uplifting/emotional moment...even better. And - truth be told - I very much enjoyed the finales of the television shows listed above. But the audience gets hit over the head by these types of endings. (They make want to keep a digital player in my pocket so that I can hit the "play" button for some applause and/or appropriate background music the next time I personally experience some kind of ending!)
So - returning to the Seinfeld finale - that episode had no easy resolution. And wasn't very uplifting/cathartic. The characters were insensitive, immature , and selfish (and sometimes downright mean) - and stayed true to themselves. And we never find out what ultimately happens to them...just like in life, none of us knows. But I loved it. It was clever and felt real. Using the trial to showcase most of the past characters...truly inspired. Especially the musical interludes where some of the subsidiary characters pack their bags and leave for Massachusetts or - when the jury is out - spend their time enjoying the meal prepared by the Soup Nazi. (Or the fact that Jerry, George, Elaine and Kramer are indicted for...doing nothing. Perfect - since the show was supposed to be about "nothing". The ultimate joke.)
Well, I suppose we now have a starting point the next time I meet the guys for some beer...Seinfeld, sports, women - and maybe then politics. Hey - when there's a lull in the conversation I can always mention the fact that Jerry Seinfeld was amazing because he had the good sense and personal security to allow the other actors to grab their share of the funniest lines - even though he (Seinfeld) was already the most well-known personality and comic on the show.
Let the guys attack that comment! (I can always point out that Seinfeld is a Mets fan and change the course of the conversation if I have to. There's always the Mets. And women.)
Oh. Jamie Moyer has just signed a minor league contract. Perhaps his ending is in fact a new beginning.
My question is...where's the applause?
See you all soon. Till then,
Stevenn
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