CLEVELAND — Thirty minutes after pasting a forever moment into the thick Yankees scrapbook, it occurred to Chris Chambliss to take care of a small piece of business. He hustled up the ramp connecting the clubhouse to the first-base dugout at old Yankee Stadium, hopped up a few steps, took a good look around at nuclear winter.
He could see a bottle of Dewar’s Scotch perched like a sentry where third base had once been fastened. Near second was a bottle of blackberry brandy. Across the chewed-up infield were Frisbees, half-eaten apples, and half of a man’s dress shirt.