"It's great to be young and a Yankee."

I apologize for the delay on this. Once again, I have the eye to blame. I swear to God, the left side of my face is taking a beating. 2 weeks ago it was a black eye from walking into a wall. (Sigh.) And last night/this morning, it’s eye spasms/pink eye/uveitus/one of or a combination of all 3.

But at any rate, it makes it impossible to focus my eyes and/or look at direct light. Actually even the computer light makes me feel like I’m staring directly at a solar eclipse. But the absolute best part? I get to walk around the office with a set of ojos that look like I just walked off the set of 28 Weeks Later. Sweeeeet.

Last night I got to take in the game with a fellow Pinstripe Alley writer John Beck, aka jscape2000. It might have been symbolic that when we took a picture at the end of the game, the girl taking the shot remarked, “Yeah that one came out good, but one of your eyes is missing.” Then sure enough, I wake up this morning (on the couch of course) and one of my eyes is, for all intents and purposes, missing.

A few notes from last night, before the spasming begins again:

• That was a f’n stomach punch. Big time. There are so many analogies I could make about how much of a tease it was, but they all come back to the obvious one.

• Really, really thought it'd be a little more like this.

• ANYONE WANT TO ENLIGHTEN ME ON THE SWISHER BUNT DECISION?? ANYONE?? One of my coworkers agreed with the move and just faulted swisher for being a professional major leaguer and not being able to lay down a simple bunt. He argued that it looked like Swish was trying to get the single and the reason he popped up was because he was already half way out the box. Possibly.
  

• But me? I’d tell Swish to swing away and win the game for us. Why not. It’s zero outs. Say he grounds into a double play, we still got Melky up with the tying run on third.

• Let’s not forget we had a 4-0 lead that we squandered.

• The Joba booing (Jobooing? Yep.) was making the ground split open in the Bronx. Palpable abhorrence for this guy. He DID let up about 23,102 hits. And not just dinky ones. Like liners roped all over the place. Girardi took his sweet time yanking him and replacing him with another meatballer. Marte was actually the only one who didn’t completely implode. So, um, that’s a good sign. I guess.

• I blame this loss on Girardi and on Glenn G. Who texted me when the score became 9-10: “Looks like you picked the right game to go to!” WHY. WHY WOULD YOU SAY THAT. You don’t say something like that until the score is TIED. BAD KNOWLEDGE, GLENN G.

• Throughout all this, I’m getting text updates from my sister about the status of my parents’ missing cat. It wasn’t until about 2am that I get a call informing me Grey Poupon has indeed been found. At a bar. Nice job, cat. Guess that was the only way he could deal with this game. Me, on the other hand, went a different route. Could I look any more like a post-break-up chick?