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

What a nightmare of a day.

With the exception of my boy Chase rolling into NYC like an MVP, the day had all the earmarks of a disaster from the get go. I get in and all-star coworker Dawn calls to commiserate about the loss in Game 2. It's weird, but there are few people I LIKE sharing the misery of a loss with. You'd think I'd be more than comforted when people share your pain. But I was never a misery-loves-company type of person. However, my coworkers are actually across the board people who make me feel better after a loss. Cheers, LLNS.

That said, yesterday was pretty brutal. I wasn't in the best of moods to begin with, so maybe I put too much stock in the Yankee game. Like, depending on them to win to right the ship. (Ironically, this is my probably where my biggest aversion to relationships stems from. I hate how people assign too much importance to another person, all but allowing him or her to govern your emotions. You should be happy in your own rite.)

Soo, I guess it's ok for the Yankees to dictate my day, but not another human being. I'm okay with this line of thinking.

The game didn't start til 10:30, which sucked because I'm nothing if not a creature of habit and schedule, not quite to the annoying level that Mussina was, but pretty close to it.

'I congratulate the man who got 4,300 games, but sitting for 15 extra minutes before the game was supposed to start - that was worse,' said Mussina, whose second pitch of the game was hit over the centerfield fence by leadoff hitter Reed Johnson. 'When they say 2:15 and it's 2:25 and they're still on the field ... I don't want to take anything away from him. That's a tremendous accomplishment. But tell us 2:30 instead of 2:15. That's all.'

(This about a ceremony for a guy who died of cancer. I'd like to think I'm not THAT bad.)

But still. The bright side of the evening was meeting up with one of my oldest and closest friends in the world, Chase, whose obsession with "checking us in" via facebook to every. single. place. we so much as pass, would be annoying from any one else, but unerringly hysterical from him. We had just finished "checking into" the U.N. (only because I drew the line at checking us into Pfizer Headquarters) when it's announced the game is about to start.


And after a traipse around NYC, a fly by to 4L, and an bus back across town, I'm settled in and ready to watch the Yankees salvage this series. Right?

I didn't anticipate it playing out the way it did.

I mean, things were looking up! I got to drink with my coworkers! Hang out with Chase! There was even thunder and lightening coming into play, which I'm inexplicably obsessed with!

Me and Mo sidled up on the couch, and watched as the Yanks took an early 2-run lead when Granderson homered in the 1st with Jeter on. YEAH, TAKE THAT SUX! NOW YOU KNOW HOW WE FELT WITH THIS 1ST INNING BOMBS.

Sooo that was the 1st inning. 11:00. The day from hell was almost over, and the Yanks were on the board.

Oh, and just for good measure Beckett beaned Jeter and Arod within the first 15 minutes of the game. Schilling used to be my least favorite Suck. But I think it's safe to say that Beckett inspires an ire in me that I used to only reserve for the asshole that threw my mom's booksack in the train tracks when she was 7 years old.

The WORST part about it is that Beckett acts all confused etc like "What, what'd I do?" F'n prick. So, it's like that scene in that movie "Fear" with Mark Wahlberg, when the father of Reese Witherspoon goes and trashes Wahlberg's house to avenge the stalking of his daughter.

Which, in turn, invites Wahlberg's crew of hoodrats to retaliate.

"An eye for an eye, eh Mr. Walker sir? You f&%@ up our house, we're gonna F$%# UP YOURS! And a tooth for a f%^#ing tooth!"

Yeah, so that's what it was like when Ortiz gets plunked in the thigh in the 3rd.

Ok, plunked in the thigh < drilled in the knee cap.

So STFU, Ortiz. Good God. With all that steroid-built fat on your person, it was probably like the princess and the pea, with 2394 mattresses. And you're complaining? Go to hell.

"I'm still trying to figure out whether David got hit for something I did," Beckett said. You go to hell, too. In fact, why don't we just go ahead and get a group rate for Acela tickets for all of youse.

So the first 3/4 of the game was fun to watch.

The last 3 innings weren't so much.

The Sox scored 8 runs in the 7th, the first time anyone had scored since the 1st. And, well, that just took us a little by surprise.

Fatso pitched a good game, despite what the media is tripping over themselves to report as "yet another game where Beckett outdueled CC." One bad inning. Let's put things in perspective here. The game itself sucked, but I don't see this as being as hurtful as the other 2 where it just looked like the Yanks didn't even belong on the same field as the Sux.

This was just a disaster.

7 runs in the 7th inning, and to add insult to injury, the whole rally was bookended by one David Americo Arias. Who I see as Shrek's Iago basically. The evil version of a fun animated Disney character.

The Sux scored again in the 9th to make it 8-2, and the Yanks weakly responded with a run-scoring ground-out from Jeter. But no one cares about anything Jeter does these days, because now he's only 10 hits away from 3000.

Ok, you know what? I'm reallllly not gonna care about 3000 if it falls in the wake of this colossal collapse. (Collapsal?)

The Sux are now 2 games up on us. But hey, it's not even the ALL STAR BREAK and if I remember correctly, the Yanks are FAMOUS for their post-ASB rise from the ashes. Right? Come on, let's stay optimistic. I'm actually quite confused about why Joba's season-ending injury has us all scampering for cover.

It's JOBA. He's like the least reliable person in the world. Yes, he's been pitching well, but it's not like I'd ever in a million years hang the fate of the Yankees' season on him. If D-Rob got knocked out, then that's another story.

Listen, we're still in a situation where "there's a lot of baseball left to be played."

The Sux are 8-1 against us, but as Alec Baldwin so sagely tells us (or actually, tells John Krasinski):



Damn right.

Put it behind us. Time to take on the Indians.

We're Yankee fans. We know better. Let the Sux laugh now. We'll be laughing last.