I haven't written in what feels like ages, but for ONCE, it's not because of the "grind." I've been in Jacksonville, FL all week for the Wedding of the Century. Well, in my world anyway, it's the WofC. My world being the Washington & Lee contingent. And right now, my world does not include a tv station that plays the games.
HOWEVAH, the fact they're on the west coast is actually a blessing since game times are falling squarely in the "post-wedding-activities" portion of the evening, so I'm never faced with the rude possibility of checking scores mid party. Maybe that's why they scheduled it for this weekend!
So last night I'm following the game on the blackberry and the ESPN sports ticker, and my old roommate's husband's tells me, "The Yanks are winning, relax." And they are. 1-0. Then 3-1. Sweet! But then I remember that, wait a second, this sounds verrry familiar.
Can we do some research on how many LEADS the Yanks have blown this year? Seriously. I mean, in 2009, it was like a 5-run deficit for the Yanks almost all but guaranteed that they'd make a dramatic comeback in the 9th.
Last year was a little different.
And this year, it's a LOT different.
It's like watching the NY Rangers take a 3-goal lead or something. It's the kiss of death. So I see the Yanks are winning 3-1, and I remember seeing them winning 3-0 the night PRIOR to the M's, and I'm mostly thinking, 'Ok no chance lance that the boys are gonna screw this up again. I mean, if for nothing else, they're gonna take this game just to avoid to inevitable panic and ensuing humiliation of doing this 2 nights in a row."
But I guess not everyone shares my same palpable fear of public scrutiny and disappointment.
After a rousing game of that shuffleboard/knock hockey-esque game, I look up at SportsCenter.
And the Yankees are losing, 4-3.
Are you kidding me? Seriously?
What in GOD'S NAME are you doing?
The only runs the Yanks had scored at that point came off bombs from Cano and Tex, which--not to be a Debbie Yanks Fan Downer--but is anyone else getting less enthused about the dings and more concerned about the fact the runners LOB number is climbing so high that it's gonna start to need it's own ticker in Union Square soon?
The M's make a comeback. Again. And they do that whole manufacturing runs thing in the 4th inning, with a double from Olivo scoring Gutierrez and Kennedy, followed by a ribbie single from Ryan that scores Olivo, and there it is, it's 4-3.
And that's when I retreated back to the hotel room and proceeded to follow the game under my covers from the light of my blackberry.
It's obviously not ideal, but whether I'm seeing Granderson rope a triple on a live broadcast, or whether I see my browser refresh to change the screen to "Granderson tripes, Jeter scores"...well, it's still pretty great.
And I stayed like that, under the covers, on the floor of the hotel room due to an irrational aversion to sleeping in the same bed as my friends who I've known for like 23943 years, with the blackberry 2 inches from my face, reveling in the tied game and "comeback."
Until I fell asleep.
I woke up to Annee prying the phone out from under my head: "HOW DO YOU SLEEP THROUGH THIS?" (My alarm had been blaring for 20 minutes straight into my ear, and I hadn't stirred a muscle.)
And apparently, the Yankees didn't stir another muscle either.
I looked down at the phone. The Yankees had lost.
In the 12th inning.
Because Mariano Rivera blew a save, giving up a single to Kennedy, and the Mariner's embarrass the Yanks again. The Seattle Mariners have won 9 of their last 10 games. They're streaking.
The Yanks are streak-y. They're like the embodiment of Hideki Matsui right now. You never know exactly how solid he's going to be for how long. But you know he's awesome, you just never know how the awesome is going to manifest itself.
That's pretty much all I got to say on this dismal subject right now. Oh yeah, and 4 fans ran onto the field last night. One streaker.
At least there's a certain symmetry? Nope, still not mollifying this series. Not at all.
Ok, that's more like it.
Supernova comes to save the day, and even though it seemed like every time I looked at the tv, there were at least 2 TB men on, the Yanks pulled it off, with the help of 2 bombs in the Trop from Arod.
And even Posada decided to come through! It's funny when that happens. I mean, I think about it, and sometimes with kids (or sadly, adults) they reach a point of such discouragement and frustration that they don't care about righting the ship. They almost WANT that malcontent and discord because otherwise they have to admit to themselves that, hey no one was out to get me, I was just screwing up.
(Remember last year when the Yanks were playing Boston and Beckett was pitching? It was early May.)
He had walked something like 7 batters by the 4th inning and everyone was giving him carte blanche to systematically knock out our entire batting order and a comped pass to go head hunting...all because it was bases loaded. And EVERYONE fell for it, except Leiter. At first everyone's all, "Well you know Beckett is obviously not intentionally hitting the batters because who would ever do that with bases loaded when it's only a 3-run game? He's just having control problems is all."
But crafty little Leiter saw through it. "You know, what kind of pitcher throws at batters with bases loaded? It just shows Beckett's lack of respect for the game and for his team. I mean, c'mon kid, you let up 3 or 4 runs and all of a sudden you're all pouty? Get over it and grow up."
Yeah, and that's kind of like how Posada was acting. He was playing poorly, which isn't really shocking because he's hovering around 89 years old. And instead of just taking his lumps like a grown-up, and moving to the bottom of the order, he took himself out of the lineup.
When I was younger and a little hellion, my dad and I used to butt horns ALL the time. My poor father. I was a rebellious pain in the ass, and would constantly try to draw the line in the sand and do my damnedest to be independent, etc. However, my dad would basically tell me that if I continue that line of thinking, I'm going to lose. And he was right as parents are want to be.
Branches that don't bend with the win, break. It's that simple. The people who control your life to some degree, you don't always have to agree with them. And they'll do things that piss you off. But if Jerry Macguire taught us anything, it's that stubbornly adhering to principle in the face of your superiors, goes nowhere good.
You just gotta suck it up, and do what they want sometimes. Because they're going to win.
And look! Posada gets in the game, has 2 big hits. I'm imagining the Steinbrenners being all, "Now doesn't that feel better than fighting? Say yes."
Alright, enough Posada talk. I don't want that rant to overshadow the fact that WAHOOO the Yankees end the skid!!
D-Rob was amazing, which he has been for most of the year. I was listening to Sterling call the game a month ago, and I remember he said, "And D-Rob gets the job done. You know, Suzyn. I've been saying that alot. Every time he comes in, and it's bases loaded and no outs, that's what he does! He gets..the job..DONE."
I agree. (Of course now that I've said that, he will likely give up 17 runs today or something.)
After the Yanks failed to score in the 3rd with runners on, and after Johnson takes Nova deep to make it 1-0, you know we were all like, "And it begins..."
But wait! Arod goes wayyy deep (438 ft) to center in the 4th. Then again in the 6th. And look at that, the Yanks are up 2-1.
My sister was cooking me dinner last night (delicious, btw), and we're watching the game, and whoaaa the Yanks are up, 4-1 in the 7th, after Jeter's fielder choice moves GGBG to 3rd and then subsequently home on a wild throw.
"Ok good, I feel better now," says Lauren.
And as soon as she said, she realized, "What the hell am I saying? This is the kind of lead they love to blow now!"
How sad is that? And painfully true.
And I hate, HATE thinking like that.
But they didn't blow it. Johnson's bomb in the 2nd, and Zobrist's RBI double would be the only times the Rays crossed home.
And hopefully, the last week will be the only time Yankee pessimism crosses my mind.
Time to makes things better again, boys. Tonight the Allergy faces the Prodigy (Britton) in Camden. The Yanks are 2 behind TB in the standings, and a mere .5 up on the Sux. A verryyy uncomfortable position.
Let's just keep riding bikes, and get the hell outta there (in the moving-up sense).
Here is why Yankee fans should be happy about today:
1.) Giambi's 14th inning walkoff GRAND SLAM against the Twinkies, 2002
Which I maintain is the backdrop for my bottle opener. I've listened to that thing open a lot of beers, and how many walkoff grandslams do the Yankees have to their credit? It's gotta be that game.
2.) Mariano Rivera's first save ever, 1996
What a cool cat.
3.) David Wells' perfect game, 1998
Boomer adds another magic notch to one of the best seasons in baseball history, by one of the best teams ever. I still will always be partial to the Don Larsen game though. Back in the day when announcers didn't do things like say, "CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS PITCHER HAS A NO HITTER GOING THROUGH 3 INNINGS?!! ....and here's the pitch...oh. Nevermind."
This is the first time the Yankees have lost this many games in a row since a seven-game skid April 20-27, 2007.
I guess I should be grateful I only had to listen to this madness on WCBS instead of actually witnessing it like last night.
It's past 11 and my sister and I are both still at the office, grumbling about the standard work complaints, debating what to order for dinner, alternating visits to each other's companies' respective floors, and--of course--throwing in the requisite Yankee Tourette's-like outbursts:
Yeah, fortunately the promise of food has temporarily mollified the acute disgust I'm feeling with the boys right now.
At first it sounded like AJ was being the AJ of the good persuasion, despite the constant barrage of Sterling comments that drifted around the "waiting for the other shoe to drop" school of thought.
(What's with Sterling? I mean, I like him because lunatics need to stick together and all, but for the past few years, it's like he's been a bit of a Debbie Downer about the Yanks. And the only person who's allowed to be cynical about the Yanks is David Cone, because he was the only one I know who could do it with a tempered air of honesty.)
But of course, Sterling is doing a little "I told you so" jig when inevitably AJ implodes in the 6th, destroying the cushy, if not modest, 4-run lead the Yanks had built for him.
3 dings later, and the Rays have made a thrilling rally (a thrally?) and 3 innings later, the Yanks are walking off the field with the sounds of "New York, New York" ringing in their ears, and not the good kind. They shouldn't play that song at the end of a loss, really. They should play a song that falls into one of the following categories:
- Completely non sequitor and irrelevant. E.g.: "If you wanna be happy for the rest of your life," Anything by the Violent Femmes, "Africa"
- Promising and hopeful. E.g. "I'm gonna live forever," "I'll be back" (Beatles), "F--- you"
- Just laughably sad. Eg, "All by myself," "Unbreak my heart," "You've lost that Loving feeling"
Soo...something to think about, Yankee brass. You know, when you're not mired in divisive infighting amongst the most critical members of your roster, and all.
(That last paragraph was just painfully reminiscent of every. single. time. someone says, "If you're bored and looking for something to do..." Just like I can't remember the last time I wasn't at least a little bit tired, I can't remember the last time I was like "BLAHHHH I'm so lacking for an activity right now!")
But even more painful is the following 2 lines, which are pretty much a microcosm of where the Yankees are right now:
Alex Rodriguez was the DH, Posada's spot for most of the season. A-Rod was hitless in four at-bats, including three strikeouts, and is hitting .242. Posada pulled himself out of the lineup over the weekend, saying he needed a day off, and a public spat ensued between the slumping slugger and club management.
You know what this is like? When I get home from work, and I don't know what I need to do first, because everything seems to be the top priority. Hang up my jacket? Plug my phone is? Feed the cat? The hamster? Turn the tv on to see what, if anything, is left of the game?
Everything seems to demand immediacy and supremacy. Similarly, what the hell do the Yanks address first? Which fantastically paid all-star who's batting below .250 gets first dibs at offensive boot camp? Or do they bypass that whole nightmare and go straight for the ridiculous high school dramatics?
(For what it's worth, I love the fact Jeter publicly took Posada's side, even though it probably had something to do with his own issues with the management to some degree. I mean, I like to think that when it comes down to it, professionally speaking, I can separate my own biases from what I think is right.
So even if the Powers That Be over in the Bronx have made it clear that Jeter's on thin ice as it is, I love the fact that Jeter basically said, "Be that as it may, I don't think Posada did anything wrong."
Also for the record, I think Posada should take a page from the Godfather's book: Never let anyone know what you're thinking. Emotional men weird me out.)
To add insult to injury, the Sux rallied from behind to beat the O's, and the Yanks are in such a bad spot right now that even me, the Poster Child for Psychotic Optimism, is aghast at their skid. To be clear, I'm not even remotely nearing the point of "the season is done for."
Because I'm not angry on account of a fear for the season. I'm angry because the whole behavior is ridiculous and kind of beneath them.
You're the YANKEES. You're terrifying, and a force with which to be reckoned. You're the emblem of success for the Great American Pasttime. And you're acting like the West Canaan Coyotes the day after they go drinking til 7am in the stripper joint.
But at least they were subscribing to some kind of a team unity.
Maybe the Yanks need a field trip to Scores? Maybe it wouldn't work wonders on their public image, but it may help their morale. Bigger picture.
Or maybe I'm just overreacting like the rest of the world. Maybe we should all listen to Rafael Soriano's words and take 'em to heart:
"That happens sometimes. [One day] everything will better."
Let's just hope "one day" means tomorrow.
I've had better weekends.
So have the Yankees.
The ONLY thing that Yankee fans can fall back on, the sole modicum of comfort that we can nuzzle up to, is the fact that, hey this isn't new territory. If memory serves correctly, and mine usually does, 2009 was basically a shitstorm of sweeps at the hands of the Sux.
Remember that? We lost approximately 2310 games to them before Arod took 'em deep in the 15th inning of a 0-0 game. So while yes, nothing hurts quite like a sweep, the losses are nothing to panic about yet.
There are, however, other things to get irritated about.
I'll start with the lowest hanging fruit here, which is that the Yanks aren't getting in done when they're more than capable of doing so. In other words, no one is annihilating them. No one is outplaying them, or doing anything exceptional.
The Yanks are just handing games away. Take Friday, for example. The Sux take a 2 run lead early, the Yanks tie it up not long thereafter. We're poised to win. I mean, a tie game means a win for the Yanks, in my head. Because they're dramatic and walkoffs are practically pre-destined in that kind of scenario.
Unfortunately, Justin Chamberlain had other plans.
My mom's take on him:
I'm not so sure about the last part, but still. When my mom is going out of her way to comment on facebook to rant about our middle relief, you know things are bad.
He screws everything up for us, while seemingly gaining more weight in the process. He's like that blueberry in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
I got a BLUEBERRY for a SET-UP MAN!!'
So there's one down in the books. On Saturday, I was in a "Jesus, I can't even watch this" state of fury. (Which may or may not have had something to do with the fact I had been up since 8am for soccer, then a softball double header, and I still hadn't changed out of my cleats. Walking around on 24 raised rubber bumps for 12 hours doesn't do much in the way of foot comfort and, consequently, irritability.)
Fortunately, I was with Strange who is one of maybe 3 or 4 people tops in the "Only People Who Know How to Assuage My Homicidal Tendencies in the Wake of a Yankee Loss" category. He's that. awesome.
So, yeah, no one died, thanks to the 4L boys.
HOWEVAH, last night, I was at the game. And I was so concerned about the potential for rumble that I texted my coworker on Saturday letting him know he'd have to cover for me if I was late on Monday due to possible assault charges that may or may not be filed if the game swings in the wrong direction.
Which is did.
I managed to sidestep any rumbles, though.
(I mean, if I had to pick between the Yankees winning and not getting the shit kicked outta me, I'd go with the 1st one every day of the week and twice on Sunday.)
Eh, small favors. I got home in one piece.
Which is more than I can say for the state of the Yankees clubhouse right now.
Seriously, what the %$@ is going on with everyone's delicate sensibilities? (Like this...this just disgusts me. I wouldn't touch this monster with a 10-ft pole.) First there's the whole Jeter to-do.
Now Posada is being a whiny brat. I mean, I think there's something to be said (a lot to be said, in fact) for seniority and demonstrated leadership, etc.
That counts for something. A lot.
But I also think that a .165 BA? That and a subway card will get you uptown. Either pull your weight or bow out gracefully for the sake of the team.
Because, once again, the Yanks could have won it. If I had to pick the game changer of the game, which I don't often like to do since it's usually never ONE play, but whatever here I go anyway:
Arod channeling Bill Buckner.
Without that run, it's a different ballgame.
(My sister and I watched from section 417 in horror as this all unfolded. And mused that it sort of reminded us of this Onion article about a guy who comes in late to a meeting and doesn't know how long he supposed to act frazzled. We watched Arod shuffle around uneasily afterwards, and wondered how long he was going to have to be shameful and awkward. I mean, I guess the correct answer to that--if you asked him-- would be "the rest of my life.")
But, Arod is a freaking god as a fielder and as a player. I'm not going to begrudge him even a little bit for one error, even if it cost the Yanks the game.
The bigger problem is the fact we have about 9 players all slumping at the same time, and a penchant for errors that is nothing short of mindblowing. What happened to that well-oiled machine of a team that we used to know?
Whatever's going on in that clubhouse is wildly manifesting itself on the field. In spades.
Maybe the Yanks need to do a ropes course or something. That's what my sorority had to do when we got in trouble for pledge night.
I'll leave this on a positive note: as bad as last night was, I do fall in love with Yankee fans a little bit more every time I'm around them. Their unbridled lunacy and unapologetic abandonment of reasonable behavior is refreshing beyond the telling of it.
So to the guy sitting in section 418 who pretty much screamed everything that came to his mind...thank you. And to the guy who screamed "F--- you, Fan Cam!"...thank you. It's raving nutjobs like you that make losses like those a little bit more palatable.
I'm stuck at the office all day/night, so I apologize for the lack of recap, especially in light of the awesome showing on our boys' part. (For what it's worth, I plan on watching the Encore presentation whenever I get home and posting thoughts on it tomorrow morning.)
But in honor of Mother's Day, I'm linking to something I put up here in January about my own wonderful, beautiful, generous, brilliant, supportive mother and best friend.
January 19, 2010
I don't see my mom TOO often, but it was nice to know that she was only a train ride away from the city. So when my parents dismantled the Christmas tree on December 26, packed up the car, and drove to Florida to escape the cold New York weather, it shouldn't have been that much of a change in pace.
I mean, aside from the fact I'm in my late 20s and should be able to pick out a sweater without calling my mom to weigh in, technically I'm still seeing them about the same amount as I would have had they remained in NY.
But I admittedly miss the proximity.
So in honor of my mom's special day, I figured a Commemorative Mom post was long overdue.
For those of you who have been following this blog, you already know my mom's editorial asides and commentary are always present and never un-entertaining. Just skimming through my blog, I encountered these gems:
July 17, lamenting her daughter's priorities:"You can't just like baseball like everyone else. Everything has to be so intense. All I ever wanted was just one normal daughter."
June 11, on Nick Swisher:"Dad and I were watching the game last night and we decided we do NOT want you to marry Nick Swisher if he can't even make a simple catch like that."
June 12, on Mariano Rivera:"I wonder what that's like for the opposing team, when they see Mo coming in, knowing that they're about to lose the game."
November 2, on Charlie Manuel:"I lost any respect I had for Charlie Manuel after what he did yesterday. He knew he couldn't beat CC with Joe Blanton, so instead of trying to win by the power of their own offense, they compromised CC's comfort by immediately hitting A-Rod and effecting the warning to both benches. Whatever else happens in the remainder of the series, the Phillies don't deserve to be the champions. If that's how they're going to try to win, they just plain don't deserve it."
There are countless others, and maybe my mother's comments don't always make sense, per se, but what they DO always do is ring with conviction and interest. My mom isn't a diehard sports fan, (she asked me to come down to Florida the 2nd week in February so Dad would have someone to watch the Super Bowl with), so they fact that she reads every last word that I write, means the world to me.
I don't entertain any great illusions that she finds my daily game recaps groundbreaking, and I know a feature article from "Real Simple Magazine" on alternate uses for coat hangers is 100% more in her wheelhouse than 1000 words comparing Joba's slider to stale halloween candy. But it doesn't matter to her.
Even when I know something I wrote isn't "my best work" (and if I don't, my dad will tell me), my mom extols the virtues of every last word, and adamantly insists it's worthy of a Pulitzer. And even though I know it's not true, I'm pretty sure I'll never reach an age where the inflated praise of a mother isn't worth its weight in gold.
She emails me to say, "Happy Pitchers and Catchers Day!" Or to make confusing exclamations about the Yanks advancing in the playoffs. She forwards me NY Times articles about blogging. And when the Village Voice called and asked me if I've ever gotten paid for any of my writing, I was able to say, "Well, no. Actually, wait, I think my mom is the sole subscriber to my blog on Kindle."
Never in my life have I ever encountered a woman with more charisma and more aplomb. It's like this fable I had to read in middle school where the moral was "Whatever you do, do it boldly." She can't go to a Yankee game without a sign, and she'd sooner give her tickets away than bring a sign that doesn't look like it was produced by a Madison Avenue Ad Agency.
She's creative and funny and goes all out for every holiday and invents reasons to have theme parties. She always wears a jersey to games, and loves the Hip, Hip, Jorge! cheer more than a reasonable amount. Everything is exciting to my mom, and it reminds me of how the son in Elf describes Will Ferrell: "Buddy cares about everything."
And she does. To a fault. She'll describe dusty shelves with the fervor most people reserve for natural disasters. (So...I have a good idea where I inherited my melodramatic tendencies from when it comes to writing sports.)
She's selfless and thoughtful and patiently humored me in Tampa when I insisted we wait outside Legends Field in February to see the "Yankees" take batting practice.
There weren't even any spring training games yet, and there certainly weren't any roster players working out. My mom basically sat in the bleachers for 6 hours while I scampered around the field's perimeter trying to get shots of 19-year-old kids with jersey numbers that started around 88.
She hung around a hospital waiting room for hours on Opening Day of 2009 and even complied when I begged to go to watch the 2nd half of the game at a bar instead of going home and doing whatever standard routine generally follows ACL surgery. (Bed rest?)
(I think it was when we were sitting at a bar, both of us deliriously watching the painful rout in the home opener, that she remarked how funny it would be if I had a famous person's ACL in me: "Like Whitey Ford's!" In retrospect, this comment isn't a fraction as confusing as the fact she somehow managed to get me and my gimp leg up the 5 flights of stairs to my apartment.)
But she did. And she always will. Because no matter how many times we fight over whatever pool she must be in that causes her to get frantic over pinpointing the ETA of marriage/grandchildren, or how many times we get exasperated with each other over whether or not it's necessary to remind me not to wear ripped jeans to client meetings (pretty sure she thinks I'm either him or him)...I know everything she does comes from unrelenting maternal support, and there's something good at the heart of her every word and action.
After I wrote my very first article ever, she emailed me:
Kristen, I have a great idea! I think you should be a television sportscaster. Why don't you write a sports column as if you were delivering it on the news and make a tape to send to ESPN. Love, Mom
And she means it. I take it for granted sometimes how lucky I am to have that kind of unconditional support, but it's such undeniable testimony to the fact that no one ever loves us the way our parents do.
So, thank you, Mom. For being my best friend and my biggest supporter. And for always being someone me and my sisters look up to. And for reminding us that "life's too short to do the things you don't want to do if you don't have to do them." To be honest, I'm still not 100% sure if that's necessarily applicable to all situations, but your joie de vivre is truly infectious...and take it from your daughter when she promises you that you really are "forever young."
I've been slacking on the blogging (I'm not even going to spell out why, I need some kind of Word Macro for "I missed the Yankee game, but only because I was burning the midnight oil trying to further the healthcare industry, and trying to minimize the resulting damage to my dwindling psyche in the process." Like Control Y or something.)
HOWEVAH, I do want to thank Megan at EasyCanvasPrints for creating this AMAZING print for my sister!!!
When Megan contacted me, I swear on everything holy that I was JUST looking for a canvas place to make a print out this pic. (I really don't know why I was so aggressive just then about establishing an timeline. I've been passing out to too many Law & Order marathons I think.)
At any rate, she asks, would I be interested in doing this? WOULD I!
(I should also probably give the Chevy Player of the game award to both Megan AND Joe K, who is responsible for the cat-like-reflex-photography behind the shot in question. Megan and Joe K--Thank you for your game-changing moves!!)
The print arrived yesterday, and I was admittedly nervous about how Lauren would like it, since she's like a legit artist and all, and knows things about canvases and paint etc..
BUT that's why this print was so f'n cool!!! It looked like a real painting, not just a photograph overlaid on canvas. Seriously, to the point where I thought (and am still mulling over) whether someone actually just made a photorealism oil painting of the pic I emailed Megan.
Lauren and I both studied it for like a half hour marveling at how you could almost see brush strokes, how it had the exact same sheen that dried oil paint has, how the canvas stretched perfectly around.
It was stunning, really.
I don't know what I expected, but I've never had a canvas print before, so I guess I just thought it was going to be matte, but I highly recommend doing this.
Every time I go to a game I end up taking a million pictures of the field and players, and so over the years I've accumulated hundreds of random shots, most of which are unidentifiable, and yeah basically I stopped doing that since I don't know what to do with them. HOWEVAH, with this canvas thing now, I'm thinking this may be the way to go: take a good shot, canvas it up, BOOM.
So, thank you again Megan and Joe K (and Lauren for being born). And thank you EasyCanvasPrints for immortalizing the Yankee Stadium Jumbotron on one of my favorite days of the year!
Well, yeah this is a little late. I have an excuse though, and for the first time in a year, it's not because of work.
It's because I treated my body like an amusement park all weekend.
Which means that this recap may or may not have accuracy since I was in and out of sleep for most of yesterday.
One of those days when you start watching the game in the first inning, and I'm all proud of myself for waking up before sundown, and I'm eating my Italian sub and ruffled potato chips and downing a 2 liter of pepsi and chewing on aspirin...
And before I know it, I wake up and there's a sub with 2 bites taken out of it, an empty bottle of pepsi, and my cat sleeping on a potato chip bag, and it's the 7th inning.
I got a lot to cover, seeing as Saturday's game lasted about 124 days. It was my first game at the stadium IN A YEAR. That's right. The last time I was at Yankee Stadium was last year, for the annual Krista, Keith, Pollina outing in May.
It was just as much as circus as it was the first 2 times we did it. Fortunately, I would write things down on an envelope as they transpired, to assist me in writing the recap. Unfortunately, a day later, none of it makes sense to me.
The ones I can decipher (the handwriting anyway, not the context. Not even a little bit):
"My point is this: what are we being for Halloween? Furies."
"Btw, Family Dollar Store? Free toilet paper."
"You can't attack players, not like the old days."
"I got to stick this bumper sticker on a cop... [5 minutes later]..I asked a cop what the chances are of me putting a bumper sticker on his car and he said, 'None. None whatsoever.'"
So, basically, what I'm getting from this chicken-scratched account, is that Saturday's game was not only the Yankees successfully sidestepping their a loss, but also Keith successfully sidestepping an arrest.
It was an amazing day overall. One of my favorite parts in particular was leaving the game, making friends with the fellow Yank fans on the 4 train (Standard Operating Procedure in the postgame), and having one (Andy, I think?) say "let's sing! What's your favorite song?"
"Well, it's We Are the Champions, but that may be kind of aggressive for a regular season win--"
But before I could finish, he had stirred up the subway car in a rousing rendition of We Are the Champions. Which is just hilarious when it's done with such earnest and raw happiness...after a 5-4 win in May. I love Yankee fans.
I also was pretty psyched about the fact Krista spent her time in NYC kicking everyone's ass in every single bar game known to mankind, the fact that we've still yet to get in trouble for the Beer Bucket creation, and the fact that, of course, the Yankees won. Life is good.
Yesterday, Granderson continued his amazingness (and indirectly continued to lobby for Kevin Long's place in our hearts).
Hitting coach Kevin Long has spent countless hours with Granderson, and at one point called the changes "a total reformation of his swing." And the reformation seems to be working, with Granderson now hitting .281 with eight homers and 18 RBIS.
Not back, Kevin. Not bad.
Grandy's 3-run blast won the game for the boys, after Cervelli's game tied it up in the 5th, at 2-2. Shortly thereafter, Something Kind of Grandish takes Litsch deep to make it 5-2, and that's the end of the scoring for both teams. Mo gets his 10th save because he's awesome, the Yanks stay atop the AL East because they're awesome, and life resumes without a hitch for the Yankee fan.
The same cannot be said for Phil Hughes who is in a Good News Bad News place right now. The good news: he may not have dead arm after all! The bad? He may have thoracic outlet syndrome, a rare circulatory disorder that could be causing his pronounced drop in velocity.
So..that sucks. In the interest of ending things on a happy note, though, the rest of the team looks fantastic. Russel Martin=what a pick up! The bats are alive with the sound of runs. The arms are doing their job. And the Red Sux?
(Always leave 'em laughing!)